Dragon's Capture Read online

  There are plenty of human females for every member of the Tribe to mate with. But that won't be enough, because not all of them will match. There is a disparity also in the number human females compared to the number of human males If we can rescue those human females it only increases the odds of a better future for the Tribe.

  Rosalind stares into my eyes, waiting for me to respond. Coming to a decision, I give her the barest of nods. A smile spreads across her face. Warmth grows in my chest, starting in my hearts and pounding its way in a wave through my limbs.

  "Perhaps that is not the case," I say.

  "You can't be serious," Ladon exclaims.

  "Why not?" Rosalind asked, jumping into the conversation.

  "Because it's not worth the risk!" Sverre exclaims.

  "Is it not more risk to allow them to operate without challenge?" Ragnar asks.

  "We have responsibilities here," Ladon says, his wings opening and hands balling into fists. "I've already lost my city. What else would you take from me?"

  "Leaving the Zzlo to operate isn’t wise," I say. "In any situation they are a future danger we're going to have to handle."

  "And we need those survivors, human and Zmaj both," Rosalind says.

  "Why?" Ladon asks, the edges of his scales edging red making it clear he’s struggling with his bijass.

  "Genetics," Rosalind says. Ladon and Sverre exchange a blank look before their attention returns to Rosalind. "How much do you understand about that subject?"

  Ladon shrugs and Ragnar shakes his head.

  "I understand," I say.

  Rosalind inhales deeply, her brow furrowing in concentration. Silence sits heavy over all of us while she contemplates, then she nods at last.

  "The future of our races is not assured," she says. "Neither human nor Zmaj. I think it's clear that we need each other. But even that may not be enough. If there is not a broad enough mix of genetics to pull from, we risk creating a short-term future that might only make it four or five generations."

  "I don't understand," Ladon says shaking his head and wrestling his wings. "Illadon is doing well and so is Rverre."

  "Yes, they are, for now," Rosalind agrees. "I said it would be three or four generations down the line before there are likely to be problems. Their great-grandchildren would be the earliest I would expect it to show up."

  "What to show up?" Ragnar asks.

  "Weakness in the genetics," Rosalind says. "Possible mutations or tendency towards diseases. No matter how it manifests, it would greatly shorten their lifespans, then continue to get worse as it extrapolates further down the line. Until at last, both of our races are doomed once more."

  "You can't know this," Ladon says.

  "I tend to agree Rosalind," I say, shaking my head. "How can you predict so far into the future?"

  "I am the Lady General of a generational ship that left Earth four generations ago. A large portion of my training is to know things like this. The amount of science and work that went into the creation of the generation ships is beyond comprehension. They had to allow for every variable to make sure we would be viable when we reached our destination. All of that has been disrupted, but it is still my duty to shepherd the human race, and the survivors most especially, to a viable future."

  A cold chill forms in my stomach as icy tendrils creep outwards.

  "So you're certain that this is what will happen if we don't rescue them?" Ladon asks.

  "No," Rosalind says. "Nothing in this is certain. It's all projections and conjecture based on educated guesses. I am saying that it greatly increases our odds of being successful if we rescue them. That alone makes it worth the effort to at least try."

  Ladon and Ragnar lock eyes and I can feel the exchange going between the two of them without words. Ragnar nods, subtle, then Ladon does also.

  "We’ll go in the morning," Ragnar says.

  "No, you won't," I say, shaking my head. "You and the other hunters are too valuable to us. We barely have enough food as it is. No, the ones who need to go are the ones who are most disposable right now."

  "So what, would you send children? Perhaps Samil?" Ladon asks, sarcasm dripping from his words.

  Rosalind and I exchange a look in which no words necessary. We both know what the other is thinking. The decision is right even though I know they won't see it at first.

  "Rosalind and I will go," I say.

  "No!" Ladon and Ragnar shout almost in unison.

  "He's right," Rosalind agrees. "Visidion and I are the most expendable."

  "You’re our leader!" Ragnar says. "What are we going to do without you? Who will lead us into the future?"

  "And without you who would feed us?" I ask. "There is no option. This is the way it has to be."

  "This cannot be," Ladon says shaking his head, frowning and his hands clenched into tight fists.

  "Ladon," Rosalind says. "You'll need to fill my role. Make sure everyone stays busy. Production is the key to morale. Keep them working and it'll keep their mind off the troubles."

  "This is not my job," Ladon argues. "I am not a leader. They won’t follow me."

  "I think you'll be surprised," she says.

  Ladon opens his mouth to argue further, but Sverre cuts him off.

  “Rosalind, no. I understand the logic but the humans need you. Even those who left the City look to you for leadership. You’re their inspiration. Visidion I know the Tribe feels the same about you.”

  Rosalind shakes her head, meeting Sverre’s gaze head-on.

  “No,” she says simply. “It doesn’t matter how you argue against this, it is the only way.”

  “She’s right,” I add. “Rosalind and I are more than capable of handling ourselves out there. The survival of the Tribe is all that matters, and that includes you who have been banished from the City.”

  “Ladon, Sverre, you both have children. Our future hinges on them as much as anything. You cannot go,” Rosalind adds.

  “Ragnar, you and the hunters are the lifeline,” I say. “We would starve without your efforts.”

  “No one else can do this,” Rosalind says. “Visidion and I are both well prepared for a reconnaissance mission. We’ll go and gather information, then, when we return, we’ll make a plan.”

  “I don’t like it,” Ladon hisses, shaking his head.

  “I agree with him,” Ragnar says. “This is stupid.”

  “They’re right,” Sverre says, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing.

  The other two men look at him with surprise on their faces.

  “You can’t be serious?” Ragnar asks him.

  “Yes, I am,” he says. “Think it through. They’re right. We can’t let this operation continue but we can’t stop it without information. We don’t know what is going on there for sure. We can’t send an army; we don’t have one. It has to be a small, stealthy operation.”

  “Which is exactly what I do,” Ragnar argues.

  “Yes, but then who hunts? How many days of food do we have right now? Especially with the addition of us refugees?”

  Ragnar opens his mouth to argue then snaps it shut. He looks grim, angry, but nods.

  “You and I should go, Sverre,” Ladon says.

  “You would leave Illadon an orphan?” Sverre asks.

  "Enough," I say cutting off the last of their arguments.

  "It is decided," Visidion says. "We will leave in the morning."

  The three men before us exchange looks, then shaking their heads, they silently and sullenly leave my quarters. At last Rosalind and I stand alone. She looks up, a wan smile on her face.

  “This is a terrible idea,” she says, her voice soft.

  “Perhaps,” I say.

  An ache in my arms that feels like an empty void wanting to be filled consumes me. It’s an effort of will to not grab her and take her into my arms. She shifts her weight from one leg to the other. Every line of her face is beautiful, perfect. Fingertips tingle with the desire to touch her face,
my breath coming in shallow gasps.

  We're inches apart but it might as well be miles. Something plays in her eyes. I can't read it. Desire rises in my core, need for her pounding in my soul. It's hard to breathe, my chest aches, and my hearts are in overdrive.

  "We can't," Rosalind says.

  "Why not?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, throat tight and raw.

  "They count on us," she says, shoulders slumping.

  “Then let us lead,” I say, placing two fingers under her chin and lifting her face upwards.

  Her lips quiver at the corners, her eyes narrow, and she starts to say something but I don't give her the chance. The pull between us is overwhelming.

  I steal our first kiss.

  Our lips touch. Sensation explodes like rockets shooting into the dark sky. My scales tingle and itch, my stomach tightens into a hard knot, and my first cock stiffens.

  Her lips are soft, moving against mine. Her arms drape around my neck as she folds her body against me. When I wrap my arms around her, the empty, aching void fills—with her. A sense of completeness comes over me, the like of which I’ve never known.

  We kiss, slow, drawn out, tasting each other until at last the need for air overrides desire and we part, gasping. Trailing my fingers lightly across her cheek, I lean in to kiss again, but she pulls back.

  “No,” she says.

  “Rosalind,” I counter.

  “No,” she says, holding a finger up between us. “We have responsibilities to our people. That comes before our personal pleasures.”

  “So you did find it pleasurable?” I ask, grinning.

  Her cheeks flush red and her eyes dance with light.

  “You’re terrible,” she says, laughing.

  9

  Rosalind

  Waking up, stiff and sore, thoughts swirl as the first rays of sunlight creep past the leathers over the door. Visidion’s breathe is the only sound.

  It’d be so easy, I think, watching Visidion’s chest rise and fall. Just fall for him. What’s stopping me?

  Everything, of course. Responsibility, expectations, all overriding my own wants and desires as they always have.

  He’s attractive, yes, but that’s never been a deciding factor for me. His sharp mind, his leadership, his character, and his strength—those are what catch my attention.

  Ridiculous. The City and the Tribe were barely getting along before Gershom. Now the Tribe resents the imposition of putting us up, but they’re angrier about Gershom. The City thinks the Tribe betrayed them when they settled here on our epis source.

  It would never work. If word got out that Visidion and I were lovers, both groups would revolt against us. The refuges from the City here might accept it, but I’d never regain control of the City itself. How would I then fulfill my duty? I can’t ensure the survival of our race without everyone. My chest aches, an empty feeling. It pulls, growing, eating at my resolve. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  His view of the world is so different than mine. He may have gathered the Tribe together, and it’s obvious he’s the glue, but they’re still barbaric. If I hadn’t intervened, Padraig would not have stopped beating Samil. The Tribe, no matter their Edicts, works on a belief of might makes right. There is too much of an only-the-strong-survive mentality.

  Genetically, yes the stronger genes will win out, but I cannot condone his approach, not when lives are on the line. There is strength in charity too, if only I could get him to see it. The Tribe watched and no one moved to interfere. No one cared if Padraig caused Samil permanent harm. In their eyes he is too weak to stand up for himself, so he deserves what he gets. How this complies with their Edicts I have no idea.

  Heat rushes across my chest yet again. I clench my teeth and shake my head to try to clear the negative emotions. I handled the situation, but only for the moment. What if I’m not there next time? If Visidion doesn’t change his attitude, the Tribe won’t either. The chasm between our two worlds yawns wide between us as I watch his sleeping form, swallowing my desires and leaving me cold.

  I close my eyes, wishing to retreat back to the irresponsibility of sleep for just a while longer. Duty. Visidion and I have a long journey before us. Perhaps during this time he will come to understand. I hope so. The future of both our races depends on it. Steeling myself, I open my eyes and sigh, resigned. Visidion stirs, his eyes fluttering open. A smile spreads across his face when he sees me waiting.

  “Morning,” he murmurs, sitting up and stretching his arms and wings.

  The way his wings open and flutter is beautiful. It’s attractive in an exotic, alien way. The dim candle light gives them a shimmer. My core tightens, body responding to primal desires that I will not give in to. He rolls his neck and shoulders then rises to his feet, looking at the packs I’ve set next to the door.

  “Thought you were going to sleep the day away,” I answer, grabbing my pack. “We need to go, before they start waking up.”

  “You are an impressive female, Rosalind,” he says, opening the pack still there and glancing inside. He lashes it closed and hefts it onto his back.

  “Thanks,” I say, unsure how to take the statement. Ignore it, it’s for the best.

  Leading the way down the ramp, I make every effort to be as quiet as possible. We’re passing the skins that serve as doors to individuals of the Tribe’s homes. If anyone wakes and finds us slipping away they will have questions. Questions we don’t have time to handle.

  When we reach the point where the ramp turns back on itself and makes the final descent to the ground, a cough comes from the door we’re in front of. Holding a fist up, I freeze in place. Only after we’re both standing stock-still does it hit me that I’m using a human military sign and I’m lucky it didn’t communicate something entirely different to Visidion.

  Behind the stretched, tanned hide emerge the sounds of someone stirring. My heart beats faster as I continue holding my breath, not daring to breathe. The sounds stop at last but I wait another ten heartbeats before moving. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I strain my hearing for any indication of discovery.

  We reach the bottom of the ramp without further incident, and only then do I take a deep breath of relief. We exchange a glance, then walk across the open area at the base of the cliff towards the ever-growing wall they’re building to separate their area of control from the rolling desert.

  The dark is receding to gray as the suns begin their ascent, and it won’t be long before the first rays break the horizon. As we pass through the gate Visidion pauses and turns around. A smile dances on his lips but sadness is in his eyes. His tail lashes sharply, betraying his agitation. It’s too dark to see the tint of his scales, but I’m certain they’re edged red.

  “What?” I whisper, still afraid to make any noise that might betray our departure.

  “Once, we were a great and proud people,” he says, voice soft.

  An ache comes back into my chest, and the longing in his voice pulls my heart to his.

  “We’ve all lost a lot,” I agree.

  Silent, he turns his back on the Tribe community, and together we walk into the desert as the first ray of sunshine breaks the horizon. A red finger creeps across the rolling dunes of sand.

  Traveling across the sand is difficult, but Visidion helps, wrapping an arm around my waist and using his wings to give us both lift. Without him I would sink with every step, but he uses his wings and tail to walk as light as a feather across the loose top sand that drifts with the warm breezes. Even slowed by the burden of me, we make good time. The suns rise and the temperature goes up along with them, rising exponentially higher.

  “Tell me about your world,” I say, as we climb yet another dune.

  The trek is mindless, one foot in front of the other. The best measure of our progress is the color of the sand we’re crossing. The dunes are striated with shades of red towards white and are constantly shifting as we travel.

  “W
hat would you like to know?” he asks, helping me up the last few feet to the top of the dune, then we start down the new side.

  “You said you were once a great and proud people. Tell me about that,” I say. “What was Tajss like before the Devastation?”

  “Different,” he says. “Civilized. The cities were full of people. There were millions of us,” he says.

  “How many cities were there?” I ask. “Were they spread far apart? We haven’t found the ruins of another besides Drakonov,” I observe.

  “How many?” he muses. “How many grains of sand on this dune? I do not know a number. Lots, a dozen or more the size of Drakonov or larger. Many more half the size of it or so, then hundreds or even thousands of small villages.”

  “What happened to them?” I ask.

  “The Devastation,” he says, the Zmaj answer to any questions of their past.

  “And?”

  He stops, looking down with surprise on his face.

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “Visidion, that doesn’t answer what happened to them.”

  He frowns, stares ahead for a long moment then starts walking again.

  “No, it doesn’t does it?” he asks at last. “The Devastation destroyed . . . everything.”

  “I see,” I say. “What about before? What was life like here before?”

  “Hard but beautiful, like this!” he sweeps an arm out expansively gesturing around us.

  He’s right, it is beautiful, in a harsh way. The suns glinting off the sand dunes create sparkles of light like tiny diamonds have been scattered across the rolling hills. The striation of colors, shifting with the breeze, makes pretty abstract designs that are pleasing to look at.

  “It is pretty,” I agree.

  “We had advanced technology, then” he says. “You’ve seen the City, surely some of it survives. You have the dome.”

  “Yes, but not much else is working,” I say.

  “Ah, I see,” he says. “Well before, Tajss was the center of the galaxy.”