Page 11 of Hunted By the Dragon Alien

Takkian lingered a moment longer than he intended. He adjusted the edge of her torn shift to cover more of her chest, not out of modesty, but…something else. Something primal andprotective that pushed against the barriers he’d built in this place. He hated the way it tightened in his rib cage.

“She doesn’t belong here,” he muttered under his breath as he pulled the light blanket over her.

“She belongs as much as any of us,” Bruil said. He spoke quietly from the lower bunk. There was no humor in his tone. Only experience. “It’s not the place that’s the problem, Takkian. It’s those who put us here. The Axis operate this arena and profit off it. They ran the penal colony she came from—I know you saw those numbers on her neck—and likely profit off that, too.”

Takkian took this in, turning over in his mind the facts he knew too well. But for the first time, they just didn’t feel as absolute as they always had. There was life outside the walls of the arena. He just needed to figure out how to get there—with those he cared about.

SEVEN

Sevas

Sevas woke to a disorienting haze. Her eyelids felt heavy, her thoughts sluggish as though submerged. She blinked, forcing her vision to focus. The ceiling above her was rough and featureless, unfamiliar at first. She turned her head slightly, taking in her surroundings—a simple, stark cell. The mattress underneath her was thin but softer than anything she remembered since being thrown into this place. Someone had tucked a blanket loosely over her. Her brow furrowed as fragments of memory clawed their way back: the arena, the roar of the crowd, the sharp sting of Gimloria’s fist—blood and desperation etched into the sand. But she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten back here.

The sound of footsteps pulled her attention, followed by the low scrape of quiet male voices. She blinked again and looked over the edge of the bunk to find Takkian standing nearby. His frame, massive and overpowering as ever, was bathed in the dim light of the room. The outline of his angular face cast in shadows.His silver eyes glowed faintly, scanning her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

“You’re awake.” His deep voice was steady, though her fogged mind caught an undercurrent of something—relief, maybe.Fek, when had this male become the most welcome sight her eyes could conjure? If there was a definition in her mind of male beauty, Takkian was it—gorgeous, powerful, and slightly untamed. Even his scars were appealing to her, numerous as they were.

“I’m relieved you’re okay,” Ulo said quietly from the foot of the bed, where he stood a head taller than the top bunk. “I was so worried, I let Bruil teach me how to fight.”

“Triedto teach him,” Bruil muttered from below her. “Fekkingpacifists don’t even know how to make a fist.”

Everyone ignored him.

Sevas tried to push herself up, but her muscles protested fiercely. Her ribs ached with every attempt, and her arms barely had the strength to prop her up. She fell back against the mattress with a quiet groan.

“Easy,” Takkian said in a gentle rumble. “You’re in no condition to be moving around yet.”

She tilted her head slightly, peering up at him. “How…?” Her voice came out hoarse, barely audible. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat and tried again. “How did I…?”

“You passed out after the mech led you back here,” he replied simply, folding his arms over his wide chest. “You’re lucky you only took superficial damage. I cleaned up what I could before you woke.”

Sevas blinked again, frowning. Her fingers moved gingerly to her side, brushing against a makeshift bandage wrapped around her ribs. She gritted her teeth and let the information sink in.

“Who was your opponent?” he asked her.

“Gimloria,” she muttered. “She was…mean.”

Takkian nodded once. “Not an easy first fight. She is a crowd favorite. Fast. Nasty.”

Sevas exhaled slowly, her breath shaky. “I was faster.”Barely.

The weight of the fight settled on her chest, heavier than the bruises pressing against her ribs. Images flashed in her mind—her makeshift slingshot, the jagged metal shard, the way Gimloria had crumpled into the sand. There was no satisfaction in the memory, only a hollow ache where relief should have been. “She… She could’ve killed me.”

“Yes,” Takkian said bluntly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “But it wasn’t a final match, so killing you wasn’t her goal. Losing, though, means she let her anger get the better of her. It made her sloppy.”

Sevas turned away, staring at the wall. The ache in her ribs was nothing compared to the twisting in her gut. “I didn’t want to hurt her,” she admitted quietly, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “I’m not… This isn’t who I am.”

“I know,” he said.

The gentleness in his voice cut through her, striking a nerve. She pushed herself up again, this time gritting her teeth against the pain until her back rested against the wall.

The room went silent for a moment. The air between them heavy with things unspoken. Sevas glanced to the corner of the cell where Ulo stood. He kept glancing at her, wide black eyes shimmering with relief, but he stayed silent. “Told you I’d be okay,” she said with a shaky smile for him.

Bruil broke the tension with a dry chuckle from his cot. “I told them both you’d be okay,” he said, his voice raspy with age but tinged with amusement. “Did they believe me? One wanted to learn to fight and the other one paced the cell like he was trying to wear grooves in the floor.”

Sevas’ imagination wasn’t big enough to envision Takkian pacing in worry over her. He was too hard, too callous to do anything as vulnerable aspace. But then again, she was in his bed, under his blanket, with cuts tended. It was possible, she supposed.

The sound of approaching mechs sounded down the corridor outside the cell. All attention snapped toward the door. Sevas’ tired body went rigid despite the pain that pulsed through her bones. Her breath hitched, and the twist in her gut turned to dread.

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