Page 4 of Hunted By the Dragon Alien

He was massive, even more so than the overseer back on her settlement. They were clearly the same species. She hadn’t missed the way his green scales caught the overhead light, or the inked patterns that traveled down his arms like ancient carvings. His broad shoulders practically blocked out part of the room, and laced through every limb was a coil of strength that felt like stone about to crush something. Scars, some faded, some new, were so numerous, they looked like art across his scaled skin.His jaw was square but sharp, his face angular, with thick black brows and hair the color of coal.

But it was his eyes—the way they glowed faintly silver against the icy green of his scales—that unnerved her most. They weren’t just watching her. He wasn’t looking at her like some predator sizing up prey. No, his gaze was sharper than that, like he read her every move, dissecting her defiance piece by piece to see what was left beneath it. And there was nothing lazy in the way his body radiated control. Every shift in his weight, every flick of those piercing eyes, felt intentional. Calculated. He wasn’t just paying attention—he was aware of every inch of the room, every sound, every breath. He was dangerous. Not like the snapping-toothed raiders who’d taken her. Not like the metal guard with its cold, mechanical precision. Takkian was dangerous in the way that storms were dangerous. Predictable enough to know what they were capable of, yet impossible to truly prepare for.

Sevas didn’t drop her gaze, even under the weight of his. She wasn’t here to cower. “There’s one like you at the settlement I came from,” she said. “The overseer lives in a fortress on the mountain range above our settlement. We rarely dealt with him. He was the Axis’ agent and oversaw our community.”

His lips twitched. It was the closest he’d come to a smile, though it wasn’t warm. “If he is an Axis agent, he is nothing like me, or my friend, Bruil, here.”

“True.” She tightened her arms across her chest. “And he doesn’t look exactly like you.”

Takkian tilted his head, the faint light catching the smooth sheen of his wings. “What does he look like?” he asked in a low rumble.

Sevas didn’t answer immediately. She kept her gaze stayed locked on his, thinking that staring him down might somehow make him less overwhelming. But she couldn’t stay silent long.“His scales are dark purple,” she finally said. “He flies at night, watching over us. Doyoufly?”

“No,” Takkian replied. “There is no place to do so here, and I’m forbidden from trying to do so in the arena.”

Behind them, the older one—Bruil, was it?—let out a dry chuckle from his place on the cot. “Sounds like they tricked your overseer. No Zaruxian would ever willingly serve the Axis.”

Sevas turned her gaze briefly to the older male. His rust-colored scales were faded and dull, nearly blending in with the cot’s worn fabric. Like Takkian, Bruil’s frame was wide and strong, despite the age and scars that showed this male’s past as a fighter. There was a sharpness in his eyes and a quiet defiance. She wondered how much of him had been like Takkian once—unbreakable, unrelenting. Now, he looked like someone who had survived many battles but had not necessarily won them all.

She shifted her weight, bare feet scraping against the hard floor. “The overseer back home didn’t fight,” Sevas said. “He didn’t need to, unless it was to keep the beasts to the north at bay. He just watched. Occasionally, he intervened.” She thought of Turi, whose life, and her family’s, had been changed by the overseer’s mark on her door. That mark had kept her friend from being taken by the raiders. But what was her existence like with the overseer? Was she living in that fortress now, under the constant silver eye of the one that kept her people in line?

Takkian’s eyes flickered briefly. That silver hue narrowed as if pondering the meaning behind her words. “It’s not that way here. We earn every comfort. Or we lose them.”

She tilted her chin slightly. She softened her stance enough to let curiosity slip through her armor. “And you? Did you earn this life?”

His gaze darkened, though his expression didn’t waver. “I could ask you the same. What crime did you commit to end up in the pit?”

She blinked. “I told you.Nothing. On the farming settlement, my family were builders. Our family’s plot was in the mountain’s shadow and nothing would grow. So my ancestors took to shaping rocks so we could have sturdy homes and tools.” She wasn’t sure why she was explaining herself to this male. None of it was even remotely relevant here.

Bruil grunted from his corner, tossing a small knife onto the mattress. “That explains the hands.”

“What about my hands?” she replied, looking down at them.

“They’re strong,” Bruil replied. “You have the hands of a builder. Or a fighter.”

She nodded, not bothering to mention that if it had been discovered that her hair had changed and the gold spots had emerged, signaling her maturity, her rock-shaping skills would have become irrelevant. Her father would have sent her to a bondmate of his choice, to breed and toil, no matter how good she was at turning stone.

Sevas stayed where she was, but she dropped one hand to rest it on Ulo’s cool, stony shoulder. The solid feeling of rock steadied her more than she cared to admit as her gaze darted between the two Zaruxians. Takkian had stopped moving. His towering frame was still, but there was an energy around him that felt like a tether stretched too tight. Bruil, on the other hand, seemed to collapse further into his cot.

“What happens here?” Sevas asked, her voice slicing through the low hum of the overhead light. She wasn’t sure who she was addressing, but her question hung in the air like a challenge. “Ulo and I deserve to know what we’re up against.” Ulo, for his part, was silent. He held still, but his small black eyes watched the Zaruxians, blinking now and then.

Bruil gave a dry chuckle that sounded like rocks grinding together. His yellow eyes gleamed as he glanced at her. “You’llfind out soon enough,” he rasped, leaning back. “Might as well save your questions.”

“We don’t have that luxury,” Sevas shot back. The edge to her tone surprised even herself. She shifted her weight, standing straighter now. “If we’re going to survive this place, weneedto know what goes on here. So, start talking.”

Bruil let out a long, weary sigh. He flicked his gaze to Takkian, who remained silent but watchful. “She’s got fire, this one,” Bruil said, his voice tinged with something between amusement and pity. “Might even last a few matches.”

“We are taken from our cells twice during the wake cycle to the feed line, then we get fivepiksin the washroom to relieve ourselves and use the sonic cleaning tubes,” Takkian explained. “Other than that, we remain in our cells unless we’re summoned for a match.”

Sevas released Ulo’s shoulder and stepped closer to the center of the cell. Her bare feet pressed against the cold floor. “Tell me about the matches.” But she was met with silence. “We’ll last more than a few if someone actually tells us what thefekwe’re dealing with.” She turned her gaze to Takkian, daring him to be the one to answer.

Takkian shifted then, his arms unfolding as he straightened to his full height. His movement was smooth, pulling Sevas’ focus whether or not she wanted it. “The arena isn’t just about fighting,” he finally said, his voice flat, heavy with unspoken weight. “It’s about entertainment.”

“Entertainment?” Sevas asked. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. “You’re telling me they’re throwing us into death matches…for fun?”

Bruil made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff. “It’s not just fun for them. It’s business. Credits flow in from all over when we fight. Betting, sponsorships, trade deals—it’s afekkingindustry.”

Sevas’ stomach twisted, though she didn’t let her stance waver. Her life had been about survival—working for scraps, enduring abuse, avoiding notice where she could. Now, she was here, expected to perform like an animal for the profit of others. “What kinds of fights are we talking about?”

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