by Lili Zander
Famous last words.
Harper trips. Sofia gasps instinctively, but the blonde woman breaks her fall by grabbing the pink tree. Her hand lands dead center on an orange mold that’s growing on the bark.
I really wish I hadn’t tempted fate. “You all right?” I ask Harper.
She straightens. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get going. We’ve got to find water while there’s still daylight.”
Sofia’s looking at Harper’s hand with a fixed stare. “What’s that on your palm?” she asks.
The mold has left an orange goo on her skin. Harper swipes at it, growing frantic when the goo leaves angry-looking hives. “Damn it,” she swears, her face grimacing in pain. In about five minutes, she can’t move her arm. Her skin turns blue with alarming speed.
Sofia swears in Spanish and roots through her bag. “Epinephrine,” she mutters. “I know I have some in here.”
Harper drops to the ground, gasping for breath. “We need to put something under her,” I order Ryanna. “Don’t let the grass touch her bare skin. We don’t know if it is toxic.” Shit. Shit. Even if Sofia can stop the allergic reaction, Harper’s not going to be in any shape to walk. We’re three hours away from the ship. I don’t know what to do.
Sofia breaks the seal and stabs the needle in Harper’s thigh. I make a split-second decision. “I’m going to run ahead and look for water. Sofia, Ryanna, the two of you need to get Harper back to the ship. Put her in stasis. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Ryanna looks up, her black eyes shining with fear. “I can come with you.”
“No, Sofia can’t manage Harper on her own.” I press Beirax’s weapon into her hand. “I’ll be fine.”
Hopefully.
I continue for another hour, my heart pounding in my chest. The heat is sweltering, but I’m still grateful for the long sleeved space suit. After what happened to Harper, I can’t risk brushing my bare skin against the vegetation.
My head aches and my throat is parched. I’m sorely tempted to reach for the berries that hang from the yellow-leaved bushes, but I know how foolish that urge is.
I walk along, one foot in front of another, moving on autopilot. The mountain still looms in front of me, and it doesn’t appear any closer than it did four hours ago.
God, it’s hot as hell here. My suit is soaked with sweat, and my hair is a frizzy mess.
Good one, Vi. You’re on an alien prison planet without food, water, or shelter, and you’re thinking about the state of your hair. Like it will matter if an alien appears to eat you. You’re not going to charm him with your good looks today.
As I trudge past more trees with orange mold, I start composing my online dating profile. I like pina coladas and long trips through space. Oh, and as a scientist, I’m extremely interested in alien anatomy. Wink, wink, nod, nod.
A giggle cuts the humid air. I slap a hand over my mouth when I realize it came from me.
Great. Now you’re losing your mind.
I hear a noise—a soft buzzing sound—and pivot on my heels. A creature flies at me, and I scream in fright. It looks like an insect—some kind of red and yellow housefly—except it’s as big as a German Shepherd. Four antennas poke out from the top of its head, each ending in a ball that looks oddly like a strawberry.
“Shoo.” I wave my arms at it, trying to scare it away. All animals are scared of loud noises and sudden movement, right? I scream again, wishing I hadn’t given Ryanna Beirax’s weapon.
The dog-insect chirps at me, then it veers off to my right and plunges into the jungle. I’m about to continue on my way when I hear something miraculous.
The sound of running water.
“Good dog, Lassie.” Crashing through the brush, I follow the dog insect's trail, and twenty minutes later, I stand at the edge of an immensely wide purple-tinged river. Lassie’s twenty feet away, all four strawberry antennas immersed in the water as she drinks.
For all of three seconds, I hesitate, wondering if the water’s safe, and then I fling caution to the wind. If I can’t quench my thirst, my odds of survival are zero. I have no choice.
I cup some water in my hands and tip it down my throat. It’s cool and clear and ever-so-slightly sweet, and I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so delicious in my life. I dip my hands into the river again, eager for more.
I’m so busy drinking that I don’t notice the three animals until they’re almost on me. They look like wild jackals, with golden and black striped fur, but they’re the size of ponies, and their mouths are filled with sharp, jagged teeth.
As I back up, they stand on their hind legs and hoot in unison. Their front claws extend, and they close in on me. I’m hemmed in between the lake and the predators. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape.
I’m going to die on the prison planet.
4
Nyx
As soon as we hear the hoots of the Dwals, we begin to run. Of all the creatures we’ve encountered in this world, the Dwals are the most dangerous. They’re smart, vicious hunters. They hoot when they’ve found prey, and they will attack any moment now.
As I run, I think about Arax’s words yesterday. I shouldn’t have asked him about the Draekon mutation. The subject has to be a painful one for my friend. Once the Firstborn of Zoraht, he was in line to rule the Zorahn Empire, until the mutant gene was discovered in his body.
A thief on the streets of Vissa does not have much use for the Highborn of Zoraht, but Arax has earned my respect.
As much as I scoff at the notion that the Highborn are meant to rule, Arax is a born leader. It was Arax who kept us motivated in the initial months of despair. Arax who led search parties for food, for water, for any signs of habitation. It was Arax who made us cut down the kunnr trees to create a compound wall, Arax who planned the annual migration to the high cliffs during the rainy season. Now, it’s Arax who runs to the object that crashed from the sky, hope powering his muscles.
Do I dare hope as well? If it is a spaceship that has crashed on the prison planet, perhaps it can be fixed. Perhaps we can finally escape from this long, lonely exile. I dream about civilization every night, of sinking into the softness of a woman’s embrace, smelling the perfume of her flesh, feeling her body tighten against mine as we move in an age-old dance.
We can’t return to Zoraht; I’m not a fool. Fear of the Draekon mutation runs too deep for us ever to be able to step foot on my homeworld. But there are other planets outside the control of the High Emperor, worlds in which we could live in the shadows, finding work as mercenary warriors.
Then I calculate the odds of the spaceship surviving the landing, and hope fades.
This part of the prison planet is not unfamiliar to me. While we typically hunt to the east of the Na’Lung cliffs, we’ve ventured west of the peaks before. The medicinal herbs that Vulrux needs for his potions can only be found in the dense jungle that packs the lowlands in this part of the world, and I’ve journeyed through the thick vegetation at least a dozen times.
“The Dwals attack on the banks of the river,” Arax says, as familiar with the terrain as I am.
We’re nearing the water now. I reach for my twin knives, carved painstakingly from the thighbone of a Gawi. At my side, Arax does the same with grim determination. The Dwals are formidable predators, and this will be a harshly-fought battle.
We round a corner, and I see the creature that the Dwals have surrounded. It is small with dark hair. Its face is strangely unmarked, but its body is curved and lush.
It looks like a woman.
But it cannot be. That’s not possible. What on Vissa is a woman doing on the prison planet? The Draekon mutation has never been found in a female. Only men are susceptible.
My thoughts fragmented and confused, I drop to a knee and throw the knife in my right hand. It flies straight and true and lands with unerring accuracy into the chest of the dwal closest to the woman. Arax’s weapon follows a heartbeat later, piercing it between the eyes. The creature howls
in pain and falls to the ground.
The woman looks up for the first time, and her eyes fall on us.
When her gaze locks with mine, there’s an instant of quiet. The air grows heavier. The world comes to a standstill, and a voice inside my soul hums in satisfaction. Her, it seems to say. Our mate.
I barely have time to absorb that shock when an excruciating pain fills my body. Heat ripples down my back. I cry out as my skin rips open. My muscles lock, and I fall to my hands and knees.
Besides me, Arax does the same, his face contorting in agony.
My nails lengthen into claws. My skin changes, stretches, becomes hard and unyielding, a cross between scales and leather. I bellow, and the sound comes as a raw blast, my face twisting, jaw reshaping.
I rear up, and something slices open my back. Writhing in pain, I turn my head on a too-long neck to see spiky vertebrae form on my spine and wings erupt from my lower back. And I have a tail, long and leathery, with a barb at the end. It lashes to and fro.
The cloud of agony clears. The air around me is crisp and chill, but my body burns. I tower over the river, my head at the level of the tallest tree. The water at my feet reflects a huge, scaly body, long neck, and wedge-shaped head with ridges along the forehead.
I am no longer a man. Long ago, one of my father’s friends stole an ancient tapestry, and woven into it was an image of a creature, large and dangerous. I see that image now, reflected in the pool in front of me.
I’ve become a monster.
Yesssss. The creature inside me hisses. We are free.
The two remaining Dwals are frozen at the sight of the transformation, but when I rise on four feet, they are spurred to attack. They take a threatening step toward me, their claws fully extended, their jaws open in a snarl, hooting softly to each other.
At my side, a crimson dragon rears on its hind legs. Arax.
I blink. Golden threads seem to run between my body and his, and link us to a third. The fragile woman standing ankle deep in the river. Our mate, that voice in my soul repeats.
My wings unfurl from my back. A roar builds in my chest. Rivers of rage run through my blood. The beast in me acts on instinct. The Dwals dare attack our mate? I will destroy them.
Almost as one, Arax and I open our mouths and exhale, and we breathe a pure golden fire that burns the attacking Dwals to a crisp.
Our mate’s wild gaze darts from us to the charred, blackened remains of the predators that attacked her. Then, she slowly crumples into a dead faint.
The instant she loses consciousness, the thread connecting the three of us seems to snap. A moment of blackness, and I am lying stunned on the ground. When I rise to my feet, I am, once again, a man.
The woman’s legs are turning purple, the stain of the kilpei poison spreading over her skin.
Blast. This is bad. The kilpei can sometimes cause comas. She might even die.
Our mate, the beast inside me insists. Keep her safe.
The grass rustles around us. More Dwals, in all likelihood. We need to get out of here.
I sling the woman over my shoulder, and I begin to run for the safety of the caves at the base of the Na’Lung cliffs.
5
Viola
With a sigh of relief, I realize I must be dreaming.
My skin feels prickly, my body is feverish, and my throat hurts. My stomach aches with hunger, and I can’t remember when I last ate. On Earth, a voice in my head says helpfully. Five days ago.
That thought should worry me, but since I’m clearly in the middle of a dream, I keep my eyes closed and allow the images to flicker through my head.
I’m surrounded by three massive wild animals with large fangs and vicious-looking claws. They advance on me. I’m trapped between the river and the predators, with nowhere to run. I step back until water swirls around my ankles, but something pricks my skin, and I stop, not daring to wade into the river further and risk getting bitten again.
Two men run toward me at full speed, holding wickedly curved knives with serrated blades in their hands. In unison, they throw them. The weapons slice into the creature closest to me, and it crumples to the ground, dead.
When I see them, wild exultation fills my head. My heart hammers in my chest, and I can’t tear my eyes away from my rescuers.
Both men are seven feet tall. They wear crimson loincloths and nothing else. Their forearms are covered with black tattoos. One has shoulder-length hair, and the other’s is shorter and chestnut brown. Their bodies are chiseled muscled perfection. Their chests are streaked with swirled indigo markings, and their nipples are pierced with red barbells.
My insides clench, hard. The pounding in my head increases, and it’s getting difficult to breathe.
Focus, Vi.
Other than their height and coloring, they look human. A little Conan-the-Barbarian in their fashion sense, but if they’re friendly, I can deal with all the hard, rippling muscles on display.
Oh yeah.
I wasted so much time staring at the Prison Planet hotties, I forgot about the fact that three tiger-like things were about to attack. The two remaining predators move closer to me, swiping their claws in my direction.
Then something surreal happens. The men fall to their knees, and they change. As I watch, their bodies morph and distort. Their loincloths rip, exposing their large veiny cocks, bronze in color, each thicker than my wrist and more than ten inches long.
I’m so fascinated by their umm, equipment, that I almost miss the main event. The two men in front of me are transforming into dragons. Yup. The mythical creatures that aren’t supposed to exist. Claws, scales, fangs, tails, and huge, leathery wings. When the tiger-dog-animals snarl, the dragons rise, their long scaly necks adding several feet to their already towering height.
Even as beasts, I can see the rage in their eyes. Fear grips my heart as they swing their giant heads toward me, and open their jaws. A sheet of flame erupts from them, burning the creatures on either side of me to nothingness.
I can still feel the heat from the fire on my skin.
If it’s a dream, should you be able to feel? The voice inside me asks pointedly.
Of course it’s a dream, I reply. Men cannot turn into dragons. That’s impossible.
Blackness descends.
A heartbeat later, I’m being carried through the jungle, thrown over the broad shoulder of one of the men like a sack of potatoes. He’s running, and each time his feet hit the ground, a shock goes through my head. This isn’t a very good part of the dream. It feels like someone’s sticking a hot poker in my eye. Maybe I should wake up.
But it’s not just my head that hurts. My right ankle feels like it’s on fire, and it seems easier to sleep. I close my eyes and allow myself to drift off.
When awareness returns, I’m lying on the ground, naked. My skin burns and throbs. My mind feels foggy, and every time I draw breath, pain fills my lungs.
The dark-haired alien is leaning toward me, his lips inches from mine. I want to reach for him, for both of them. There’s a throbbing in my sex, a wanton, insistent heat that begs for their touch. The layers of civilization have been stripped away, and what’s left is raw, primitive lust.
Dream Viola is a lot more brazen than the real Viola.
“She’s reacting badly to the kilpei.”
Translating Old-Zor to English, my earpiece pipes up. Inaccuracies may occur.
It’s weird that the translator is working in my dream.
My brain feels like it’s submerged in a tub of molasses. “Who are you?” I croak out.
They ignore my words and bend over me, worry etched in their faces. “We’ve got to soothe the rash, Arax,” the dark-haired one says.
The man with the shoulder-length hair is Arax then. That’s a nice name. “Hello,” I say again. “I’m right here. My name is Viola Lewis. It’s nice to meet you, I think. Unless you’re going to burn me with that crazy dragon fire shit.”
You’re babbling, Vi, a small, cohere
nt part of my mind says. There’s a toxin in your blood. Something on this planet attacked you. Just like Harper. You’re going into a coma.
Arax gazes long and deep into my eyes, and my heartbeat speeds up. His eyes are sea-blue in color, and a woman could drown in their depths. “It’s spreading fast,” he says. “We need to suck the kilpei out.”
Wait, what?
Getting on their knees, they pick up an ankle each. Their lips lock onto my burning flesh and suck hard. My skin tingles at their touch, and a welcoming coolness spreads through me.
Yeah. I’m definitely dreaming, and while I’ve had some strange dreams before, this one takes the cake. It’s been a while since I’ve been with a man, and my subconscious must be telling me to get some nookie, because why else would I imagine two aliens licking every inch of my body?
Whatever you do, Vi, don’t wake up.
Their tongues caress a path up my body. My legs quiver, but they ignore the target between my thighs and continue up my bare hips, mouths sealed on my flesh, following the purple rash up my torso.
My hands fall to caress their heads. One of the men, the dark-haired one whose name I don’t know, looks at me intently, his eyes blazing with desire. The heat in his gaze makes me gasp, and I let my hands fall away. I’m going to die. If not from the strange discoloration on my skin, then from explosive lust.
The men’s mouths move to my breasts, and they suck on my nipples. I stifle a moan and writhe on the floor. Maybe it’s not polite for me to orgasm while they’re saving my life? They nibble kisses down every inch of my body, and everywhere their mouths land, my skin loses its fevered, prickly feeling.
“It’s working.” Arax’s voice fills with relief. “The kilpei is receding.”
The dark-haired man’s mouth meets mine in a soft kiss. The burning prickliness is replaced by a different kind of heat, one that makes my core ache with need. I squirm and part my legs, wordlessly begging for more.