3
Carissa
I loathe myself for buckling under that horrible Drakon’s threats. The stupid bastard really got off on intimidating me. I could see it in his cruel and sadistic eyes. Why some beings in the verse enjoy the pain and suffering of others is one of life’s great mysteries.
Sure, fighting them the way I did was probably a bad idea. I was in a full-blown panic at the time. Who wouldn’t be? The Drakon are over eight-feet tall and even their muscles have muscles. They might be exotic with those gigantic wings and long tails with the little bobble on the end, but they don’t play around when it comes to slaves not following their directions. They’re an interesting lot, with skin ranging in dark muted colors, some having more prominent scales than others and the way their tails whip around when they’re angry. They look nearly human in the face, except for the sharp teeth. Under different circumstances, I might even find them appealing. As it stands, their arrogance is getting in the way of me warming up to them.
Their pompous, preening leader is taller and more muscle bound than all the rest. If I were going to warm up to one of them, he’d be the last on a very long list. The guy clearly has some issues. Not the least of which is his long stringy hair, red scales and cheap, overly intricate clothing.
Though the ignoble brute claimed to be from a prominent family, he sure didn’t look or act like it. I’ve been around arrogant rich fools all my life. They all dress in a certain fastidious fashion, speak in moderated tones and never put their hands on a slave. He doesn’t resemble any nobles I’ve ever known. In fact, the scaled mercenary doesn’t even come close to fitting in with polite society on any world spinning. He gives off a shifty vibe, and it’s enough to be off putting. If that weren’t enough, his propensity towards dramatic displays of pseudo-aggression makes him one nasty character. Granted he didn’t hit me hard and for that I’m thankful. He was clearly posturing for his crew. I can’t blame him. No captain who wants to hang onto his position can afford to be seen as weak.
My breath catches in my throat as I remember our tense exchange. I’ve heard the Drakon have something called the breath of the dragon, but I never paid enough attention to figure out what everyone was going on about. I had always thought it was bad breath or something like that. However, his hot breath on my chest provoked a spike of pure lust more powerful than anything I’ve ever known. The old-timers told stories of how some males emit pheromones that have an intoxicating effect on their females, rendering them more likely to succumb to their mating instincts. It is nature’s way of keeping the species from going extinct. Since I’m not remotely attracted to the big masculine warrior, it had to have been pheromones.
Let’s just stay the hell away from that shit, Carissa. My no-nonsense self-talk serves to solidify my resolve. Still, I haven’t felt so alive before. It’s a shame it had to happen with Mister Crazypants, the one man I’ve deemed to be seriously off limits. Mating with such a crass bully could get a girl injured or dead. I shove aside the way his broad shoulders looked looming over me as well as those dark brooding eyes. It doesn’t matter that he would probably be hot as hell all scrubbed up, he’s not emotionally capable of caring for anyone but himself. Still images of him clean, naked and tied to a bed rise unbidden to my mind. Chewing my bottom lip, I think of all the sexy punishments I’d give him for being such an ass. That little voice in the back of my head charges forward. Jesus, just stop it already. Don’t start fantasizing about the dragon dude.
Wrapping my arms around my knees, I curl into a tight ball on the weirdly shaped cot. It’s a semi-circle and built for a much larger person. The design is made for the comfort of a Drakon, enabling them to turn either way and get comfortable without their wings getting squished. Since anywhere I lay my legs hang off, I pull my knees up into the fetal position and contemplate my situation.
The cell is located in the darkest hole this monstrous ship has to offer, but there has to be a way out. Turning the situation over in my mind, I murmur quietly, “It’s time to pull out all the stops. You’ve come too far to give up now.”
Breaking out of this cell doesn’t mean much if I can’t avoid recapture. Every vessel this size has escape-pods for use in the event of a disaster. They’re short range and difficult to maneuver, but surprisingly well supplied. This ship would track me down in a heartbeat and I’d be back in their clutches within minutes.
The ship will also have a detachment of fighters, which are fast and well-armed. They are extremely maneuverable and can cover long distances since many were designed to be scout vehicles. Unfortunately, they’re valuable and would be quickly missed.
That leaves the mini-freighters normally used to ferry supplies from trade ships and nearby planets. They can travel large distances, are usually well supplied and they are not very well controlled. Though they aren’t as fast as fighters, they do have the advantage of coming and going relatively unnoticed. No one pays much attention to what they’re doing because they make frequent trips and are rarely carrying much of real value. Who’s going to notice a freighter carrying a modest load of foodstuffs or common equipment? If I get the chance to escape, freighters seem like the way to go.
As far as getting out of this cell goes, my options have
