Dragon's Capture Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Red Hot Preview: A Baby for the Alien Prince

  Dragon’s Capture

  Red Planet Dragons of Tajss Book Six

  Miranda Martin

  Grab Miranda Martin’s Newsletter and be the first to know about new releases, deals and general antics

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Red Hot Preview: A Baby for the Alien Prince

  Blurb

  A Commander never compromises.

  The beautiful, headstrong human female contests me at every turn. She is the leader of her people and they love and respect her. As do I, though neither of us admit it. I burn with the desire to claim her as my treasure.

  My people revere the Edicts above all else. Together we are stronger. I must make her see that in order for my people and hers to be one, for she and I to be one, she must eliminate the threat that could drive our entire world apart.

  Gershom. He has finally gone too far and I will not tolerate his continued presence.

  The humans who mate with the Zmaj have been exiled and the confrontation has come to a head. This female who tempts my Dragon will find out how possessive and dominant a Commander can be.

  Copyright © 2017 by Miranda Martin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  1

  Rosalind

  “What you’ve managed to accomplish is impressive, Visidion,” I say, a tight smile on my face.

  Visidion’s smile is swift, gone as fast as it comes.

  “It’s a start Lady Rosalind,” he says, waving his staff over the growing plants. “But it is not enough.”

  “No, it’s not,” I agree.

  “This is amazing! Transplanting these here couldn’t have been easy—how did you overcome the culture shock?” Calista asks, looking up at Visidion.

  Visidion shakes his head and looks over at Astrid. Calista follows his gaze.

  “Uh,” Astrid says, perplexed. “We just, you know, did it?”

  Calista smiles. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Please forgive her,” Jolie chimes in. “She thinks everyone is a botanist.”

  Calista flushes and shrugs.

  “So how often do you have to water?” Calista asks. “Illadon, no!”

  Illadon pulls everyone’s attention as he grabs up one of the small plants and shoves it in his mouth. He looks at his mother, grinning, with a long green stalk sticking out of his mouth.

  “Mama?” he asks, around the root, eyes wide and his tiny tail drooping behind him.

  “I’m so sorry,” Calista says, jumping to her feet to race over to Illadon.

  “It’s fine! That’s what we’re growing it for,” Penelope says.

  Illadon takes that for what it’s worth and barely seems to chew before he’s swallowing. He laughs as Calista sweeps him up into her arms with a grunt. I’m surprised she can still lift him—he’s growing fast and must be pushing sixty pounds now, even though he’s still a toddler. The human-zmaj babies are born big and grow fast. Illadon has been a toddler for a while, and now Rverre is doing her best to keep up with him. She giggles watching Illadon, and soon she’s following along behind him.

  The babies are almost always the center of attention. Everyone wants to know how they are, what they are doing, if they’ve done anything new. Stories of the babies are the meat and bread of the City. My interest in them is just as high but for much different reasons. They are our future. Neither of our races can survive on our own. We need each other.

  “No, no, no, Rverre,” Jolie says. “Just because Illadon got away with it doesn’t mean you will.”

  She intercepts Rverre as she tries to uproot a stalk too.

  “Perhaps we should go elsewhere?” I suggest.

  “Of course,” Visidion says, motioning towards the cliffs.

  The Tribe has done an impressive amount of work turning these broken cliffs and caverns into a home. The side of the cliff is dotted with homes built into the rock. They’ve put up a rock wall to separate their area off from the rest of the barren plains. I assume it helps keep the wandering creatures out as well though it’s not very tall, at least not yet. Maybe they plan to make it taller.

  A spasm rips through my thigh when I step forward. Damn it, not now. Gritting my teeth, I will the leg to hold. The spasm passes and no one seems to have noticed. Good. I can’t let them know, not yet. I wish Sarah was here with me, but I don’t want anyone to know she works directly for me. There wasn’t a good excuse to bring her along.

  Things are going to come to a head with Gershom soon. If I can only hold him off a bit longer it won’t matter if he takes control. I’ll have laid the future of our races. A little more time. It’s all I need.

  Visidion walks beside me. Ladon and Sverre stand off by themselves. Three members of the Tribe stand a few feet from them, arms crossed. They’re exchanging distrustful looks. Astarot walks out of the cavern and heads towards their group.

  “Ladon!” Astarot calls out, apparently unperturbed by the tension between the two groups.

  Good. I need Ladon to relax, and I hope that Astarot can accomplish that. Ladon uncrosses his arms and his tail stops slashing from side to side, which is all a step in the right direction.

  “I’m glad you came,” Visidion says. “Might I offer you refreshment?”

  “We brought our own. I do not wish to be a burden,” I say.

  “Nonsense, I will provide for you. What kind of host would I be if I did not?”

  Visidion’s eyes are a deep emerald. When he stares at me it feels as if he’s looking into my soul. There’s something about his eyes and the way he locks his gaze on a person. I’ve seen him do it to others as well. The person he is focusing on becomes the center of the universe, and they know it. Y
ou can’t help but feel it when interacting with him. It’s an impressive skill, but a skill nonetheless.

  “Thank you,” I say, accepting his offer.

  If only I could trust you. I push that thought aside and direct my attention to my surroundings. The Tribe has done amazing things in the short time they’ve been here. They’ve turned an empty cliff and cave into a home. Almost better than I’ve been able to accomplish with much longer in the City.

  Astarot stands between the three Tribe Zmaj and Ladon with Sverre, making an obvious attempt to bridge the two cultures. As we pass by them he catches my eye and smiles. I nod my appreciation, and he breaks the eye contact first.

  “Here,” Visidion says, motioning with his staff.

  A small table is laid out with snacks and clay vases of water. The table is a thin piece of metal that looks like salvage from one of the ships’ wreckage. Wooden sticks have been worked through it to form legs. Twine is wrapped around them below the metal sheet and above to lock the table in place. It’s an ingeniously simple design. The water vases hold most of my attention. They’re hand crafted, functional but pretty. Designs are etched into the clay to create diamond patterns on one and swirls on the other. Functional dining ware is an area where we sorely lack. No one in the city, including me, had thought to find and use clay.

  “How do you find the clay?” I ask, holding one of the vases up to inspect it closer.

  “Clay is plentiful if you dig around an oasis or risk going into the caves,” Visidion answers. “There is a skill to creating with it though.”

  “I’m sure there is,” I say, setting the vase down. “Well, our trip has been productive, thank you.”

  “Of course,” Visidion says, raising his glass before sipping.

  “Our futures are intertwined, we must continue to strengthen the bonds between our people,” I say.

  “We don’t need anyone,” a smaller Zmaj mutters as he walks by the table. He’s small by Zmaj standards but still towers over any human.

  Visidion looks down but doesn’t speak. His difficulties are not that different from mine, it would seem. This visit has shown, if nothing else, there is an underlying resentment among members of the Tribe, especially the Zmaj.

  Time. I just need time. Damn it, Gershom, give me enough! My hand starts to shake, so I set the cup down before it becomes noticeable. Maybe I should be cursing my body for more time, though the tremors and weakness have been less than they were before. Time is my enemy in more ways than one.

  “That is not true,” I answer, but I’m looking at Visidion when I speak, watching for his reaction.

  Visidion watches but now I’ve attracted more than just his attention. Good. They need to hear this. The small Zmaj who had muttered turns and glares as do other members of the Tribe, some more openly than others.

  “What can you possibly mean?” Delilah, I think her name is, says stepping forward.

  Delilah is a black woman of medium size. Though her height and build may be average, there is an imperial air in the sweep of her cheekbones and the way she carries herself. She thrusts her shoulders forward and tilts her head back, and there’s an angry flash in her eyes.

  “Together we are stronger,” I answer her.

  “Really? Were you not there when your people refused us entry into the City? After all the shit we went through, holding out a candle of hope, only to find out the light at the end of that tunnel was a damn lie?” she retorts, anger and sarcasm in every word.

  “There are two sides to every story,” I say.

  “Sure,” she says. “There always are, but what does it matter? We’re fine here. We’ve got everything we need. Hell, life here is better than it was at the wreckage before I was captured. I don’t need you. None of us here do.”

  The Zmaj close to her hisses his agreement. Squaring my shoulders I listen but her argument isn’t new. I’ve heard it from my own people. They don’t see the future because they’re only looking at the moment. Visidion steps forward.

  “This is not the time for such discussion,” he says, tapping his staff on the ground.

  “When is the time?” Delilah spits. “We welcome them in here like nothing happened? They turned us away!”

  A redheaded woman steps out of the crowd and places a hand on Delilah’s shoulder. She’s a bigger girl, and I notice there’s an unmistakable swell to her belly. I struggle to place her name. It’s right there on the tip of my tongue. I never had this problem before. As Lady General, the entire fleet was under my command, and there was not a name and face in the entire force I could not put together on sight. That was before. It was the first thing I noticed failing. That led me to the doctors on the ship.

  Olivia! That’s her name!

  “Delilah,” she says, “please.”

  “Please what?” Delilah says, becoming angrier.

  Tribe members move closer to the commotion. Ladon and Sverre appear behind me. Ladon’s anger is palpable, coming off him in waves. Sverre is more in control, but neither of them are contributing to defusing the situation.

  “This isn’t the time,” Olivia begs.

  “Then when is?” Delilah asks.

  This is getting out of control. The Tribe is gathering behind Delilah and my own people are behind me. There’s an empty space between us, a few feet, but it might as well be a galaxy. A gaping chasm of differences and hurt feelings.

  “The choice to leave was yours,” Ladon hisses over my shoulder.

  “You refuse the Edicts!” a Zmaj shouts, stepping into the open space between our groups, his wings spreading, tail straight out behind him, his arms wide inviting any threat.

  “Ragnar,” Visidion says, slamming his staff into the ground.

  The Zmaj who stepped forward stands down, his wings folding, tail lowering, and dropping his arms to his sides. He steps back but doesn’t break his gaze with Ladon. Visidion steps into the middle ground, and on instinct, I move to his side. The two of us turn a slow circle in a silent accord. Staring at each person, locking eyes one after another, we connect with everyone until our unity makes the tension in each face, in each body, seep away. For now.

  The crowd disperses leaving Visidion and me to face each other. Ladon storms off towards the wall where he’s been standing watch for most of our visit. Sverre quietly joins him. Delilah stands alone at the end staring at me but turns and leaves too.

  Visidion locks his stunning gaze with me, and that feeling of him looking into my soul returns. Despite it, the gulf between us is still wide. His worldview, shaped by the Edicts of the Tribe, are different. He shakes his head, smiling. The hooded cloak he wears, flapping in a light, hot breeze, pulls the fabric aside to further reveal his muscled chest. The red suns glint off his scales that have a soft blue tint to their edges. Something deep in my core tightens, stirring, interest rising. No, what am I thinking? It can never be.

  “I apologize,” Visidion says.

  “I understand, but we must find a way to bring our peoples together,” I say.

  “I’m not sure that is possible,” he says, sighing as he looks over my shoulder to where Ladon and Sverre stand. “We will not abandon the Edicts.”

  Chewing the inside of my lip, I nod my understanding.

  The Zmaj, the natives of this planet my humans have crashed on, are a dying race, but proud. The devastating war that destroyed the planet happened long ago, leaving only a handful of male survivors. I’ve seen evidence of a time when they were plentiful. That was before. Now most Zmaj can barely stand to be within a hundred feet of each other. The handful of them in the City struggle to control an instinctive need to dominate.

  The Tribe is different. So many Zmaj, living together, in peace, more or less. What they refer to as the Edicts is what makes it possible. Glancing over my shoulder at Ladon and Sverre, my stomach knots. Convincing Ladon of that is an entire project of its own.

  Then there is Gershom. The constant thorn in my side, vying, subtly, for control of the survivors. He’s
a snake in the grass and I know it. Many times I’ve considered handling him with finality—but he has followers. If I moved against him directly, it would only fuel them, leading to a civil war among the humans. Something we can’t afford. There aren’t enough of us.

  “How’s it going?” Calista asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  Illadon is on her hip, giggling as he pulls at her blouse. Jolie is just behind her with Rverre in her arms. The babies. That’s where our future lies. Certainty fills my heart looking at them. Just one of the secrets I cannot share with anyone. Apart, our races are doomed. Together is our future. Fate, gods, the hand of the universe, or sheer blind luck brought us to this point, but no matter how, this is where we are.

  “Momma,” Illadon gurgles, pulling Calista’s attention and bringing a smile to my face.

  He may overall be Zmaj with his scales, wings, and tail, but the human in his features is clear too. His tiny budding horns grow out of a thick head of hair, and his sharp blue eyes and nose are all Calista. Ladon walks over, takes his son in his arms, and tosses him high in the sky. Illadon laughs so hard he’s crying, flapping his tiny wings as he falls back into his father’s grasp.

  “Ladon!” Calista exclaims. “Careful!”

  “Of course I’m careful,” Ladon says, ignoring her as he throws the laughing Illadon into the air again.

  This rift between our people must be healed. The epis, delicate, rare plant that extends the life of those who take it and has the miraculous effect of adjusting our human biology to survive the intense heat of Tajss, will not be enough for our survival on its own. There aren’t enough of us. The balance of men to women is too far off. No, our only hope for the future is to bring our two dying races together.