“That was it! Thank you, plump female.” His tattooed face turns toward me, and I feel the icy hand of terror clutching my chest. “You’ve lost weight since we last spoke.” He glances at Dracoth, while my mouth fumbles for words that do not come. Because of outrage or fear, I’m not sure. “Haven’t you been feeding this one?” he asks, gesturing at me with a dismissive wave, like I’m an exhibit in a space zoo.
Dracoth’s deep crimson eyes flick to mine for an instant. His expression is maddeningly neutral, making his thoughts unreadable. He gives nothing away beyond that permanent scowl, like someone keeps pissing in his morning mocha.
“She’s in fine health,” he growls, and I scrunch my face, wondering if that might be the closest thing to a compliment I’ll ever get from him.
“Yes, well, if by ‘fine health’ you mean ready for the slaughter, I’d agree,” Demon Egg-Head scoffs, turning his disapproving gaze in my direction.
Outrage flares, burning through my icy terror. “Listen, you creepy old weirdo, why don’t you take your stupid fucking comments no one asked for and piss off?” I spit, shaking with rage. I swear he’s just like all those online trolls, making fun of my weight but still always looking.
Sandra stiffens beside me, but I don’t care. I won’t let him speak to me like that!
“How discourteous.” The old creep feigns offense, his lips curling into a smirk that only makes my blood boil more.
The cell bars crash down with a deafening clang. Dracoth steps inside with an ominous jingle following in his wake—one of metal, the other of bone.
“Put these on,” he orders, tossing two black metal collars onto the cold prison floor with a loud, echoing clatter.
“No fucking way,” I blurt, fuming.
“No, Dracoth...” Sandra whimpers at the same time, glancing between the collar and the red titan. “Please, we’ve done nothing wrong!”
Dracoth steps toward Sandra, making our large cell feel suddenly claustrophobic.
She shakes her head, while I lean in to whisper, “Let me take the heat, okay?” I try to sound reassuring despite my anger igniting beneath the surface. I probably can’t sway the stubborn giant bore, but better he sees me as the troublemaker and not her.
“Really, Dracoth? A collar? Are we dogs now? Going to take us out for a little spacewalk?” I challenge, glaring up into his molten eyes, suddenly overcome by how enormous he is.
“You will not escape again,” he growls, pointing toward the collar as his frown deepens, if that’s even possible.
Fuck, he’s terrifying!But I remind myself—he needs us. Last time, I was too broken to argue. Now it’s different.
“Listen, Dracoth. Sandra and I never tried to escape. If we had, we wouldn’t be here—we’d be on that ship with Carmen.”
“You,” he jabs a massive bratwurst finger at me, “knew of their plan yet did nothing,” his voice booms, shaking the dark cell walls. “And you,” he points to Sandra, “convinced me to open the cells. Complicit.” He proclaims our guilt like a judge passing sentence.
Sandra gasps, shaking her head frantically. Meanwhile, I struggle to suppress the doubt creeping into my mind, gnawing at my resolve. He’s hit close to the mark—my regret over not acting sooner.
“We had no idea what Carmen or Kazumi were planning!” I protest, gesturing wildly between us. “Sure, I knew Carmen wanted to escape, but how could I know she’d steal a fucking spaceship? I mean, seriously!” The words tumble out of me, but they seem to bounce off the impenetrable redbrick wall that is Dracoth.
“I think the female raises a valid point, young Dracoth,” Demon Egg-Head interjects, surprising everyone—me most of all. “And those chains...” he glances at the heavy black metal, “will draw unwanted attention.”
“Silence!” Dracoth roars, like a red dragon about to bathe us all in liquid fire.
I squeal, almost leaping out of my skin at the sudden, terrifying noise.
“Put it on. NOW!” he demands, his eyes blazing like rubies in the dark with his fangs bared in a menacing snarl.
“I... I mean... I’ll...” I stammer, scrambling for the words, for anything, as my mind whirls in a stunned panic. My hands reach for the collar, but my fingers are trembling so badly it slips right through them.
“Butter... fingers...” I mutter, my voice barely more than a squeak.
“Butter?” Demon Egg-Head echoes with a snicker. “See, young Dracoth? She’s so starved her first thought is food!”
“I tire of this,” Dracoth sighs, snatching the collar—my collar—from the ground in a flash. “This feigned fragility reeks of dishonor.”
But I’m not feigning anything.
I feel his immensity radiating close as he lifts my chin with his huge fingers. Our eyes lock. His gaze is so intense, so unyielding, it makes me gasp. I try to convey sincerity, silently pleading for understanding.
