Enslaved by the Alien Dragon

by Stella Cassy

  Enslaved By The Alien Dragon

  Galactic Alpha’s Conquest: Book 4

  Stella Cassy

  Contents

  Hey There!

  1. Yvette

  2. Ranel

  3. Yvette

  4. Ranel

  5. Yvette

  6. Ranel

  7. Yvette

  8. Ranel

  9. Yvette

  10. Ranel

  11. Yvette

  12. Ranel

  13. Yvette

  14. Ranel

  15. Yvette

  16. Ranel

  17. Yvette

  18. Ranel

  19. Yvette

  20. Ranel

  21. Yvette

  22. Ranel

  23. Yvette

  24. Ranel

  25. Yvette

  26. Ranel

  27. Yvette

  28. Ranel

  29. Yvette

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1 Preview – Taken By The Alien Dragon

  Free Prequel!

  Enslaved By The Alien Dragon

  Hey There!

  Cosmic Collector delves into the past, offering a glimpse of Tarion as a hatchling after the death of his birth mother. Through the alternating perspectives of Tarion's sire, Silea, and Alana, a human woman that captured his heart, readers will gain a deeper understanding of the Hielsrane dragons, from their possessive tendencies to their battle-hardened exteriors.

  Click here to download your FREE Prequel, Cosmic Collector, by signing up for Stella Cassy’s Insider Club!

  1

  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 ha
nds 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.

  “Wait!”

  The voice made my eyes fly open. Serge-Minot was standing next the Pax guard. “We are still in the middle of an auction,” he snarled under his breath. “Put her in one of the cages by the stage and let’s get on with it.”

  “But… you’re not going to sell her?”

  “Look at her,” Serge-Minot said darkly. “She’s marked. After this whole debacle no one is going to want to buy her. Just get her out of my sight and deal with the cage collapse.”

  “But what do we do with her?” the Pax guard asked.

  “She’s no longer valuable to us anymore,” Serge-Minot replied with a shrug. “Once the auction is done, kill her.”

  2

  Ranel

  I had always hated Minapolis. Market planets always had the stink of poverty about them. Which was why it irked me to be here, standing among an assortment of stinking Norts, Pax and Moset, trying to outbid them for slaves I didn’t really need.

  I amended that thought in my head. I really did need a few new slaves; my ship was in need of a good cook and a few maids to clean up after my ever-increasing crew. I was particular about the slaves I brought on board. Which was why, despite my distaste for the crowds that were drawn to slaver cities, I had resolved to go myself to make the purchases.

  I remembered Tarion scoffing at me when I had shared my plans. “You’re going yourself?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because you’re the commander of your own fleet now,” Tarion had pointed out. “You can get one of your seconds to do it for you. You can get one of your slaves to do it for you.”

  “I’m aware of that,” I retorted. “But there’s something to be said about picking your own slaves.”

  Tarion had rolled his eyes at me and I had suppressed the growl hiding in my throat.

  “We all have our own way of doing things,” Dashel said, stepping in smoothly.

  Dashel had a way of diffusing looming arguments before they could take on a life of their own.

  “How are you getting used to your ship?” Lehar asked.

  The Wyvern. I had developed a growing sentimentality for the ship that had been passed down to me from Dashel. It had taken a while for me to get used to the amorphous vessel. Where most ships in the fleet were sleek and elegantly foreboding, the Wyvern was unrefined and completely non-threatening. While Tarion, Lehar and Dashel had ships with savagely powerful bodies that resembled the dragons of old, the Wyvern’s design was spherical and oblong, with little in the way of distinguishing characteristics or impressive embellishments.

  I had taken pains over the course of the last several months to update the ship as best I could. I had upgraded the weapons systems and replaced the old space turbines with interstellar engines. I had even spent coin on blaster tubes, space to surface missiles and light speed drives. As state of the art as all the new additions were, they clashed glaringly with the outdated construction
of the Wyvern.

  However, there was still more to be done. I wanted to update the internal coms system and make additions to the ship’s crew rooms, which was why I was stuck on Gyygnar until my ship was ready to fly.

  “The ship was… bordering on obsolete,” I replied. “But I’ve managed to salvage it.”

  Tarion had glanced at me with his sharp eyes, but I had never been once to mince my words. I saw no reason why he should take offence by my honesty, especially because I hadn’t taken offence with the understaffed ship he had seen fit to pass into my command. Of course it had annoyed me… but annoyance was my constant companion most days anyway.

  “The Vence make good slaves,” Lehar advised. “But you can’t go wrong with Ermits either.”

  “Or maybe I should just get a human.”

  I tried to suppress the smile on my face as all three of my fellow commanders tried to figure out how to react. Given that all three had taken human women to wife, there was no simple way to respond to my goading statement.

  “Humans don’t make good slaves. They crave freedom too much.”

  We all turned towards the heavy monochrome door as Carissa walked in. She was wearing pants that took the shape of her legs and tan leathers that snaked around her body, accentuating its shape. Her soft yellow hair hung loose around her shoulders and her green eyes were shrewd as they turned on me.