Why the hell am I like this? Why do I keep letting losers bait me into trouble?
“She didn’t mean it—” Sandra starts to plead.
Dracoth silences her with a raised hand. “Ignixis is an Elder, and you will show him respect,” he commands, his crimson eyes glowing in the dim room, sending an icy shiver down my spine.
“I... I’m sorry,” I manage, trying to flinch away, but Dracoth’s iron grip on my chain keeps me awkwardly stretched over the table.
I search his face for any hint of mercy and find none. There’s no softness in his hard, stern features—not for me, maybe notever. He snatches my plate of fish and slides it toward Demon Egg-Head.
“It’s Ignixis you dishonor,” he growls before finally letting go of my chain, which sends me crashing back into my chair with a grunt.
Great. Now I have to grovel to the creepy Demon Egg-Head! Why, oh why, do I keep doing this to myself? I rub the back of my neck and clear my throat, turning reluctantly to Ignixis.
“Listen, Demon...”Damn it!“Um, I mean, Ignixis. I was just frustrated and lashed out—I’m sorry.”
I bow my head slightly, more out of embarrassment for my lack of control than genuine regret.
Ignixis titters, his glowing eyes and sharp teeth barely visible under his hood. “It’s quite alright, plump one,” he says, pushing my plate back to me. “I know how important food is to you...”
His grin widens, that sharp-toothed smirk igniting my rage all over again.This smug prick!My chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, every instinct screaming at me to lash out, to let my anger spill forth once again. But I force myself to look away, placing my hands in my lap.
“Shecanlearn!” Ignixis declares with a snicker, turning to Dracoth. “See, young Dracoth, there may be hope for you yet.”
“I hope to eat in peace,” Dracoth groans, suddenly extending his giant claws.
My heart leaps in my chest as he reaches over, grabs Sandra’s plate, and casually slices her fish into perfect chunks before handing it back to her.
“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Sandra beams up at Dracoth like he just bought her a new car. “Thank you,” she adds, popping a piece of fish into her mouth.
Of course. Typical. I’m getting dragged across the coals, and she’s getting her food cut up for her like a pampered princess. My blood boils. The unfairness of it all! Why does this cursefollow me everywhere? My jaw clenches, and my hands tighten around the spoon.
I am the toilet.
No. I won’t let this get to me. I’m going to stay calm, rise above it with dignity... if I can manage it.
“Hmm, this is the nicest fish I’ve ever had!” Sandra declares, practically inhaling her food.
Oh, how delightful! I’m absolutely thrilled for her! Meanwhile, I’m stuck here with a rapidly cooling heap of fish and nothing but a giant spoon to eat it with. I don’t even want it anymore. The mere sight of it is soured by bad memories, and the smell makes my face wrinkle with disgust. I shove it aside and reach for one of the massive jugs instead.
“Your intimidation of the guards was impressive, young Dracoth,” Ignixis chimes in, apparently enjoying the sound of his own creepy voice. “But you cannot rely on fear alone...” He adds, while I struggle to ignore him, gripping my heavy tankard with both hands.
Dracoth pauses his annoyingly noisy, savage eating to reply. “Fear is but the beginning,” he sighs, but because he’s being a titanic bore, it sounds like an elephant snoring.
I glance down at the thick black liquid in my tankard and grimace; it looks like engine oil. What did he call this stuff? Dark Matter Stout? I give it a swirl, and the oily surface is so viscous it barely moves.
More like Dark Tar Stout!
“Oh, yes. Violence and death the culmination?” Ignixis scoffs, continuing to be irritating from beside me. “Tell me, what would you have done if their hearts were stronger? If they had the fire of Arawnoth in their bellies?”
This drink might set my belly on fire, judging by the powerful, pungent scent of alcohol that’s puckering my face like a sour lemon.I must be crazy drinking this!But how often does oneget the chance to be abducted and sample alien booze? Almost never!
“You ask what if the znat becomes a venefex?” Dracoth grumbles like a bored rockslide, returning to noisily devouring his meal.
What the hell are these two bores gibbering about?
“What if the znat was always a venefex?” Ignixis presses on.
“What are... znats and venefexes?” Sandra interjects, glancing between the two Clown-dathians with eager curiosity—soon quashed by Dracoth’s raised hand for silence.
