Saved by the Alien Dragon

by Stella Cassy

  Suddenly, I felt weightless, as though all gravity had been removed from the room. It took a moment for me to realize that I'd been scooped up into Dashel's arms, along with the twins. God, he was so strong, even in his human form.

  “Come on,” he said firmly. “We're getting out of here.”

  Yes, you beautiful alien bastard, I thought senselessly. Time to abduct me...beam me up to the mothership, Scotty...take me to your leader, ha...we come in peace...

  He carried me out into the hospital's hallway, just as a group of men in uniform came striding in. “Stop!” the first one said, holding up a hand in a warning gesture. “You come with us! You answer our questions!”

  Dashel did not stop.

  Instead, he put his head down and sped up, ramming into the men like a bowling ball hitting a set of pins – and just like pins, they fell and scattered. By the time they were up on their feet and able to give chase, we'd almost reached the exit.

  When we made it outside, I couldn't believe my eyes. Ranel was waiting for us behind the wheel of what I would have sworn was a late model sedan. “Get in!” he yelled. “Now!”

  Dashel hustled me into the back seat. “Nice car,” I slurred. “Where'd you get it?”

  “My idea,” Dashel said. “I told Grenek to modify an escape pod with holo-projectors, just like he did when the Pax chased us into the nebula. We programmed them to mimic one of this planet's vehicles.”

  “Except it's fast enough to get us outside of the city without anyone catching up,” Ranel added, keeping his eyes on the road.

  Sure enough, the pod easily outran the government vehicles that pursued us – and once it reached a remote area of the countryside, its holo-projectors switched off and its repulsors blazed, carrying us up into the night sky where the Wyvern was waiting.

  Epilogue

  Dashel

  It had been almost a year since we returned to Nort.

  The twin boys were thriving – as much as they loved spending time with me and their mother, they seemed to love the visits from Ranel the most. The grumpier he acted, the more he made them laugh, until he'd eventually give in and chuckle as well. He made toy spaceships for them, staging dramatic re-enactments of famous battles between the Pax and Hielsrane. “Some day,” he told them both solemnly, “you'll be better captains than your father ever was. Not that that would be difficult, mind you. You've already got more sense than he has, and you can't even talk yet.”

  The mining colonies were thriving as well under Hielsrane rule. When she wasn't looking after the younglings, Natalie was enjoying her new position as Supreme Overseer to all nine camps. Even though they had been granted their freedom, I was surprised to find that almost all of the slaves chose to stay behind and keep working the mines. They were unfamiliar with the vastness of space and the dangers it held, and they didn't have the means to go offworld on their own anyway. Besides, most of them were terrified that they'd immediately be re-captured by the Pax and put back into forced servitude.

  So now they labored in exchange for a percentage of the riches the mine yielded. They'd chosen the one called Gordon as their unofficial spokesman, to bring up requests and grievances to Natalie. They worked hard, to be sure, but they seemed content.

  Some of them took brief trips to other moons and planets during their time off, escorted by a small hired contingent of Drakon warriors. Some joyously spent their earnings on the material pleasures the universe offered, while others put theirs aside, planning to retire someday. There was talk that a group of them would someday form a nearby independent colony for that purpose, and a few who were talented at structural engineering spent their off-hours sketching out the plans for it.

  A handful of them were even coupling, and raising families together, now that they didn't live in fear of being killed by their masters each day.

  The Hielsrane fleet wasn't too happy with this arrangement. To most of them, slaves were slaves, and they were to be treated as such – not paid for their efforts from money that should have gone to Thirren or coddled with trips to amusement centers and promises of autonomy in their old age. They often threatened to correct this state of affairs, before their other slave camps started getting dangerous ideas about freedom and wages.

  But whenever that happened, Tarion always stepped in, putting his full support behind the way of life that had been established on Nort. After all, he was always able to remind them of a simple and undeniable fact: That although this new way of doing things may have been different from what the Hielsrane were used to, the mine's output had been increased tenfold.

  “It's better to be loved than feared,” Natalie said with an enigmatic smile. I wasn't sure I agreed with this principle across the board, but in this context, it seemed to ring true.

  One day, a Hielsrane cruiser took position in Nort's orbit with the Wyvern in tow. My former ship had undergone some serious improvements. No longer the repulsive scow it once was, it had been reshaped into a thing of beauty, its engines and cannons updated to rival the best vessels in the Hielsrane fleet.

  “Nice work on that old rust bucket,” Ranel commented when Tarion came to the planet's surface.

  “I'm glad you think so,” Tarion replied, “because it's yours now. You've distinguished yourself in battle countless times, and you've certainly earned your own command Captain Ranel.”

  For once, Ranel was speechless. Finally, he managed to stutter out, “Thank you, sir.”

  “That's funny,” I said with a smirk. “When you showed up here with the Wyvern, there was a moment there when I thought you were going to tell me she was mine again.”

  “Not quite. The admirals and I have something else in mind for you.” Tarion handed a data display pad to me. I took one look at the image on it, and my jaw dropped.

  It was the Gyygnar.

  “She's waiting for you at the space docks of Thirren,” Tarion told me, clearly relishing the surprise on my face. “Pack your bags, and bring Natalie along if you wish. We're mobilizing almost the entire fleet for a full-scale assault on the Alliance's market planet. We're going to cripple the Pax economy in one fell swoop, and give those furry little bastards a taste of hell they'll never forget.”

  Get ready for book 4 in the Galactic Alpha’s Conquest Series, Enslaved By The Alien Dragon!

  Available Now!

  Chapter One Preview – Enslaved By The Alien Dragon

  Yvette

  A raised dais had been set up in the middle of the crowded market. Directly behind it were a series of large metal cages that created a perverse wall that framed the stage on which my life was set to change – again.

  I kept my head down and tried to avoid eye contact with the Pax guard who hung onto the bars of my cage with pincer like claws. His eyes were a zealous crimson red and his teeth were large protruding shards that could take off my arm with one bite.

  I had obviously offended him somehow, because he ground his teeth at me every chance he got. My instinctive response was to turn and run, but where would I go? Even if I managed to get out of this cage, Minapolis was a planet of traps and slavers. Earth was several light years away. Even its memory had turned cold in my mind.

  I could feel the frenzy of excitement that punctured the air. There was a certain bloodlust that tainted the atmosphere when fresh batches of slaves were brought in. My cage was connected to several others, each with its own Pax guard. Two long lines of bare-footed human slaves were wheeling us in. They wore grey-brown, one-shouldered garments that came up to their knees. As if their clothes were not enough, they also wore thick black collars around their necks. I was sure that the Pax made those collars heavy on purpose. The weight was a constant reminder of what you were.

  My hand went up to my own collar. Its thick, unrelenting grasp was claustrophobic and I remembered that first moment, years ago now, when it had first been fastened around my neck. I had spent the first week believing I would die from its hold. Those first few weeks as a slave had taught me one thing:
dying wasn’t as easy as some imagined. Only when you prayed for death did you realize how stubborn the human instinct for survival was.

  As we got closer to the dais, I felt a shiver run down my spine. The crowd was larger than I had anticipated. The auction hadn’t even started yet and I could see several slavers shout out bids for slaves that had caught their eye. I was suddenly extremely conscious of the three leafed clover scarred onto my right cheek. It was a warning to any who were brave or foolish enough to bid for me. I was marked. My only consolation was that the mark didn’t betray the nature of my ill advantage.

  “Fresh meat coming through!” one of the Pax screamed from the head of our procession.

  The crowd parted with interest and I stood in the middle of my cage, keeping my eyes downcast. There was a hum of conversation, only snippets of which I understood. The translation chip in my slave collar had been known to malfunction from time to time.

  My ears were buzzing with nerves and I felt as though the tiny piece of stale bread I had been allowed for breakfast would come up if I didn’t stay very still. I pulled at my hair, trying to comb it over my right cheek in an attempt to cover my mark. The Pax guard noticed.

  “That won’t help,” he jeered at me through the bars of my cage. “I’ll make sure everyone sees what you really are… trouble.”

  I didn’t respond. I pretended as though I didn’t hear him. Engaging with the Pax was always a stupid move.

  “Stop hiding your face,” the Pax guard insisted. “Look up. Let them see you.”

  I hesitated, wondering if I could get away with avoiding his order. Snarling menacingly, he swiped at me with his claws and I stumbled back with a gasp and hit the bars of my cage. I felt its cold bite like ice against my back, but I steeled myself against the pain.

  “Let them see you, whore!” he screamed.

  I got to my feet and raised my chin. My hair fell away from my face and I saw several slavers look in my direction. Two six-legged Vence looked at me with interest, but the enthusiasm faded from their reptilian features when they noticed my mark. They tended to be more superstitious as a species and I knew none of their kind would bid for me.

  “You look like you know your way around a bedroom,” a Nortian called out as we passed by. His skin was a faint blue that clashed severely with the bright orange-brown of his mane. “What would it cost to buy you for a night?”

  The Pax guard looked at me with glee. “This slave is special,” he said, raising his voice over the whoop of hoots and whistles. “She’s been trained for large and ruthless lovers. The mild-mannered cocks of Nortian’s won’t do, no sir. She knows her way around a Drakon; in fact, she prefers to fuck them in their dragon forms.”

  I had to tune him out. Fear burned hot on my cheeks. Ever since my enslavement, I had only ever known Pax owners. They were a sadistic and ruthless species but after years of doing their bidding, I knew what to expect. At this point, the unknown scared me a lot more than the Pax did.

  The Coovooan Centaurs looked like a mild-mannered species. They were calm and relatively peaceful. They didn’t have the same lust for violence that the Pax did, but they were not big slave owners. The Drakons on the other hand, were a different story. I hadn’t come across them very often, but their reputation was fearsome. They were ruthless space pirates who lived by their own laws; they reeved, pillaged and stole, which was why there was little love lost between their kind and the Pax.

  The Drakons resembled humans, far more than any other species I had seen since my enslavement, but under no circumstance could you ever mistake them for humans. A thick layer of colored scale coated their skin and they had large wings that folded back against their shoulder blades. I had never seen a Drakon in his shifter form, and I had to admit, that was a sight I was both curious and terrified to see.

  We finally made it to the dais and I could see the auctioneers ready themselves on one edge of the platform. Several smaller wooden cages were being wheeled onto the stage by small groups of human slaves whose backs were covered with a barbarous collection of lash scars.

  Once the dais had been set, the auctioneer walked to center stage. His fur was a gleaming white beneath the layers of black leather he wore. His claws scraped the wood as he walked towards the waiting crowd.

  “Welcome all, I am Serge-Minot,” he boomed, his throaty voice grating. “We have an excellent selection for you today. I hope you have come prepared my friends. Today’s bidding will be fierce.”

  Gooseflesh pricked at my skin and I wrapped my hands around my body. Minapolis was a relatively warm planet filled with bony trees and an eclectic collection of mismatched buildings, mud huts and tunnel caves. There was a certain archaic beauty about it, and yet, I felt cold all the time.

  “First up, we have a human male,” Serge-Minot started, gesturing for one of his guards to bring forth the first slave. “Born in captivity, this useful creature has been trained in the kitchens. His specialties include Noxen stew and Liger-brazed pie. He is also skilled in the preparation of rare delicacies such as Phoenix and Manatow.”

  I watched as a jeering Pax brought a young boy with a chain fastened around his collar on stage. All the Pax guard had to do was pull and the boy stumbled forward. He looked no older than sixteen or seventeen, but the milky sallowness of his skin made him seem even younger.

  “He takes command well,” Serge-Minot went on. “Very obedient and very attentive. Let’s start the bidding at a hundred credits.”

  I turned my gaze towards the crowd, wondering if my future owner was somewhere amidst the throng. Please, I murmured under my breath, please let me be bought by a decent slaver. There was a time when I used to pray for freedom. Now I just prayed that my owner would treat me well. It was a depressing thought, but one I had resigned myself to.

  “Next lot!”

  I gasped and looked up, realizing that my batch was up next. It felt like the collar around my neck tightened by several inches. My vision blurred as the crowd before me dissolved into obscure lines. I had never been part of an auction before. I was usually handed over from one owner to the next and I realized now that I preferred it. I couldn’t imagine standing up there while all those lecherous sadists examined me.

  “Here we have a human female,” Serge-Minot boomed. “She is considered very fine among her species. Look at the golden hair, the blue eyes… she would make any male a fine bed mate.”

  I couldn’t help it. I had to look at her. Serge Minot was right; she was beautiful. Her face was long and framed by hollowed in cheekbones that accentuated her large, doe eyes. It was obvious she had been bathed and prepared for this auction. Even her slave garment looked presentable and passably flattering.

  “We want to see her!” a Gorbeck yelled. He stood at about nine feet and had three of his six arms in the air. Even if he weren’t so huge I would have noticed him by the deep murky green of his skin. His eyes were cat like with vertical black slits that made my skin crawl. “We want to see her whole!”

  I frowned. What did that mean?

  Before I could blink, Serge-Minot had walked over to the blonde slave and ripped her robes off with his teeth. I didn’t hear her gasp because my own was still ringing in my ears. She stood there, completely naked, staring out at the salacious audience with her eyes downcast and her body trembling like a leaf.

  The bidding started at two hundred credits, but I couldn’t watch. Her nakedness felt like a personal insult. Why did they have to do that? It was a silly question really; one I already knew the answer to. She was a slave. We were nothing more than objects and objects didn’t have opinions or dreams or feelings.

  “Next batch!”

  I froze. No… not yet. It was too soon. But the door to my cage had already swung open and the Pax guard looked at me with bright eyes and barred teeth.

  “Come my little ill vixen,” he said in a crude singsong voice. “Time to see what cock you’re going to have to climb every night.”

  He climbed onto the bars
of my cage with dexterous feet and, using them to balance, reached out and grabbed my collar. I had no choice but to wait till he had fastened a chain to the hook in the center of the collar. Then he jumped to his feet and pulled me from the cage with a tug of his claws. Like a dog on a leash, I was pulled onto the stage as Serge-Minot started my bid at a record low ten credits.

  I was so nervous, so conscious of the audience’s eyes on me that my legs started to lose their autonomy. No, I thought desperately to myself, don’t faint, not now. Not now.

  Just when I thought I had mastered myself, I tripped. I stumbled to the side and hit one of the cages that had been put on display at the back of the dais. The cage I knocked into rolled into the next one and created a domino effect that ended in a large crash on the side of the dais. I stood perfectly still as dust kicked up in soft plumes. Serge-Minot and the Pax guard looked at me with dumbstruck expressions on their faces.

  Then I heard a scream. My knees give out and I landed on the dais’ grainy wooden planks as Pax started running towards the accident I had never meant to create.

  “What’s the damage?”

  “It landed on two of ours,” I heard someone shout.

  “Are they alive?”

  “No.”

  “Slaves?”

  “One dead, two injured.”

  I shuddered. What would this mean for me? It was an accident… surely they could see that. I looked up just in time to see a Pax guard walking toward me. His eyes were alight with anger and his claws looked ready to strike. I closed my eyes and tried to disconnect my body from my mind.