by Lili Zander
Draekon Rescue
A Sci-fi Menage Romance
Lee Savino
Lili Zander
Copyright © 2017 by Tara Crescent, Lili Zander, Lee Savino.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Many thanks to Miranda for her sharp eyes.
Contents
The Dragons in Exile Series
1. Dorothy
2. Zlatin
3. Dorothy
4. Crothyr
5. Dorothy
6. Zlatin
7. Dorothy
8. Crothyr
9. Dorothy
10. Zlatin
11. Dorothy
12. Crothyr
13. Dorothy
14. Zlatin
15. Dorothy
16. Dorothy
About the Authors
Books by Lili Zander
Books by Lee Savino
The Dragons in Exile Series
Are you all caught up with the Draekons? Don’t miss any of the books.
Draekon Mate - Viola’s story
Draekon Fire - Harper’s story
Draekon Heart - Ryanna’s story
Draekon Abduction - Olivia’s story
Draekon Destiny - Felicity’s story
Daughter of Draekons - Harper’s birth story
Draekon Fever - Sofia’s story
Draekon Rogue - Bryce’s story
Draekon Holiday - A holiday story
* * *
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Dorothy
Worst. Day. Ever.
My head pounds in time to blaring music. The flashing neon lights aren't doing me any favors. Add the remains of party decorations from five birthday parties and about seventy million screaming kids high on cake and ice cream and… yeah. Not even a bottle of aspirin can help me.
“What’s that?” I call over the music to the pimply teen gawking at my breasts.
“Are you DPitts?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” Dorothy Pitts, but everyone calls me Dor. I refill Teen Creep’s coke and move on. My tight ‘Super Mario Bros.’ t-shirt helps with tips, but only if the customer is an exhausted dad who dragged his kids to the video arcade so he can watch the game over the bar. Teens don’t tip well, even if they have their parents’ Mastercard. It’s like no one taught them waitresses are people.
When I return, Teen Creep and his friends are standing around the StarShip Wars console. Two years and my high score still stands. DPitts holds number one by a good margin. I allow myself a private smile.
“How did you do it?” The teen gets back in my face, his arms folded over his chest. “You get your boyfriend to play for you?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” I unload my tray of chicken fingers and fries, and the gaggle of gamers falls on the food like they’ve fasted for a week.
“Seriously, what’s your secret?” another guy asks between shoving fries in his mouth.
“StarShip Wars is pretty much a shooting game. It’s not hard.” At least, not for me. Of course, once I got the hang of it, playing nine hours a day for four hundred days straight put my score in the top five in the world.
Yeah, I’m a nerd. Sue me.
“Wait.” A teen gestures to the rest of the consoles. “DPitts holds the highest scores on all the games around here.”
I shrug. “I’ve worked here awhile.” They gape at me, and I roll my eyes. What, girls can’t play video games?
“DPitts. More like “D-tits,” Teen Creep says to his buds. They guffaw, food spraying from their mouths.
And there it is. My cue to leave. “Let me know if you need a refill,” I fake grin, and spin on my heel.
“Hey, I’d like a girlfriend who can handle a joystick,” Teen Creep says. “What time are you off?”
“Way past your bedtime,” I call over my shoulder.
Unfortunately, my boss sees and waves me over. “If you’re going to flirt with the customers, do it on your own time,” he says.
I stop several feet away from my manager, aka Slimy Stan. He smells like stale sweat. Then again, so does everything in this pit.
“Of course, you can always flirt with me.” He laughs like he’s hilarious. His eyes drop to my chest, and I turn away before I visibly shudder. Or start barfing.
What made me think that taking my high school job back was a good idea? Video game arcades are cool until you’re about twelve. Fifteen, if you’re a geek. I’m twenty. If it weren’t for Slimy Stan, I’d be the top contender for the Biggest Dweeb Ever award.
I duck into the break room. My red Chucks are my favorite shoes, but after eight hours, all I want to do is go home, take them off, put my feet up, and play some StarShip Wars. I downloaded the latest update last night, and it is excellent.
Too bad. My student loans are due, and that means I gotta work overtime.
My phone’s battery is red, but there’s enough juice for me to check my email. There’s a new one from Valstorm, the video game company that makes StarShip Wars. My heart stops.
Without opening the email, I read the first line.
“We’re sorry to inform you your application has been declined…”
I sag against the wall. Typing furiously, I check the internet to see who did get the scholarship. Sure enough, the awards are posted. The recipients smile smugly at the camera. Two of them have worse game scores than I do.
My phone dies before I can read any further.
Could this day get any worse?
“Dor! Doooooora,” Stan sings out. I stuff my phone into my back pocket just before he comes through the door. “There you are. You’ve got clean up. Men’s bathroom. A bunch of boys made a mess.”
“I’m not supposed to clean the men’s. Only the women’s,” I stammer.
“Nathan’s busy at the bar, and Joey’s fixing the pinball machine.”
“What about you?”
“I’m the manager.” He raises his brows in challenge.
I zombie walk past him to get the mop. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the group of teens rolling with laughter.
“We left a present for you in there, D-Tits,” one of them calls.
Worst. Day. Ever.
* * *
“Bummer about your car. Do you get flats a lot?” Stan asks as he peels out of the parking lot at midnight.
Wrinkling my nose at the car’s musty smell, I shrug. My two flat tires weren’t a coincidence. After enduring two hours of harassment, I’d convinced Nathan to throw Teen Creep and his cronies out. Ten bonus points to guess who took their revenge out on my poor Honda. If they hadn’t guessed my car from the StarShip Wars bumper sticker, the ‘GamrGirl’ plates would had given me away.
They stiffed me on the tip, too. Jerks.
“No matter. I can pick you up tomorrow, too. I won’t even charge you for gas.” Stan leers at me, and I sink down further into my seat, ready to ignore him until he drops me off at the end of my block. I’ll walk the rest of the way home. It doesn’t matter how much my feet hurt; there’s no way I’m telling Stan where I actually live.
“So what was that phone call you made earlier? Had to be im
portant, for you to ask to use the office phone.”
“Nothing.”
“Really? Cause I checked the number. It was to a college. Thinking of going again?”
“No.” I cross my arms over my chest. Stan is literally the last person I want to talk about this with. Why does my cell phone have to be dead? Then again, it’s not like I had anyone else to call for a ride.
“You went to college for a few semesters, right? Dropped out because you couldn’t afford it.”
Shut up, Stan. I try telepathy, but it doesn’t work.
“Must suck to have to take your old job back. At least when you turn twenty-one, you can work the bar.”
I stare out the window, pretending not to hear him. The car passes the last of the town and heads into the country. I live out here because it’s cheaper. Clean air and pretty fields are just added bonuses. There are more stars in the sky, too. I raised a thumb and forefinger, pretending to shoot the larger ones. So much possibility, just out of reach.
Who am I kidding? Today isn’t the worst day of my life. There’s always tomorrow, and the day after that. I’m a twenty-year-old college drop-out whose greatest achievement was mastering a video game. Talk about useless life skills.
What am I going to do?
A familiar sign flashes by, and I sit up. “Stan, stop. That was my turn back there.”
“Relax, Dor. The night is young.” He leans over and turns on his radio to a singer crooning about rains in Africa.
Fuck. This. “I want to go home. Pull over, or I’m jumping out now.” I tug the car handle to prove I’ll do it.
“All right, all right, relax. I’ll turn around.”
Instead, he pulls onto an old farm road and cuts the engine.
“That’s it.” I throw myself out before he can lock the doors.
“Oh, come on.” Stan’s car rolls after me, Toto still playing.
I reverse direction and head into the rows of corn. Soft leaves wrap around my legs. The car headlights flood my way, and I stop in my tracks.
A giant disc hovers over the field.
I recognize it immediately. I’ve only seen the shape in TV broadcasts nonstop for the last five months. The first aliens ever to land on earth. The mysterious and enigmatic Zorahn. They came announced, cured a bunch of diseases, and recruited a group of women on some kind of intergalactic diplomatic mission. Since then, we’ve heard nothing.
Now there’s an alien ship parked in Farmer Henry’s field. Ten bonus points to guess its origin.
Acting on instinct, I start backing up, hoping the aliens haven’t noticed us, but unfortunately, today’s not my lucky day. The ship lights up. I fling my arm up, gritting my teeth against the sudden brightness. An engine roars behind me, and I whirl in time to watch Stan drive off in reverse.
Can this day get any worse?
I really should stop asking myself this.
There’s a whirring noise behind me, and a bottom section of the ship opens.
Yes. Yes, it can.
I run. Leaves whip my legs until my jeans are heavy, soaked in dew. My red Chucks skid in the mud. Lights flash above as I zigzag across the field. It’s no use. The ship is gaining on me.
The wind rises. Corn stalks rip out of the ground, swirling as the ship’s forcefield sucks them upward. The ship looms above my head. My feet leave the ground as the tornado pulls me into the spaceship.
Worst. Day. Ever.
Zlatin
Three hundred and twenty-seven days. That’s how long I’ve been a prisoner, held captive in a nondescript warehouse on an unknown corner of Zoraht, imprisoned by three scientists, Ashl’vi, Travix and Kal’vi.
Do they act alone, or are they sanctioned by Brunox, Head of the Council of Scientists? I don’t know. Does Lenox, High Emperor of Zoraht, know what’s going on? I don’t know that either.
What I do know is that in the time I’ve been a prisoner here, they’ve brought in fifteen women from the homeworld and from other planets. Adrash. Maarish. Kraush. Gaarven. Each time, they hope to activate the Draekon mating bond. So far, their attempts have only resulted in failure.
And the women? Killed. Because of me. I couldn’t protect them. I couldn’t intervene. The only reason they died was because they weren’t my mate.
My soul is tattered; I will be judged harshly in the gardens of Caeron.
At the start, I’d looked for every opportunity to escape. Lately… I’ve stopped searching for a way out. There isn’t one.
I’m a captain in the rebellion; I know our rules. If you’re captured, you’re on your own. We don’t go back for our fallen. We can’t afford to. There are too few of us.
I will die in this prison.
Dorothy
Cold. I try to curl into a ball, but can’t. Something’s holding me down. There’s a dull ache in my wrist, and my throat feels like it was scraped with sandpaper. I blink, but everything blurs.
Shapes move around me. I cough and start convulsing, my limbs shuddering like they don’t belong to me, but the fit passes quickly. Voices swim around me and away, speaking nonsense. A light shines on my face, and then away.
I can’t sit up, can’t scratch my nose, can’t move. All I can do is blink, so I do that, over and over, until my vision clears.
No wonder I’m cold. I’m bare ass naked on a shining white surface, a table of some sort. Thick straps at my forehead, middle and knees hold me down. I can raise my head a little, but that’s it.
The aliens move around me, barely paying attention to their captive human. I study them covertly. The Zorahn look mostly like humans, tall and stern, with striking piercings and tattoos. There’s three of them, two women and one man, all wearing blue-purple robes.
That’s when it really hits me. I’ve been abducted by aliens. Goodbye Earth, hello alien probe.
I cough, and my throat screams in pain. Could things get any worse?
One of the aliens—a woman—looms over me, a long, thin syringe thingy in her hand. A needle. No, no, hell no. I shriek, the sound barely escaping my badly scraped throat. Another alien covers my mouth. I strain against my bonds, wild with panic.
Something sparks in my ear, and suddenly a soft voice translates everything the aliens say into English. “Stop,” the alien woman looming over me says, her voice impatient. “You lost fluid in the journey. We will replenish it. Stay calm. The needle will damage you permanently if you struggle.”
Is that supposed to make me feel better? She takes her hand away, and I stay completely still, my chest heaving, as the alien pricks my arm and hooks me up to some sort of strange IV. Whatever fluid they’re putting in me glows purple until it disappears into my skin.
If I stare at it too long, I feel woozy. Around me, the trio converse softly, but their words are too indistinct to make out.
After a minute or two, the juice seems to do the trick. I already feel stronger. I lick my lips, wishing for a drink of water. “Where am I?”
The scientists keep talking like I’m not even there. My voice rises. “What’s going on? What are you doing to me?”
Nothing. Apparently, I don’t rate an answer. I could scream, but it’ll hurt my throat. I’m strapped to this table, as weak as a newborn kitten. My best bet is to stay quiet, watch and learn. And hope like hell there’s a way outta here. Wherever here is.
I turn my head and look around. My skin prickles and my stomach roils. I’m not on a ship. I’m in a huge warehouse, as big as an airplane hanger. Bigger. The roof is some sort of semi-opaque glass. Two huge red suns hang in the sky. Two suns.
Breathe, Dor, breathe.
My vision domes as I fight my panic. One thing’s clear. I’m not in Kansas anymore.
Crothyr
I crouch behind a sand dune in the remote Northern Wilds of Zoraht and survey the large brown building in front of me. If this is where they’re holding my friend, they’ve chosen well. The Wilds are sparsely populated. There’s only one Highborn family here, the Rykiel, but they keep to
themselves and stay out of the complicated politics of the homeworld.
It’s taken me almost a year to get here.
Ten months ago, I was in Maarish when I learned that Zlatin had been captured. Tarish, Commander of the Rebellion, had hidden the news from me for two months, and when I confronted him, he flat out refused to let me go after him.
Obviously, that’s unacceptable. So, I deserted the rebel army. It was the only thing I could do.
That didn’t go down well at all. The Commander takes a very dim view of insubordination. I’ve been dodging his bounty hunters ever since.
Making peace with Tarish is a different problem for a different day. I have more pressing concerns now.
The woman at my side twitches as a lorithian crawls over her hand. “This fucking planet,” she snarls, shaking the creature off with a shudder of revulsion. “I hate Zoraht.”
“So you’ve said. Repeatedly.” Nevvi Catel is the head of the Maarish underworld. If the rumors are right, she has more spies than the High Emperor himself. Maarish is a high-moisture world, and the dry desert air does not agree with my friend.
I saved Nevvi’s life once, a very long time ago. If Zlatin’s in this building, the debt will be repaid. “Tell me about this place.”
Nevvi takes a sip of water from a dusty bottle. “They’ve been at this location for almost a year,” she replies. “Three scientists, ten soldiers. Roughly every month, a drone ship shows up.” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s the only way in and out.”