“You speak nonsense,” I groan, exasperated, wondering what new human female madness she’s conjuring.
“No, I don’t,” Sandra retorts, her tone sharp and insistent. “You were nice at first until I put these clothes on. Then you changed.” She tugs on her leather tunic for emphasis. “Well, if this is what makes you hate me, I’ll take the stupid things off!” She threatens, moving to pull off her clothes.
I move like crimson lightning, stopping her easily. She struggles with what feeble strength she has—like a soft breeze against an erupting volcano. Her actions are annoying, but it’s somewhat amusing to watch her tunic now twisted up over her head, blinding her.
“Stop this foolishness,” I command, as she wiggles like a blind wyrm, trapped by her own stupidity.
“No!” Sandra snaps, her voice muffled beneath the fabric as she wrestles against me. I effortlessly tug down her tunic, covering her exposed stomach. What kind of punishment does she imagine she’s delivering by revealing herself?
A clever human tactic, turning an attacker’s weapon against them?
She still bristles, her blue eyes narrowed, her body shaking. “I’ll keep doing it until you stop hating me!” The stubborn female struggles to remove her clothes again.
I grimace, clutching her arms, holding her close to my body, preventing her from moving. Sandra’s eyes meet mine, but instead of anger or fear, they sparkle with a peculiar intensity—something foreign that confuses me. I find myself staring at her lips, watching as her little pink tongue darts out to wet them. The gesture is oddly... alluring.
She’s so soft, so unlike anything I’ve ever encountered, and as her body presses against mine, her meager warmth begins to seep into me. She looks up at me with wide, expectant eyes, as if waiting for something.
What does she want from me? Some token of reassurance, a gesture of trust?
I’d push her away. The female’s bizarre actions unsettle me, filling me with more loathsome uncertainty. But instead, I breathe deeply, forcing myself to try the meek approach. Maybe a demonstration of trust will ease her irrational mind and prevent this human madness from spiraling further.
“I will release you from your cell,” I declare, stepping away from the tiny Sandra, noticing her pale face is flushed with color. Although I’ll need to keep a close eye on the spittinghydralithCarmen—perhaps have one of the warriors assigned to watch her. “All of you. Once I’ve arranged your quarters.”
“Really?” Sandra’s voice trembles with excitement. Then her face lights up with joy. “Class!” she exclaims, giving me a modicum of relief to see her happiness and that she’s no longer threatening to expose herself. Seems the humans respond well to a softer approach, though it’s cost me a more secure position.
I beckon for Sandra to follow and she moves with a smiling skip, which amuses me, though I don’t let it show. When we arrive at the female’s cell, the others are watching us—curious, wary. Their eyes linger on Sandra, likely assuming I’ve harmed her.
“Thanks, Dracoth,” Sandra rushes to give me a quick embrace, catching me unawares while I was tampering with my wrist console.
Gasps ripple through the darkened cell.
“See, Princesa. I told you,” Carmen says, a hint of satisfaction in her tone. I dismiss the words as useless noise. Only the Gods and the insane can decipher these females when they converse among themselves.
The bars come crashing down at my command. Sandra steps through, while the others remain in their places, watching like arrohawks. I send the cell bars thudding upwards, sealing them inside—for now.
As I turn to leave, my warrior instincts prick my senses. My skin tingles, and I can feel the weight of a gaze boring into me. Glancing back, I see it’s Carmen. Her dark eyes are narrowed with a look I’m sure I’ve held before.
A promise of violence.
Chapter 17
Alexandra
Cleanse
Istandinthesparselyfurnished quarters—my quarters—with joyous disbelief. The large room still has the same awful black walls and purple lights that curse this entire ship’s ambience with a tacky nightclub vibe. Then there’s the bizarre, oversized wooden furniture that looks birthed from a tree that instead decided to be a chair, a bed, a desk.
It’s light-years away from my usual five-star retreats—literally! The only ‘room service’ I’ll get here is Dracoth yelling at me to speak less.The giant, rude prick.
A squeal of excitement escapes me as I rush over to the massive bed, hopping over its stupidly high frame. I land not on a proper mattress, but on layers upon layers of soft furs. Bliss!I roll and wave my arms through the fabric, melting into the softness; it is like a balm for my soul.
Ah, no more cold metal floors, no more spit dodging, no more forced conversations, no more feeling like an exhibit at a red-light district. God, I can actually use a bathroom in private again! Maybe all those poor people were right after all—it’s the small things in life that count.
I wrinkle my face, thinking more deeply about it. No, that’s hobo logic. Being wealthy is everything. Oh, how I miss my parties and getaways... even my quiet afternoons in Distro Bistro with those perfectly glazed cinnamon swirls.
My stomach rumbles in protest, as if I need a reminder! All I’ve eaten here are those horrible jelly sticks... like chewing through an old pair of boots. My anger flares, threatening to consume my brief moment of joy. I bet that pervy bore is eating space lobsters and drinking giant, red, alien wine, while he feeds us flavored rubber!
Relax, Lexie—one battle at a time. We’re moving in the right direction.I take a deep breath, determined to remain strong.
