Draekon Destiny: Exiled to the Prison Planet: A Sci-Fi Menage Romance (Dragons in Exile Book 5)

by Lili Zander

  I lift my hand. “In the Diary of the Unknown Explorer,” I reply. “The inhabitants of Old Earth were looking for new planets to resettle in, but the Shayde controlled all of Aertos.”

  She smiles at me. “Good,” she says. “We all know what happened next. Jomar Hafsson welcomed our ancestors to their world. He could have enslaved the humans, but instead, they struck a deal. The Shayde agreed to let them settle in their worlds in exchange for blood. Thus, was born the blood tax.”

  On Old Earth, humans based their currency on precious metals. In the Empire of Shayde, everything is tied to blood. If you’re O-positive, the tax is three pints a month. Nobody can afford to give that from their bodies, and so we work for it.

  “I’ve always wondered about the treaty,” Ma Kaila muses. “The humans were on refugee ships, fleeing their dying home planet. The Shayde dominated the entire galaxy of Aertos. Why strike a deal? Why not just take what you want by force?”

  Huh. She’s right. I can’t picture the Overlord acting in such a way. Maybe Jomar Hafsson was that rarest of rare creatures—an honorable Shayde.

  Ma Kaila moves on to her next point. “However,” she says, her eyes sparkling with excitement, “Old Earth historians have always suspected that the Shayde knew about humans much earlier. Humans have written about vampyrs since the eighteenth century.”

  I sit up. Next to me, Joanna Placzek raises her hand, a skeptical look on her face. “That’s impossible. Humans didn’t discover the existence of other sentient species until the Great Resettlement.”

  “You’re right, Joanna,” Ma Kaila says, nodding her head in agreement. “Be that as it may, there’s little doubt that the ancient humans were writing about the Shayde. The vampires in the Old Earth literature were unnaturally pale. They slept during the day and walked at night. They drank blood. The coincidences are too many to be mere chance.”

  Weird. “The vampyrs that the ancients wrote about,” I ask Ma Kaila. “Did they rule over the humans?”

  She shakes her head. “In the beginning, the literature referred to the Shayde as something to be afraid of,” she says. “There’s an ancient manuscript called Dracula. It speaks of a dangerous vampyr that was killed by the humans. But over the years, the discourse changed. By the twenty-first century, the vampyrs were viewed as desirable sexual partners.”

  They were? I think of the handful of Shayde I’ve seen. Overlord Zimmer on the vids. Boss Egilsson, who owns the mines, and makes a handful of appearances every year. Then there’s the half-crazed vampyr that bit me earlier today.

  If there’s one thing the men have in common, it’s their total lack of hotness.

  Joanna raises her eyebrow. “Desirable sexual partners? Because of the bite?”

  Ma Kaila shrugs. “I don’t know why,” she replies. “And it is possible we aren’t interpreting the documents correctly. They say that the vampyrs can be killed with silver, a naturally occurring mineral that was only found on Old Earth. Given what we know about Shayde physiology, that seems unlikely. The ancients also believed the Shayde were repelled by garlic.”

  Joanna grins. “That seems reasonable,” she quips. “When Hamed eats garlic, I tend to give him a wide berth.”

  Ma Kaila shakes her head at our laughter. She’s taught this class for many years, and she’s probably heard this joke more times than she can count. “If we can get back to our studies,” she says, her tone stern, “I’d appreciate it. Knowledge is power. Somewhere in this material is a clue about why the Shayde don’t want humans to study it.”

  She’s right. I don’t care much about the larger Shayde Empire and about what happens in the rest of the galaxy, but this corner of Aertos is my home. Things have been getting particularly bad in the last three years. Overlord Zimmer’s dungeons are full. Crime on the streets is out of control, and the enforcers don’t seem to care. The only two things that seem to matter are the boarium we mine and the blood we give.

  Joanna stops me after class. “Raven. Wait up.”

  I stop winding my scarf around my neck. “What’s going on?”

  She frowns at my outfit. “It’s cold outside. What did you do with your cloak?”

  “I forgot it this dusk,” I lie. “I was running late.”

  Unlike me, Joanna is B-positive. For her, the tax is only one pint. Half of that, she can give from her own body. She lives in Sector 10, and her parents are both bitten. She’s rich, and her parents work for the Shayde. At first, I was inclined to be distrustful of her, then I learned that she has a brother in the re-education camps.

  “Hmm.” She doesn’t look like she believes me. “I have a spare. I’ll bring it to the next class.”

  “Thank you, sister.”

  She waves away my gratitude. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. Are you going to take part in the tournament? The choosing is on FifthDay.”

  “Me?” I stare at her, wondering if she’s seen the mark on my neck. “I’m not bitten. Besides, you need Shayde sponsors to participate. Who do you think is going to sponsor an O-positive from Glacis?”

  She bites her lip. “You learned to survive in the camps,” she says softly. “You’d do well.” She doesn’t meet my gaze. “They’re allowed to watch the tournament. The residents of Glacis, I mean. To see you on the holos would give them hope.”

  I take a deep breath. That’s what this is about. The camps are brutal, and only one in three survive. The only thing that helped me make it was the need to avenge my parents.

  Joanna’s brother Michal has a five-year sentence. She’s concerned he’s losing the will to stay alive.

  “The prize is a lifetime waiver of the blood tax,” she adds. “And an all-expenses-paid trip to Starra.”

  Get to Starra. Find Ivar Karlsson. He will protect you.

  Click here to keep reading Night of the Shayde

  A Preview of Night of the Berserkers by Lee Savino

  I have one night to meet the mage…

  One night to destroy him…

  One night to break the Berserker’s curse…

  One night to save them…

  I woke in a field, surrounded by warriors. The spell had brought me to the threshold of the Corpse King’s fortress. When the men seized me, I reached for my power, but none came to my aid.

  I was a thousand years from home, a captive of the Corpse King’s warriors, and I had no magic.

  Night of the Berserkers is a stand alone reverse harem romance starring four huge, dominant warriors and the witch who must free them from the Berserker curse.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Yseult:

  The fog stood thick over the moor, heavy as an omnipresent hand pressing down, sucking the air from our lungs. Crows cawed in the skeletons of trees as I passed. The dead grass and disfigured trees were only more proof that the land withered and died under Corpse King’s power.

  The wind picked up, but I didn’t shiver, even though I was cold. Magic hummed through me, warming me even as goosebumps rose on my flesh.

  “Every day he grows stronger,” one of my younger sisters raised her head. “Even the weather heeds him.”

  “Shhh,” another hushed her, holding a sachet of herbs to her own face. Posies were no use. The stench of the Corpse King penetrated our very bones.

  I left them and headed to the women bent around a fire. My older witch sisters stood in a tight circle, chanting as one. The neophytes hung back, allowing the ancient ones to combine power to work the spell.

  I remained outside the circle. Silent, though my own lips moved with the chant.

  And when shall we all meet again?

  In fog or thunder or wasting rain?

  When the spell we set is done,

  When the battle’s lost and won

  With the dying of the sun

  Moonlight reigns when love doth come…

  My brow creased under the weight of the magic. I labored to breath as the spell took hold, twining around my body like a vine. I swayed a little before I ca
ught the gaze of one of my older sisters.

  “Here,” the witch beckoned to me. Her body was draped in what once was a purple robe, now rags. She looked like a wasted crone, but when I took her hand, power tingled in my arm. “Are you ready?”

  Nodding, I stepped into the circle of witches. Despite the sickly chill, I wore only a thin white shift, with my hair unbound down my back. My arms and feet were bare.

  “Child, have you cleansed yourself?” The witch speaking was the oldest of us. I was no girl, but to her, I’d always be a child.

  “I have,” I answered clearly. “Cleansed with water and hyssop.”

  “Drank only mead, ate only honey?”

  I nodded.

  “You’re ready, then. You’ll walk through fire.”

  I swallowed and stepped forward. She kept her hand in mine, guiding me firmly the last few inches before the coals. The fire would cleanse me. Burn away whatever the spell could touch. It was necessary.

  It can’t hurt me. I reminded myself again as the heat hit my skin. The crone’s hand both helped and guided me, but if I bolted, she would hold me fast.

  Purifying smoke shot up on either side of me, the heat blasting my face. Tingles spread over me again, as I burned without burning, the spell fire licking but not touching my skin.

  Once I made it through, I took a deep breath of cool air. I felt lighter, empty. A vessel for the spell, the great power my sisters and I would call into my being.

  “The cleansing is finished. Let the spell begin.”

  I took my place on the cold rock as my sisters gathered around me. Ancient hands raised, the younger neophytes huddled behind, heads bowed, arms linked for protection.

  I steadied my breathing and looked within.

  I could do this.

  Of all my witch sisters, I was the best choice, blessed with both power and youth. I must succeed. This spell was our last hope.

  I don’t know how long I stood waiting for the magic to come. A minute, an hour, a day and night?

  When it came it was as if it had always been.

  The power rose around me, swirling my garments, spreading thickly over my skin like water, burning like fire. If there was any uncleanliness left, the spell would destroy it, and me with it. I opened my eyes and met the crone’s gimlet gaze.

  I could do this.

  The wind picked up, a great howling as the corpse king battered our defenses. The outer circle of neophytes staggered and steadied. The crones all lowered their arms. The sky above them cleared, the sinister fog gone. The night sky rolled out in front of me like a black carpet studded with bright jewels, hazy around the edges with the gathering dawn. The stars winked and whirled in ageless dance. Hurry, they beckoned. Journey with us, before the dawn.

  I breathed deep, and accepted the power, and rose among the stars.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tristan:

  I rose, sword in hand, swiping it overhead to drive off the cawing ravens. An endless battlefield stretched from where I stood, stinking of death and blood. My warrior brothers lay around me, faces dirty, armor smeared red, weapons clasped in still hands. I walked through the field of the fallen, pausing when a desperate gasping rose from one at my feet. A warrior lay in the mud, his guts spilling from the gaping wound in his stomach. He was dying, choking on his own blood. Wide, pain-filled eyes pleaded with me. My lips moving in a forgotten prayer, I thrust my sword downward and ended his struggle. I stood there for a moment, keeping the crows off him. His face, young and bloodied and framed with light blond hair, was familiar, but try as I might, I could not remember his name.

  In my dreams, I marched on, until I could bear the sight of the dead no more. I ran, seeking the dark forest on the edge of the field. I entered a thicket, hacking with my sword as briars tore at my face. When I broke from the bracken, a silvery light beckoned me through the trees. A woman’s voice was calling my name.

  Tristan, Tristan. The high, sweet tone was so familiar.

  The shadows parted, moonlight glimmering off a woodland pool. A woman turned, white gold hair crackling around her face, and I had an answer to my prayers.

  I woke hard, the woman’s voice echoing in my head. I kept my eyes closed, trying to conjure her face, but, like the dream, the scene with the woodland pool and still, silvery moonlight, she had slipped away.

  Men’s voices murmured in the barracks. Someone was telling a story. Lars probably. He finished, and the others laughed.

  I sat up, reaching for my weapon and my helm, feeling relief. I was alive, along with many of my warrior brothers. But as I moved from my bunk to join them in breaking our fast, I still smelled the sick scent from my dreams and heard the buzz of flies, feasting on the dead.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Yseult:

  The spell ripped and wrenched me. I cried out as it prised me apart. Vision swirled away, the stars dying, my ears filled with the roaring of time, the oncoming dawn.

  The blast drove me into blackness.

  I woke with sunlight soft on my face. I’d fallen on my back and my body ached. When I turned my head, flowers tickled my cheek. A blue sky overhead, a field full of wildflowers all around. No fog or cursed stench. My witch sisters were gone, along with the fire and barren trees.

  The spell had done its work. It had sent me… somewhere. Could this be the place the ancient ones meant to send me?

  As I lay, ears straining, I had the feeling I was missing something. As I watched the wind rustle the new growth on the trees, I realized what was wrong. A day like this should be filled with song, but there was only silence. Where were the birds?

  Voices murmured nearby. Male voices. Slowly, I sat up.

  A castle stood at the far end of the field, its great walls dwarfing the trees. A few figures moved in the shadows, but they were far enough away to be no threat to me.

  My more immediate concern were the two warriors winding their way through the thick grasses. Their weapons clinked as they came closer. A few steps and they would easily see me.

  I reached for the raven’s form, waiting for the familiar rustle of feathers to prove I’d transformed. I could easily take flight and be out of reach, winging my way to a perch where I could spy on this unfamiliar land. Once I got my bearings, I could see about my mission.

  The warrior’s murmurs grew clearer, their chain mail rattling a warning.

  Come, I reached for my power, whispering the spell.

  Nothing.

  My fingers groped the ground, clutching frantically as if the earth could rise up and hide me. Still the raven form didn’t come. I felt tired, a little dazed, but not so much that I could not work my magic. But when I went within to draw on my magic, I felt nothing.

  Numb, heart beating faster, I sat frozen as the warriors came closer.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ivar:

  I caught the scent as soon as I stepped out from under the shadow of the king’s stronghold. Sweet as a flower, but foreign. My feet started towards it almost immediately, and though I didn’t mention why I wanted to cross the field in front of the castle, Lars was in a good mood and it was easy to convince him to fall into step with me.

  “Fine day,” Lars remarked, using his sword to hack off a few daisy heads. I grunted my agreement, keeping our path in line with the scent while pretending I had no aim.

  “You’re quiet,” my fair headed brother elbowed me.

  “I dreamt again last night.”

  “You’re always dreaming.”

  “This was different,” I murmured. The closer we got to the grassy dip before the trees, the stronger it was, and the more my head cleared.

  “The woman? You must go down to the village and find a woman.”

  “I want no woman.”

  Lars scoffed. “No, just a phantom creature. A fantasy of lonely nights. A good lay will exorcise this foolishness.” He glanced at me when I said nothing to defend myself, looking a little guilty. “How many times have you dreamed of her?”

 
; “It is more than a dream.”

  Lars snorted again and turned to tease me, but stilled, his mouth falling open. He’d caught the same scent.

  “Do you—”

  “Come,” I said, hastening my steps, now that I knew I was not imagining it.

  And I saw her. A bare-armed maid. Pale, with white gold hair crackling about her face. She sat haloed by flattened field grass, stared up at me with wide eyes.

  “What is here?” Lars strode forward, holding his weapon. I caught his arm before he could attack. The woman didn’t even glance at him. She was too busy staring at me.

  I felt as if I opened my mouth, her name would appear on my lips. For we had never met, but I’d seen her a thousand times. The maid in the grass was the lady from my dreams.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Yseult:

  “What is here?” the warrior barked. It took me a moment to decipher the words. The language cadence was unfamiliar, the words coarse and guttural. Before I could up and flee, a boot pinned my hip.

  I tried to roll, and the warrior’s growl reverberated through me. I went still as a bird cowering in the grass before a predator.

  “Who trespasses?” The fair one bent over me. His rough hands seized my arm, set me on my feet. I called my magic to me, grasping frantically. But where my power once resided, there was emptiness.

  “A woman.” The bearded warrior’s dark eyes pierced through me. I shuddered as if stabbed.

  Closing my eyes, I called again for my power and felt… nothing.

  “No more than a maid,” blunt fingers pushed back my hair. I flinched from them. Goddess help me.

  Then I felt it. Pulsing, pushing against me, a familiar stench. It was faint, but it came from the fortress. I’d recognize it anywhere. The Corpse King made his home here.

  The fair-haired warrior hauled me close, and I bowed my head, letting my hair hang over my face again, hiding from the dark one’s gaze. “Come, little captive. The commander will want to question you.”