Page 56 of Pursued By the Dragon Alien

“Why thefekwould we show up unarmed?” Cozax had asked, throwing up her arms. “I don’t even go to the bathroom unarmed.”

“Why would you bring your—never mind.” Razion shook his head. “If we show up armed, we look like aggressors,” Razion explained.

“And if they attack us?” Cozax countered with a scowl.

“They’re my brothers,” Razion said, as if that explained away the absurdity of the request. “They won’t attack us unless we give them a reason to.”

Vedd folded his arms in silent protest, but Razion had already moved past that point of the conversation. “If I thought we needed our weapons, we’d take them.” He grabbed hold of a strap as the shuttle detached from the Darkslip and accelerated toward the fortress ship.

A fortress. That’s what this thing was. Massive. Intimidating. Old, but solid—built for war as much as it was for survival. He’d never seen another vessel even remotely like it. It looked like it had been built to last generations, and he could almost feel its power vibrating under its formidable exterior. It had once loomed over a settlement like a symbol of control. Now, it flew free, carrying the very people the Axis had once imprisoned. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

His grip tightened on his weaponless belt as they docked. His stomach clenched. He couldn’t ignore the strange pressure coiling under his ribs—the same feeling that had haunted him since Pavo Outpost. Like something inside him was changing. Like his body was bracing for something he couldn’t name.

He ignored it. Stepped onto the fortress ship. A huge main hall stretched before him. It was a surprise to see a vast expanse of stone and metal that seemed saturated with history. The walls, carved from dark, polished rock, were etched with intricate patterns that caught the light, casting shadows across the room. Overhead, the ceiling arched high, supported by thick, metallic beams that gleamed under the soft glow of embedded lighting.

At the center of the hall, a large ionic fireplace burned with silent, white flames. Around it, clusters of comfortable seating were arranged—plush chairs and low sofas upholstered in deep, rich fabrics. Inviting, yet imposing. The hall felt alive—a placewhere the weight of the past and the promise of the future collided. It looked like a place to sit and talk and drink and eat—notnegotiate the release of his mate. Yet here he was, and there, in the center of it all, stood the three Zaruxian males, waiting.

“Fek, they’re huge,” Cozax muttered.

Razion’s breath hitched before he caught himself. Different scale colors, different scars, but the eyes—silver-gray, sharp, assessing—were the same. Looking at them was like staring into a fractured mirror, pieces of himself staring back.

The purple one was the calmest-looking of the three. His dark hair didn’t shift and neither did his perfectly schooled expression. “Welcome to our ship,” he said in a smooth, cool voice. “I am Ellion. This is Takkian.” He nodded to the male on his right, who was broader, more scarred, and gleamed with green scales. This male crossed his arms and did not nod or smile. He radiated something menacing, and Razion figured this was the one who burned down the Slarik Arena.

“And this is Cyprian,” Ellion went on.

“Greetings,” said this brother, who was the leanest of them with scales the color of rubies and a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. Cyprian watched him like he was an interesting specimen that may or may not be venomous to the touch. He had to have been the brothel director.

“And Bruil,” Ellion said, sweeping a hand toward a fourth figure, who stood off to the side. “A revered elder.”

Bruil was indeed an elder, with scarred, bronze scales and a hard-set jaw. He wore daggers on his belt, apparently eschewing the no-weapons rule.

None of them looked welcoming.

Fine. Razion wasn’t here to make friends. “Where is Lilas?” His voice came out more growly than he intended and his words lacked all the practiced diplomacy he’d developed over themig-cycles. His pulse hammered under his skin, but he didn’t let his nerves show. He wouldn’t give them that.

Ellion barely blinked. “You must be Razion. And this is your crew?”

“Yes. Vedd and Cozax,” he said, gesturing to each. “I want what’s mine.” Razion’s fingers curled. “Return her.” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. The moment they did, he hated them. Hated how they sounded. Like she was a possession to be taken, reclaimed. Owned.

He heard Vedd let out a huff of disapproval. “Nice. Smooth as rusty shrapnel.”

Ellion’s silver eyes darkened. His wings flared, making his silhouette even larger. “She isnotyours,” he said in a voice edged with steel. “She belongs to herself.”

Razion clenched his jaw. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No?” Ellion’s head tilted, his gaze piercing. “Then clarify your meaning, brother.”

The word hit like a physical blow.Brother. It shouldn’t have affected him, but it did. Even with all the hostility in the air, it meant something. It settled under his ribs, twisting, pulling at something deep inside him.

Takkian shifted forward, arms still crossed over his broad chest. “Why are you here, Razion?” he asked. “Why should we trust you with Lilas?” His voice was lower than Ellion’s, rougher, with a built-in snarl that Razion figured was there no matter what he said. “You took a meeting with a trafficker.”

Razion stilled. The air around him felt too thick. “Is that what she thinks?” he asked, quietly.

“She heard it from your mouth,” Cyprian said. Despite the smirk still playing at his lips, there was no amusement in his tone. “Not a great look, Captain.”

Razion’s wings flared as frustration clawed up his throat. “I would never sell her,” he snarled. “Never. Krask, my ex-first officer, set up the deal without my knowledge. Thefekkerthought I would go along with it. Thought I would let her go.” His voice dropped to a growl. “He was the one let go.”

The four Zaruxians exchanged looks. None of them moved, but the weight of their combined scrutiny pressed heavily on him.

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