by Sophie Stern
She’d be fine.
He nodded gruffly and turned back to the ship, following the Tanayemms back inside. Most of the Tanayemms could see well in the dark. Their dragon-shifter eyes enabled them to see just about anything, even when they were in human form. Lukanterao was a little jealous of that, though he’d never admit it. He was bigger than humans and stronger, but his eyes weren’t any better. He didn’t have any special abilities like the Tanayemms did. If anything, sometimes Lukanterao’s size was a drawback because he couldn’t be as stealthy as he liked.
Now, though, he used his strength to push aside fallen debris and make his way through the common areas of the ship. He didn’t need to go down individual hallways, which was good, because they were narrow as fuck.
His eyepiece was able to see heat signatures for 300 yards, which meant they’d be done clearing the ship in no time. Once Lukanterao learned how to tell the fires apart from human bodies, he was able to quickly determine whether someone was alive or not. He could tell whether there was simply something burning on the ship or if it was a survivor.
And there was almost nothing left alive on the ship.
Nothing worth saving, anyway.
It was a stupid mission on Dane’s part. Lukanterao knew the dragon species were loyal to a fault. Dragons might be wise, but even wise men could fall when their judgment was clouded by love.
They had saved more people than Lukanterao had expected them to. Dane should be satisfied with that. He should be happy. It was good enough. If there were any people left in the ruins, they were probably severely injured or burned beyond recognition. He didn’t like the idea of trying to save someone who was past the point of no return.
He didn’t like the idea of saving someone who would rather be dead.
Lukanterao sighed, resigned that their mission was almost over. He could hear the others wandering around the wreckage, calling out to people, and checking their devices to see where there were any humans left hiding, just trying to survive.
He was about to turn back, about to head outside and hand in his eyepiece, when something registered on his eyepiece.
Two somethings.
Fires.
No, not fires. Bodies.
Two of them.
In two different rooms.
He was on the 10th floor and knew it was a long shot. The first six decks had been completely decimated. The 7th and 8th decks had been badly damaged, but they’d pulled over 300 survivors from there in poor condition. The 9th and 10th decks were essentially dead zones. There wasn’t as much damage, but he assumed many of the patrons had been injured from falling debris or smoke inhalation.
What were the odds someone was still alive?
He should go back. Lukanterao had seen some of the men they’d pulled from the 8th deck. What kind of life would those poor schmucks have now? They’d been burned beyond recognition, to the point where Lukanterao couldn’t guess as to what species they were.
And Dane thought this was some sort of mercy?
These people might not be able to walk again, might not be able to speak again. If the heat signatures showing up on Lukanterao’s device were alive, they might be pinned beneath something that had fallen. The hallways were a mess and the common areas were just as bad. He had no idea how bad the bedrooms were going to be.
To Lukanterao, being alive without the ability to speak or move wasn’t really living.
He should walk away.
He could slip back out of the ship, climb back up the emergency access ladders. He could turn in his eye sensor and no one would be the wiser.
He could do it.
Only, he couldn’t.
He thought of the woman he had carried to the tent. She had been damaged, yes, but she’d been alive. She’d been grateful. She’d whispered thank you and she’d looked at Lukanterao like he was a fucking hero.
He was no hero.
He looked at the two little heat sensors and he knew what his brother would have said, what his brother would have done. Jer had always been the strong one, the brave one. Jer was the one who was the real hero. If Jerementerao had lived, Lukanterao knew he would have been a bold man, a brave man.
Jer wouldn’t have left two people behind. Even if they were going to have horrible lives, even if they were going to be traumatized by this, even if they were going to be completely destroyed by what had happened to them, Jerementerao would have wanted them to have that chance.
He would have said they should decide for themselves how to live.
“Fuck it,” Lukanterao muttered, pushing a fallen pipe out of his way. Water sprayed into the hallway as he slowly pushed toward the first room. He used his laser knife to cut through the door and pushed it out of the way.
“H-h-hello?” A sad, whimpering voice called out.
“I’m here to help you out of here,” Lukanterao said gruffly.
“About time,” the voice said. Laced with venom, this person didn’t seem particularly happy to be rescued. Maybe Lukanterao should have left him, after all. Lukanterao pushed further into the room and pulled a light bracelet from his pocket. He powered it on and the room filled with a soft, warm glow.
There was a man lying on the remains of a bed. His legs were bloody and his arm looked broken, but he was alive and in better shape than Lukanterao would have suspected.
“Can you walk?” He asked the man.
“Of course I can fucking walk!” He growled, reaching for the light bracelet. The man ripped it out of Lukanterao’s hand and placed the device on his wrist. He stood, moving his uninjured arm around the room. The chamber filled with light from the bracelet, showcasing clothing, broken furniture, and food strewn about the room.
It also showed the body of another passenger who had not been as fortunate as this man.
“Your wife?” Lukanterao asked, motioning to the woman’s corpse.
The man just stood.
“I’m ready to be rescued.”
Wasn’t this guy a real gem? If it had been Lukanterao’s wife or girlfriend or lover who had died, he would have been fucking destroyed. He would have been damaged. He would have gone crazy with despair at her loss, but this man barely seemed to care or notice.
The man rummaged around and grabbed a couple of items, shoving them into his pockets, then followed Lukanterao into the hall.
“My arm hurts. I’m going to need medical assistance immediately,” the man was saying, but Lukanterao ignored him. What a piece of work.
He started walking toward the other heat signature, the smaller one.
“Hey!” The man said, standing in the hall. “We need to go the other way, dumbass.”
Lukanterao ignored him and continued moving rubble, making his way to the other room. If this other person was half as antagonizing as the first, he’d shoot them both and say he didn’t find any survivors. Dane couldn’t even be mad about that. Jer would have done the same thing.
Maybe.
“Where are you going?” The man protested in a whiny voice. Finally, Lukanterao turned around. He towered over the blonde man, and the human – because he was definitely human – shirked back.
“There’s another survivor. We’re going to get him. Then we’ll leave.”
The man sighed loudly, as if he couldn’t be bothered with something so trivial, but he stopped talking long enough for Lukanterao to cut open the door.
He knew as soon as he stepped inside the chamber that something was wrong. The goggle he wore on his non-heat-sensor eye enabled him to see in the dark almost as well as the dragons, and he spotted the female huddled in the back of the chamber.
The heat signature flickered.
She was alive.
Barely.
He stepped into the room.
“She’s dead,” the man said from behind Lukanterao. “Don’t waste your time going in there. Look at all that glass.”
Lukanterao had seen the glass covering the bedroom floor. He had a feeling it was at least partiall
y responsible for the state the female was in. Her breathing was shallow and her body was covered in dried, sticky blood. He ignored the man and took a step forward. Glass didn’t bother him. His boots had kept his feet safe from spears, bullets, and the occasional dragon claw. A little glass wasn’t going to hurt them.
“I’m telling you,” the man’s screeching voice came once more and Lukanterao had had it.
“Enough,” Lukanterao growled, whirling around.
The man looked afraid.
Good.
He should be afraid.
They didn’t call Lukanterao The Beast because he was a cuddly kitten. They didn’t call him a monster because he was friendly or kind or good. He was none of those things. He never had been. He wasn’t on this damn ship because he wanted to save people or become a famous war hero or because he wanted to do good.
He didn’t want to make the world a better place.
He was here because Les had the damn ignition key to his ship. His fucking best friend had a heart of gold and wasn’t going to let them leave Dreagle without helping to their full ability.
Damn Reslenoauans.
Lukanterao might be one of them, but he had never felt the pull to be compassionate the way the rest of them did. Losing his family had changed him in ways his soldiers, even his friends, would never understand.
Losing them had taken his heart, young and small, and crushed it, ensuring he would never be a good man.
“Another word, and I’ll leave you behind,” Lukanterao said to the small man. “Not another fucking word.”
He went into the room and looked down at the human. She was wearing black pants that clung to her skin, but her upper body was bare. Cold. She looked cold. Blood clung to her arms and chest, and her hair was matted against her head. Her shirt was bundled around her feet and when he reached for it, he could smell why.
More blood.
“Are you okay?” He asked quietly.
She nodded, but didn’t open her eyes. She looked tired, weak. Frail. She looked breakable and Lukanterao began to feel the same way about this human as he had about the Tanayemm children he had rescued. He began to feel responsible.
That wasn’t his style.
He had gone to war for the dragon children, but something told him he’d do much more than kill for this little human. If she needed him to, he might take on more than an army. He might take on the world.
“Can you walk?”
“No,” she whispered. “My feet.”
She didn’t move, and Lukanterao reached for the shirt that was wrapped sloppily around her feet. He started to pull the cloth away, but the woman cried out and he stopped immediately. Obviously, she had cut herself and tried to stop the bleeding, alone in the dark. The blood had dried, essentially pasting the cloth to her wounds. Removing the fabric now would mean tearing the wounds back open.
“For fuck’s sake, Willow,” the man in the doorway said. “Calm the fuck down. It can’t hurt that band.”
The woman’s eyes flew open in a panic and her gaze went from Lukanterao to the doorway where the other man stood with his light bracelet.
“Rand,” she whispered, but she didn’t seem happy about this. She knew him, but she disliked him.
Interesting.
Lukanterao was more pleased than he should have been to know the woman didn’t like this Rand fellow anymore than he did. Rand was a grade-A dickwad who deserved to die in the crash.
But that wasn’t Lukanterao’s place to decide, now was it?
“Yeah,” Rand said with a sneer. “You aren’t the only special one, you know. Not the only survivor.”
The woman squeezed her eyes shut, as if she couldn’t even stand to hear Rand’s voice, as if the man himself was going to be the reason she perished today.
Not on Rand’s watch. Not today.
“Another word,” Lukanterao said to Rand. “Another word and I leave you.”
Rand shut up, pursing his lips closed. Lukanterao could tell he wanted to talk, could tell he wanted so badly to say something else, but the desire to live outweighed the desire to be Chelsea Fucking Chatterbox.
“Good choice,” Lukanterao said. Then he turned back to the woman.
“Please,” she whispered. Her eyes were still closed. If he had any heart left, she called to it, and he stared down at her for just a moment. She was so helpless in this place. How long had she lain here, injured and bleeding? How long had she tried to save herself, to mend her own wounds? She was brave, he’d give her that. At some point, she had tried to escape, had tried to fight her way out of this chamber, and she’d done it in the dark.
Her feet were a bloodied mess, but so were her hands. Her fingernails were torn and ripped off in places and her knuckles were completely raw. Lukanterao knew that if he looked at the back of the bedroom door, he’d find her blood there from where she tried to escape.
He knew he’d find pieces of her.
“I’m going to lift you up,” Lukanterao said to the woman. “Willow, is that your name?”
She nodded.
“Okay, Willow, here we go.” He tried not to stare at her breasts, exposed and sweet. Even in this state, she was beautiful and precious. Most of all, she was fierce. He could tell just by looking at her. Willow wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Willow wasn’t going to let the world eat her up.
Willow was everything Lukanterao was not, but that he suddenly wanted to be.
What a strange feeling.
He reached for her and pulled her into his arms, holding her the way he would a new baby. Willow kept her eyes closed, but reached for him naturally. She wrapped her hands around his neck and leaned her head against his chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?” He couldn’t possibly imagine what she had to say “thank you” for.
“For saving me.”
Chapter 7
She didn’t know how much time had passed. Willow had drifted in and out of consciousness after the landing on Dreagle. That was where they were, she had learned: Dreagle. They were on the Dark Planet.
It seemed impossible.
Willow didn’t know what the problem with the ship had been. She’d heard the distress message, had seen the emergency lights, and waited for her bedroom door to open, but it hadn’t. It was supposed to, but it hadn’t.
The emergency doors had failed and the passengers hadn’t been able to make it to their escape pods.
So many lives lost. So many people destroyed in what was supposed to be a wonderful excursion, a wonderful adventure.
And now they were dead.
She should have died, too, but the big man came for her. He came for her and wrapped his arms around her, lifted her, and saved her.
“What is your name?” She whispered, her eyes closed as he carried her out of the chamber.
“Lukanterao,” he said gruffly.
“Luke,” she whispered, and she felt him stop moving for a second. She opened her eyes. Luke was staring down at her, watching her with a careful gaze. She could feel, rather than see, Rand’s presence around her. He was nearby, lurking. He was close.
She could tell.
She fucking hated him.
He’d been an asshole when times were good, but now, he was even worse. She’d heard every word he had said to her when Luke came to rescue her. She’d heard every bit of his whining and protesting in the hall. She hadn’t cried out, hadn’t known whether she even wanted to be saved or not.
What did she have left to live for, anyway?
Rand hadn’t wanted to save her. Luke had said she was alive, had said he wanted to check, and Rand had protested. What kind of a man did that? What kind of a man wouldn’t even try?
“Yes,” Luke said, looking down at her. “Although, no one has called me that name in a very long time.”
“Is it okay if I do?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes again and he kept moving, carrying her down the hall. It
was a difficult journey. Luke tried to be gentle with her, but the hall was small and made even smaller by all the debris in the way. When they reached a ladder, he warned her to hold tightly, and he climbed up.
Rand followed.
Willow’s head hurt and her feet ached, but something about Luke elicited her trust. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.
She wasn’t sure why she felt like the big guy was so much different than Rand, but she did. Men like Rand needed to feel powerful and big and important. Men like Luke were powerful and big and important. Maybe that was the difference. Luke didn’t seem to need to prove how much bigger he was than her.
Everyone could see.
At some point, Willow passed out, and when she woke again, she was on a cot in a tent. She blinked several times and tried to sit up, but a firm hand pushed her back down.
“None of that, now,” a soothing female voice said.
“Where am I?” Willow asked.
“You’re in a med-tent on Dreagle, not far from where your ship landed, and look.”
Willow opened her eyes and didn’t have to ask where the woman wanted her to look. She could see. Luke was there, beside her, watching her anxiously.
“He hasn’t left your side,” the woman’s voice said. “Pretty romantic, if you ask me. I’ll go tell the doctor you’re awake.”
The woman disappeared and Willow looked at Luke, getting a decent view of him for the first time. He was even bigger than she thought, which was saying something, because he’d basically clawed his way to the heart of Ship 449302 and single-handedly saved her.
“You saved me,” she whispered.
Luke just looked at her.
“Is anyone else…I mean…how many?” She tried to speak in a normal voice, but her throat was dry, and the words came out cracked and strange.
“Only the two of you on your deck,” Luke said simply. “Most of the lower decks were crushed on impact. Surprisingly, there were quite a few survivors on the upper decks.”
Ashley.
Maybe Ashley was okay.
“How many?” Willow had to know.
“567,” Luke said, letting out a low breath. “More than we thought. We expected to find a handful, but you guys are fighters, apparently.”