by Loki Renard
He got a better look at her as he bounded through the undergrowth. Female, just as he had thought. Young. Weak. Round rumped and long legged.
It would have been so easy to catch her right away, to overhaul her with his longer stride and more powerful body. But where was the fun in that? He liked making his prey run. He liked to savor the hunt. There was no sweeter music than her ragged, panicked breath as his prey came to terms with their inevitable capture.
So many would have given up by now. Archon had been on many hunts, and often the object would just stop and accept the inevitable. Not this female though. She believed she could escape him. What a very human delusion, to think that a five foot female could outrun a nine foot king.
Wait. Where did she go?
It was as if she had blinked out of existence. One moment she was dashing through the woods, the next…
Archon almost fell into the hole his prey had crawled into. He let out a laugh as he realized what a good trick she had played. But the hunt was not over, and her escape was far from guaranteed.
Crouching down, Archon discovered that it wasn’t just a hole. It was a tunnel. When he peered down it, he could see that it came out in the mid-distance. He could also see that round rump crawling as fast as it could go through the narrow space.
Archon finally bothered to use the speed which was at his command, easily crossing the distance in a matter of bounds.
He was there when she came out. He saw her head pop out, and then she was off again at a sprint. But the hunt was over. It was obvious that she would run herself past the point of exhaustion, and Archon did not want such a fascinating prey dead.
He grabbed her by her arm, swung her off her feet, and tossed her onto the soft leaf covered mossy ground on her back. She lay there panting, her eyes wide with fear. Something about the way this human looked at him, some expression in her eyes touched something in him. There was a strange moment of connection, in which he almost forgot she was human, and in which they almost felt like the same thing.
She had coppery brown hair, and furious brown eyes. Her face was daubed with clay to mimic the patterns of the forest. She had been trying to hide before he hunted her. He wondered if that was because she was a huntress herself.
“Bad little human. I had only just finished telling you and the rest of your village that you couldn’t run, and look what you tried to do. Are you simple, or so rebellious you cannot obey a single sentence?”
“It wasn’t an order. It was an assumption, and it was wrong.”
There was so much spirit and spite in those words, they were fiery enough to have come from Energon himself. But they did not. They emerged from a little human upstart.
“Arrogance,” he murmured. “I will break you of that habit, human. I will punish you.”
“Why?”
Why? There were a thousand reasons why. The rebellion of her village, for starters. Her refusal to be caught. Her complete lack of disrespect for her king.
“I am Archon, king of Archaeus - and you are my prey, as well as my subject. I am entitled to do with you as I please. I own you. Every part of you.” He emphasized the last part by squeezing the pink place between her thighs, feeling her heat and her wetness.
She let out a pleasing mewling sound and arched her back, tightening her thighs around his hand. He found himself wanting more. The clothing between them was an inconvenience he would not tolerate.
Archon stood and drew his sword. He wanted to see what lay beneath the furs and leathers which covered her body. He had not seen a naked human female before, but he wanted to see this one.
“Lie still,” he told her. “I don’t want to bleed you yet.”
She lay there, silent but furious as he cut the clothing from her body, revealing a beautiful soft hide and vulnerable pale curves. Between her thighs there was dark hair hiding a flash of pink.
Her sex.
Archon felt his lust inflaming as he beheld this female human, this woman who had led him on such a good chase for one of her size and strength. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to claim her.
Kneeling between her thighs, he freed his cock and guided it toward the tightness between her legs. Once he was inside that pink hole, there would be nothing left of her rebellion, of that much, he was certain. He would break her. Destroy her resistance. He would turn her into a toy for his use.
He could feel the heat of her body against the head of his cock, the softness of her human flesh, the delicate spreading of the petals of her sex. This was a female worthy of his cock. This…
A dull throb in his belly made him look down. He was surprised to see a knife sticking out of his midsection.
The shock made him cant to the side, away from the human female. She had stabbed him right in the gut. She had waited until the precise moment he thought he had triumphed over her and showed him that he had not.
“Well done,” he grunted in appreciation of her ruse.
It was too late. She was gone.
Chapter 6
Having stabbed the alien king, and rightly so, Iris ran until she couldn’t run anymore, until her lungs burned with every breath and her legs were weak.
Everything was gone. Everyone was gone. Her entire family had been obliterated by the fire, and with them, every object and heirloom they ever owned.
She didn’t dare cry. She didn’t dare feel any of the awful things which were swirling around her waiting to be felt. Her eyes were dry not because she wasn’t sad, but because her sadness was too immense to fit inside her.
Slumping down inside the hollow of an old oak tree, she tucked her feet up tight against her body and wrapped her arms round her knees. She was almost completely obscured from sight, which allowed her to relax just a little. She was certain she had been followed, or soon would be followed. They would not let her get away with stabbing the king, of that much she was certain.
It hadn’t been a killing blow. It had been an incapacitating one. If she’d wanted to kill him, she could have sliced his throat. She found herself wondering why she hadn’t.
When she closed her eyes, she saw the village on fire, and the king’s face superimposed over it. She saw those eyes, piercing blue and brimming with the promise of even more cruelty.
Iris had to think. She had never imagined she would find herself so completely alone. Her entire life had taken place in the village. Every single event, every moment, it was all gone. Every person. Every object.
Whatever she could not remember from her grandmother’s tomes on healing and herbs, magic and mushrooms was now lost forever. And that was only one small part of her heritage which had been destroyed by a thoughtless and brutal monarch.
Iris had been taught that the loss of people was inevitable, but the loss of their knowledge was a tragedy beyond all others. In one dragon’s breath, she had become the sole holder of her people’s knowledge.
She knew what was expected of her. She needed to get pregnant as soon as possible have a baby, and tell that baby everything she knew as soon as the baby was old enough to process information.
Being a virgin was going to make that difficult, but there were men all over the country. One of them could inseminate her.
It didn’t seem like a good plan, but it did seem like a plan, and some plan was better than none. A plan might be able to take the place of crushing misery long enough for her to survive.
After some time, it might have been minutes, but was probably hours, she emerged from her tree hiding place. She could not hear anybody giving chase. No hunters had come rushing past on steeds, though for all she knew a hunter of the king’s might very well come from the air and destroy her that way.
She could not stop thinking about the dragon, how strangely obedient it was to the king. She wondered how the monarch had managed to break the will of such a beast, and she wondered if he might have already broken her will with the destruction of her family.
Walking was her salvation, every step taking her further awa
y from the site of the tragedy and possibly closer to help - though what aid could be offered to her she did not know. Everything that could be taken from her had been taken, besides her virginity and her life, she was without possession in the world.
The forest was full of dangerous creatures, but they were kind enough to leave her alone, perhaps sensing that she was an animal so far gone it was barely worth attacking. Iris knew she was inherently easy prey, but whatever guardian force had seen her spared the fate of the villagers also seemed intent on sparing her from becoming dinner for an opportunistic predator.
In time, Iris passed through the forest unharmed, and past the next village. She did not stop there, having little trust for the people who inhabited it. The closest villages were traditionally the greatest enemies, and the villagers of Streambend were no exception. Her little village of Forestcrag had been at war with Streambend for as long as she could remember. It was the benders who had brought the disease which slew more than three quarters of Forestcrag, and though Iris had immunity created by having experienced the disease, she had no desire to test fate yet again by coming into contact with them.
For days she travelled, and for days the screams of the villagers rung in her ears. She fancied that she could make out individuals among them. Her father. Her cousin. Her brothers. All terrified of the wrath of a king who had no right to rule them.
He had eradicated everything and everyone. The more Iris thought about it, the more it seemed to her that he did not want there to be any witnesses. If he did not want there to be any witnesses, then perhaps he did not want his actions to be known. But she could not imagine any reason to secretly deploy a great dragon, that was the sort of battle-beast sure to garner attention.
The king’s actions were contrary to themselves. There was a haphazardness to them, a flair and a simultaneous secrecy. Had he simply been amusing himself? Or was there something more to the entire event? She doubted anybody could be as powerful as Archon clearly was and not know precisely what he was doing.
She thought and walked, walked and thought. For the most part, she travelled by foot, occasionally taking to the back of a passing wagon for a few miles, speaking to nobody, keeping her face hidden beneath the cloak which she wrapped around her body from head to toe. She did not want to be seen, not by anyone. There was no shaking the feeling that the murder king might come for her. She could feel the specter of death traveling in her wake, dogging her every step.
Iris had never been so afraid in her life. But she had also never been so determined to have her revenge. The king was evil. A monster. Some kind of half-dragon nightmare come from the stars to destroy all those she loved. It was right to be afraid of him - but it was also right to fight him.
Chapter 7
“She got you good.”
“Be quiet and suture me.”
“It is difficult, sire. We cannot suture scales with ease, and I am inclined to leave the wound open so it can drain properly. We do not want to trap infection inside.”
“I don’t want my insides falling out either.”
The king was being somewhat dramatic. The blade had only been half an inch wide, and it had lodged up in the flesh between the scales and the organ wall, where it had been trapped in a webbing of connective tissue. It had missed any major organs and also the blood supply. He was lucky, in other words.
“Your insides are mostly intact. I believe sire was more surprised than mortally wounded.”
Archon growled. Bad enough to be injured by his prey. Even worse for the injury to turn out to be nothing. He could have pursued her and claimed her. He had let her go for no reason.
That rankled and burned. His flesh would heal, but the wound to his pride would not be so easily resolved. Nothing would sate him besides capturing that vicious little human and breaking her thoroughly to his will.
“This is excellent news,” his young aide, Wilshire said with far too much enthusiasm. He had been hanging around Archon since he was beamed up to the mothership, a simpering concerned blonde politician with curling hair and just enough scaling to make him noble.
“Is it,” Archon growled flatly.
“You are not seriously wounded, and the crown remains yours,” Wilshire grinned. He had a habit of saying stupid, obvious things. Archon liked him because he was young and had absolutely no guile. He said almost everything that came into his head, and had given away several plots against Archon entirely by accident. Wilshire was the verbal equivalent of a canary in the coal mine of Archon’s existence.
“Find her,” he growled.
“Find…”
“The one who stabbed me. Find her.”
Archon expected Wilshire to go skittering off to do his bidding, but apparently the aide had other ideas. It seemed today was going to be a day where every weak underling who should be giving in to Archon’s will instead challenged him.
“Doesn't that defeat the purpose of a hunt, sire?”
Archon shot his aide a dark look. On the one hand, Wilshire was right. Having his men find the female did defeat the purpose of the hunt, and it was unsporting besides. He would normally never have suggested such a thing. He knew how to hunt almost every kind of prey on almost every kind of planet.
He was off his game.
The human had rattled him. He didn’t even know her name. She was nobody. An insignificant peasant, a rebellious subject who deserved to be incarcerated with the rest of the people once she had given her body to him. And yet, here he was, totally turned around by her.
Archon had once fought a boarbear, a beast which stood ten feet high, had massive tusks, and equally massive claws on a body which was both furred and armored. That thing had done less damage than the diminutive human.
It was his fault. He had respected the boarbear. He had failed to respect his human prey. She was obviously more wily than he had imagined such a creature would have capacity to be.
Humans were hard to respect. Group living, soft-boned, short-lived, there was little to recommend a human. They were prone to a whole host of diseases. Some of his soldiers were still showering in case they had caught something from the humans in the brig.
Speaking of the brig, there was the most obnoxious din coming from that region of the ship.
“What the bloody blazes is that sound?”
“They’re protesting, sire.” Wilshire was at his elbow with a handy answer. Apparently the aide had been doing some reading on their new captive species.
“What the testicles is protesting?”
“It’s where humans get together and proclaim very loudly that they don’t like something.”
“Does that work in their social structure?”
“Rarely. But occasionally. But more often than not no. But sometimes, yes.”
“Very clear," Archon growled.
“Did sire's mother not tell him…” Wilshire trailed off, his voice fading into a whisper as he realized he had made the ultimate faux-pas and referred to the abhorrent rumor that Archon had actually been born of a woman.
“Sire’s mother is not a subject for discussion,” Archon growled, admirably restrained, all things considered.
“I apologize profusely sire. Would you like me to lie down so you can stamp upon my head?”
“That will not be necessary,” Archon sighed. “See that this story goes no further than this room. I do not need the entire ship knowing that I was shanked by a barely sentient female a fraction of my size.”
“To be fair, humans are incredibly sentient. Often to their own detriment. They are capable of having existential crises.”
“What are those?” Archon sighed the question, caught between annoyance and interest.
“They’re when you ponder your own existence, and the fact that it will end, and then wonder why you exist at all, and perhaps end up so anxious you can barely move until someone distracts you with cake,” Wilshire read from an electronic document of some kind.
“What is your source?”
/> “An ancient text known only as Oorban Wackipediah. All of human knowledge was stored here before, well, before now.”
Archon was allowing himself to be distracted. Could it be he was reluctant to begin the hunt? No. That was not it. He wanted that human female more than he had ever wanted anything besides the crown of Archaeus itself.
It was something else keeping him there in the medical bay, some resistance to returning to the hunt. It was a bad omen to be stabbed, and he had been battling with bad feelings ever since they landed at the palace and came in contact with the insufferable General Naxus.
“It’s fine,” he told himself.
“Keep calm and carry on,” Wilshire piped up cheerily. “Ancient Earth saying used in one of their many intra-species wars.”
“That’s enough of the human history, Wilshire.”
“Of course sire. I will refrain from educating or enlightening you further, sire.”
A high-pitched yelp followed as Archon cuffed the aide over his deserving ear. He was not in the mood for insolence, not even the well meaning kind.
It was time to go hunt a human.
“There she is.”
Archon’s surveillance tech pointed to a dot amid the green. Archon had given in to technology a little, because time was of the essence. He couldn’t let the human get away. The idea that she was down there on the planet, thinking she had managed to best him was completely insufferable to him.
Archon was not used to being shanked or shamed, and as a result he was very determined to set what he considered to be an unnatural wrong somehow right. He no longer merely wanted the human. He needed her. He craved her, as only a king with a bruised ego can crave possession of a wayward subject.
His head was full of plans to best the human, and things he would do to her when he had her in his grasp. He would fuck her, of course. But that was not enough. There would be more, so much more. He would make her wail in pain and beg for his mercy. He would break her down until she trembled whenever she was in his presence. He would chain her. He would keep her captive. He would toy with her until he grew tired of her - and then he would discard her.