Hunted by the Dragon Alien (Zarux Dragon Brides #3)

Chapter 19

NINETEEN

Takkian

Takkian clenched his jaw as he observed the console and the intricate display of the fold mechanism. His eyes narrowed as he summed up the calculations and watched Bruil maneuver the controls. The ship grew louder around them, vibrating through the cabin with an unsettling intensity.

“How long will this take?” Takkian’s gaze was fixed on the display. He glanced at Bruil, who, though grimly determined, had taut lines of tension etching his features.

Bruil grunted. His fingers entered a swift sequence on the console. “A few moments—if all goes as it should. The folding process is nearly instantaneous, but prep and recovery are critical. It’ll feel like the world’s gone sideways, though. Prepare yourselves.”

Takkian clenched his hands, his knuckles turning white from the grip. He turned to look at Sevas, who was already fastened in one of the seats in the main cabin. Her eyes were tight with nervous anticipation. “Are you ready?”

Sevas nodded resolutely. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Takkian offered a slight, reassuring smile and attempted to relax the knot in his stomach. The fear of the unknown threatened to rattle his composure. This was utterly new to him, but the resolve in Sevas’ expression soothed him. He fastened himself into the seat beside her.

Bruil turned back and looked at them. There was a subtle quirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was an unusual expression of optimism from the typically gruff Zaruxian. “Brace yourselves,” he instructed. “This is it.”

With a final, decisive stroke across the console, Bruil initiated the fold . The ship’s lights dimmed. The thrusters went silent. The hum turned to a roar that rippled through the metal walls. It felt as if the very fabric of space itself was being pulled apart.

The view through the front viewport wasn’t good for those sitting in the main cabin, but he could see enough. Space outside twisted into a kaleidoscope of fractals and streaks of light. Colors he couldn’t even name danced and bent as though the galaxy itself had liquefied, spilling into impossible patterns. His stomach dropped, and for a fleeting moment, he felt disoriented and untethered, like the ship and everything in it had been shaken loose from reality.

Sevas gripped her armrests. Her knuckles turned white, but she didn’t make a sound. Takkian reached over and rested a hand on hers, giving it a firm squeeze.

Her red eyes snapped to his. “This is normal, right?” she asked, her voice louder than usual to carry over the deafening hum.

“I sure as fek hope so,” Takkian replied, his voice as steady as he could make it. The ship jolted hard, and his claws instinctively extended, gripping the seat for balance.

“You feel that?” Bruil shouted back over the noise. “That’s the ship ripping a hole in space-time. Means it’s working.”

“Comforting,” Takkian muttered under his breath. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt. It wasn’t pain, but it wasn’t pleasant either. His body felt stretched in a thousand directions at once, not too unlike the way it felt changing into his dragon form.

Sevas inhaled sharply as the ship lurched forward, then backward, then…nothing. Dead silence replaced the chaos. The kaleidoscope of light outside snapped into stillness. Stars dotted the inky black of space once again, perfectly serene, as if the universe had decided to pretend nothing had happened.

Bruil exhaled loudly, leaned back, and swiped a hand over his face. “ Fold complete. We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.” He turned in his chair to face them. “Looks like I’m still a decent pilot.”

“We’ll congratulate you later,” Takkian said, his eyes scanning the viewport for any signs of trouble. “Are the systems stable?”

Bruil looked back at the console. “Thrusters and shields have minimal power while the cells recharge, as expected. Basic functions are fine. Looks like we’re good for now.”

Takkian unfastened his harness and floated to the front of the ship, shaking off the lingering unease from the fold . The cabin lights returned to their normal soft glow. He glanced at the forward viewport. His gaze landed on a structure that stood out against the black void.

“That it?” he asked, nodding toward the unique outline.

Bruil leaned forward, adjusting the controls to zoom the display. What they were looking at resolved into a complex of interconnected structures and platforms. It was messy—patchwork plating, mismatched colors, and a web of docking bays that seemed held together by sheer will. Lights blinked sporadically along its perimeter.

“That’s the outpost,” Bruil confirmed. His voice carried a hint of relief. “Messy, but functional. Typical for a neutral zone.”

Sevas unclipped her harness and moved to hover near Takkian. “It’s not much, but it’s our next step,” she murmured.

Takkian placed a hand on her lower back, feeling the familiar curve of her spine. “We’ll get answers there,” he said, though the gnawing unease of the ship’s still-recharging systems lingered in his gut. “Bruil, any sign of Axis patrols?”

Bruil glanced at his readouts. “Nothing on standard scans,” he said. “Outposts like this probably have some shielding to keep them off their radar. There’s no way to know, exactly.”

Takkian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Let’s hope for the best. Open a channel to their control station.”

Bruil nodded and sent a transmission. A crackle of static filled the cabin before a metallic-sounding voice came through. “Unidentified vessel, you are approaching the neutral outpost Nebla-5. State your purpose and submit your docking request.”

Takkian exchanged a look with Bruil, then nodded. Bruil leaned into the transmitter. “This is freelance vessel Starwave-1409, requesting permission to dock. We’re here to meet contacts at the station. No hostile intent.”

The silence that followed stretched uncomfortably long. Takkian’s fingers tapped absently on his forearm as he kept his eyes pinned on the viewport, scanning for any activity that might signal trouble. Just as he considered suggesting a different approach, the static cleared and the metallic voice returned.

“Freelance vessel Starwave-1409, your request is acknowledged. Proceed to dock 17 on platform C. Follow the marked approach path. Compliance with station protocols is mandatory. Any deviation will result in immediate removal.”

“Friendly bunch,” Sevas muttered under her breath.

Bruil adjusted the ship’s trajectory to align with the designated path. “Standard neutral zone protocol. They don’t trust anyone—especially newcomers.”

The ship glided toward the outpost, weaving through a patchwork of freighters, smaller ships, and what looked like a gutted transport vessel turned into a massive storage unit. Each ship was tethered to the outpost by thick docking wires, looking more like debris caught in an ill-fated tractor beam than a functioning station.

Takkian’s gaze swept over the structure. Despite its haphazard design, there was order behind its chaotic exterior. Defense turrets were concealed along its perimeter. Plasma shields pulsed faintly, forming a nearly invisible barrier around the docking platforms. They wouldn’t hold against a full Axis assault, but they were enough to deter casual raiders.

“This place has seen some action,” he observed.

“Neutral zones like this always do. They’re built to survive, not to impress.” Bruil’s voice carried the weight of experience. “That patched-up transport over there? Probably raided three times before they bolted it to the station. Cheaper to reinforce the scrap than to keep rebuilding.”

As the ship descended closer to platform C, Takkian leaned closer to the viewport. He examined the figures moving along the docking arms below. They ranged from polished officers in envirosuits to weathered workers in crude patchwork gear. Some gestured animatedly, likely haggling over cargo, while others moved with the quiet efficiency of seasoned spacers.

“A lot is happening down there,” Sevas remarked, her tone soft but analytical. Her red eyes flicked from figure to figure. “Looks chaotic, but organized enough. Everyone knows their place.”

Takkian nodded, appreciating her keen observation. “We just need to find our people's ship, or if it left, where it was headed.” His gaze lingered on a pair of heavily armed guards stationed near the docking platform. “Without drawing suspicion.”

Bruil guided the ship closer with a deft touch on the controls. The docking markers lit up, pulsing gently as the automated guidance system took over. The clamps on their assigned dock locked onto the ship with a metallic clang. His feet hit the floor as gravity returned. For a moment, he felt impossibly heavy, but then his instincts and muscles remembered what to do and he rolled his shoulders.

“Docking complete,” Bruil announced, pushing back from the console. He turned to face Takkian and Sevas. “This is where things get tricky. Neutral zone or not, we can’t assume everyone here will leave us alone. Keep your guard up.”

Takkian glanced at the viewport again. The hangar bustled with activity, but something about the place put him on edge. Maybe it was the guards or the constant movement of cargo being loaded and unloaded. Or maybe he was just so used to the arena that anything different made him jumpy. His claws flexed briefly before retracting. “We’re here to find Sevas’ friends and any information about the Zaruxians. We stay focused, get what we need, and get out.”

Sevas secured her slingshot to her hip. “We’re not going unarmed.”

“ Fek , no,” Bruil muttered, rising from his seat. He adjusted the straps on his battered leather armor and threw a pointed glance at Takkian. “You found some weapons from storage. Wear them prominently. Stick close. We can’t afford to be separated.”

Sevas stuck with her slingshot, and Bruil slid two blades into his armor. Takkian took one blade and tucked the blaster in his belt as they moved toward the hatch. His wings shifted as though ready to unfurl at the first sign of trouble. Sevas stepped in behind him and Bruil followed. His sharp yellow eyes moved to the console one last time before stepping out of the ship.

They emerged into the bustling hangar. The first thing Takkian noticed was the sheer size of the operation. Ships of all shapes and sizes were docked along various platforms, their hulls a patchwork of scorch marks and hastily applied repairs. Workers, guards, and traders bustled about. It might have looked disorganized at first, but it was clear there was an underlying order here. The faint tang of fuel and metal filled the air, mingled with the hum and screech of machinery and the murmur of voices. It was, initially, an overload to his senses. He’d become so attuned to the sounds and smells of the arena that these foreign ones made him unsure what to focus on. Sevas and Bruil followed closely behind. Bruil looked grim, but Sevas was working hard to contain her own awe. She had gone from a farming community to the arena, to this . Her head had to be reeling.

“Stay close,” he muttered, scanning for anything out of place. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Something about the atmosphere felt…off. Too many eyes lingered on them for just a tick too long, and the guards stationed along the perimeter watched with an intensity that set his teeth on edge.

Bruil moved to his right. His scarred face set in a look of practiced boredom. “Feels like we just walked into a den of feral kirth beasts,” he said under his breath. “Everyone’s watching, and I don’t think it’s because they like our faces.”

“We’re new. Outsiders,” Sevas said, though her hand hovered near the slingshot at her hip. “It’s normal for people to size us up.”

Bruil snorted. “Yeah, but some of them aren’t just looking. They’re calculating.” He nodded subtly toward a group of dockhands near a cargo transport. Their conversation stilled as the trio passed, their eyes sharp and assessing.

As they crossed the hangar and entered the main central space, Takkian felt the unease settle deeper in his chest. Here in the enormous atrium, the ceiling was high and arched, and merchants clotted together with customers and other beings, working deals or haggling prices. Takkian’s instincts screamed at him to turn back, to shield Sevas and Bruil from whatever lurked in the shadows of this chaotic hub. But retreat wasn’t an option—not with the chance to find his people and Sevas’ friends so close.

“Where do we start?” Sevas asked quietly. Her eyes scanned the bustling activity around them. She kept her posture relaxed, but Takkian saw the way her fingers stayed close to her slingshot, ready to draw if necessary.

Bruil jerked his chin toward a cluster of kiosks nestled against the far wall. Their stalls displayed a mix of worn signage and holographic projections advertising repairs, fuel resupplies, and trade goods. “We try the information brokers first. Neutral zones thrive on gossip as much as trade. Someone here knows something.”

They moved in unison, wading through the sea of beings crisscrossing the atrium. Takkian didn’t miss the way some of them looked away when his gaze swept over them. A group near the edge of the atrium caught his attention: a trio of stocky aliens with leathery skin and ridged spines, all sharpening blades that glinted ominously in the flickering light. One of them kept his slitted gaze pinned on Sevas.

Takkian’s throat went hot with dragon fire. “We’re drawing too much attention,” he muttered, scanning the route ahead. “Bruil, lead the way. I’ll monitor our backs.”

Bruil grumbled something under his breath but took point. His hulking frame cut a straightforward path through the crowd. The information kiosks came into view, each manned by traders, brokers, and a smattering of what Takkian could only describe as opportunists. The air here was heavier, tinged with the sharp tang of overheated circuitry and the faint hiss of whispered deals.

The bustling noise faded the moment he saw them—Axis agents. A squad of six, dressed in dark armor that glinted ominously under the harsh hangar lighting. They moved with calculated purpose. Their movements were military: precise, deliberate, and unsettling.

The lead agent held a device in one hand, a sleek, blinking thing easy to overlook in the outpost’s chaos. But Takkian recognized what it was by how the agent used it. They were following a signal, weaving through the crowd with unsettling efficiency, armor brushing past merchants and workers as though they weren’t even there. It was a tracking device.

Takkian’s gut dropped. He remembered that their escape plans were found out at the arena, how his early memories had been erased, and his theory that both of those were because of something the Axis had put inside of him . He scooped Sevas’ wrist with one hand and signaled Bruil with the other. “We’ve got a problem,” he muttered, keeping his voice low but urgent.

Bruil caught the motion and followed Takkian’s gaze. His shoulders stiffened. “ Fek ,” he growled. “They’re scanning.”

“Following something,” Sevas whispered, her voice tight. She glanced up at Takkian. “What are they tracking?”

His lips thinned as he pulled the group closer together. “Me,” he spat under his breath. “I’m within range of their devices.”

Sevas froze for a split second, then her grip tightened on his arm. “Inside you?” Her voice was a whisper, but the urgency in it cut through him like a blade.

Takkian nodded, keeping his movements casual as he glanced at the squad again. They were closing in. Their boots thudded with an unnerving rhythm against the metal floor. The lead agent’s eyes flicked to the tracker, then forward, scanning the crowd with sharp precision. They were too close.

Takkian’s mind raced. His claws flexed and his hand closed around the weapon on his belt. The Axis agents were cutting through the crowd, and he imagined he could feel the pull of the tracker like an invisible tether tightening around his chest. He had to act fast.

“Listen to me,” Takkian said, low and urgent. He pulled Sevas closer, his grip firm on her wrist. “They’re tracking me. They won’t stop until they find us.”

Bruil’s gaze darted between the agents and Takkian. His jaw tightened, his expression grim. “We’re all in their path now,” he growled softly. “What’s the plan?”

Takkian’s wings twitched with tension as his mind worked quickly. “You and Sevas, blend in and stay out of sight. I’ll lead them away.”

Sevas’ crimson eyes snapped to his, wide with alarm. “What? No, Takkian. You can’t take them on alone.”

“It’s not about fighting them.” Takkian gripped her shoulders. “If they’re tracking me, they won’t stop until they have me. But they won’t be looking for you if I lead them off.”

Sevas shook her head, her defiance clear even through her fear. “I won’t leave. We stick together, Takkian. We always stick together.”

Bruil stepped in. His sharp yellow eyes flicked to the agents, who were now less than thirty paces away. “Sevas, he’s right.” Bruil’s voice was gruff, but urgent. “If they catch us here, we’re done. We all stand a better chance this way.”

“But—” Sevas began.

Takkian’s claws gripped Sevas’ shoulders as he lowered his voice, willing her to understand. “Sevas, find the Zaruxians and your Terian friends. They might be our way out of this. If the other Zaruxians are anything like Bruil and me, they’ll know how to fight, how to survive. They can help us.”

Sevas’ lips trembled, her crimson eyes searching his gaze. The struggle within her was undeniable, but she nodded reluctantly. “You promised we’d stick together, Takkian, so you’d better not fekking die on me.”

“I won’t,” he said, brushing his hand lightly over her cheek. “Whatever it takes, I’ll find my way back to you.”

Bruil clasped Takkian’s shoulder briefly. “You take care of yourself, boy.”

Takkian gave a curt nod and gave his old friend the blaster weapon. “Keep both of you safe.” His gaze returned to Sevas for one last moment—memorizing the curve of her face, the determination in her dark crimson eyes, and the way her lips trembled before she sealed them into a tight line. “Go now,” he urged. “Hurry.”

With a small, reluctant step backward, Sevas turned and melted into the crowd with Bruil. Takkian allowed himself a quiet breath of relief as he watched them disappear into the sea of beings. Then, the knowledge of the tracker surged in his thoughts, sharp and demanding. The Axis agents were closing in.