Chapter 4
GILLIAN
This is not the alien I was expecting.
Huge, yes. One hundred percent not human, yes. Terrifying fangs, yes. Cheekbones you could cut yourself on…full lips set in a handsome face scattered with scales…long, dark hair with the occasional grey streak flowing like satin over his shoulders…no. Not expected. Not at all.
He, because this is most definitely a male, is vast. Minimum seven feet, but more likely seven and a half feet tall. He’s broad too. That I can tell by how much chest is on display. He clearly isn’t one for clothing on his upper body, given the acres of abs.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch something moving…and this is what causes me to take a step back.
He has a tail.
A long crocodile tail, spines running the full length, spines which seem to run, as far as I can tell, up onto his back as well. He is, perhaps fortunately, wearing a pair of leather pants and a set of stout boots.
But he has a tail.
I think I might make a squeaking sound before I turn to the two women behind me and finally, finally, my voice returns.
“Run!” I hear myself scream.
My legs begin to respond to my brain and pounding heart.
“Run!” I’m scrambling to get away, to get to them, to make them move.
“Don’t worry,” the slimmer one says. “It’s only Dalox.”
I’m just about to reach them when I’m yanked backwards, the blanket going tight and then slack as I tumble over…but I don’t hit the ground.
Instead he catches me. For a moment I flail my arms until I realize the blanket is no longer attached…anywhere.
“Here you go, little spark,” the huge alien…Dalox…says, handing me my blanket as I’m cradled in his arm. “I believe humans like to wear clothing.”
I half expect him to be looking at the other women, but he is not. He is staring intently at me.
At very naked me.
I snatch the fabric from him and cover myself as best I can.
“What do you know about humans? Been abducting them a long time, have you?” I growl at him.
Dalox bares his fangs. Briefly, it’s like looking a T-Rex in the mouth.
“Little female, I do not have to abduct any females,” he says, his voice a mix of syrup and gravel. “I am Sarkarnii.”
“It’s true,” one of the women says. “We were abducted, but not by the Sarkarnii. They gave us a home and protection.”
I glare at Dalox, not daring to take my eyes from him.
“You could be being made to say that.”
“Fuck’s sake. I’m pregnant by a Sarkarnii,” the pregnant one says. “He’s my partner…my mate.” She sounds English. In fact she sounds like she comes from London.
“You’re friends with them?”
“No, mate means…” The skinny one sounds exasperated. “I mean…I’m Lydia, this is Rosalie. There are three other humans here too. We’ve all been here for some time, and honestly, we’re not being made to say or do anything.”
I take my eyes away from Dalox to look back at the two women, the skinny one identifying herself as Lydia, meaning the other is Rosalie.
To be fair, neither looks like they’re being coerced into anything.
“Gillian,” I grumble. “My name is Gillian Swalwell. And how come I can understand aliens now?”
“That’ll be the nano translators.” Rosalie says tapping a spot behind her ear, in the same place I was jabbed by the machine. “Why don’t you come meet the others, Gillian? Perhaps we can convince you this isn’t as bad as it seems.”
“No,” Dalox growls, deep and dark. “She does not leave.”
“I’ll choose where I go and what I do.” I turn to him. “Not you.”
He cocks his head on one side, his burning eyes studying me once again with great curiosity, almost as if he’s managing to see right through the blanket I’m just about wearing.
“You are correct,” he says, and I smile smugly. “But also, this planet, these ships, and these warriors all belong to me. If you wish to go anywhere, you will require my permission.”
I risk a glance at the other two women. Lydia shrugs.
“Is this true?”
“That it all belongs to Dalox? Sort of. This part is a sort of neutral bit,” Rosalie says. “But we’re close to Dalox’s sector, and that belongs to him.”
“And the planet.”
Lydia and Rosalie look at each other. “Dalox is the fleet admiral,” Rosalie says to Lydia. “I guess any parts which are not the other warlords’ sectors do belong to him.”
“Wait…” I swing my gaze between the two women. “Did you say warlord?”
“Sarkarnii warlord,” Dalox growls. He honest to goodness growls the words. “I am the warlords’ warlord, and my word is law.”
Lydia shrugs again, and Rosalie toes the floor while rubbing her hand over her stomach.
“We’ve generally found it’s easier to run with it than against it,” Rosalie says. “And they’re nice when you get to know them.”
“You mean don’t argue?”
“Generally it’s easier if you don’t,” Lydia says. “Mostly because…” Her eyes widen, and both she and Rosalie flatten themselves against the wall behind them.
“Because what?”
“Because they turn into dragons…and that usually wins the argument.”
“Turn into dragons? Don’t be silly.” I shake my head and look over my shoulder.
Above me rises a huge scaled being, smoke curling from great nostrils, lips curled back from a vast set of teeth, wings unfurling and tail snaking down the passage back the way I came.
A massive set of claws clacks against the metal floor next to me. Curved, sharp, and as dark as obsidian.
“Holy shit, it’s a dragon,” I whisper.
“Lord Dalox of Vorostor,” the dragon intones. “And you belong to me. If the other humans wish to visit, they can come to us.”
Before I can do or say anything, I’m scooped up into the very same claws and lifting up from the ground in slow, easy strokes. Dalox rises up into the still air of this enormous place, and I have no option but to go with him.