Page 10 of Possessed By the Dragon Alien
“Word has already spread,” Shorvis cut in. “We’re getting reports of unrest at other facilities. The arena fighters are inspiring others to resist.”
The council erupted in angry debate with the other emissaries and chancellors voicing differing opinions, growing more heated as each member defended their interests and territories. Madrian let their voices wash over him as he considered the implications. In the end, they reached an uneasy compromise: redistributing forces to protect key supply routes while implementing stricter rationing in less vital sectors. No one was satisfied, but that was often the nature of council decisions.
As they filed out of the chamber, Madrian felt something brush his palm—paper,realpaper, which was rare enough to be notable. He kept his expression neutral and his pace steady as he left with the others.
Once in the corridor, he made a show of checking his comm before turning toward the gardens.
He found a secluded spot behind a stand of silver-leaved trees, where the sound of a little brook would mask any noise he made. Only then did he unfold the note.
The writing was precise, elegant:You’re a target. Watch yourself.
Madrian’s wings tensed. He read it again, committing the words to memory before destroying the paper. Someone on the council thought he needed this warning, but who? And more importantly, what did it mean? He suspected it was Ezi, who liked to keep the peace between the Twelve, and deeply disliked some of the scheming and double-dealing that went on in the upper Axis leadership.
He looked up at the towers looming overhead, suddenly aware of how exposed he was. The Axis was fracturing, that much was clear. And someone thought he might be caught in the break.
The question was, why? Because he was Zaruxian and this overseer was Zaruxian? He hoped tofekRien had some answers for him soon.
A flash of movement caught his eye. Relief flooded through him as he spotted a familiar figure rounding the corner. It was 93-A. Her arms were piled high with pruned branches. Garden shears dangled from one hand. Her green hair was braided back today, revealing more of those fascinating gold spots across her forehead.Fek, she was beautiful. Soft. Lovely. Everything he had no business wanting, but wanted anyway.
The moment she saw him, she froze. Then spun on her heel to flee.
“Wait.” He crossed the distance in three long strides and caught her arm. She let out a gasp and the branches tumbled from her grip, scattering across the path. Her skin was warm through the thin fabric of her uniform. He felt her pulse jump beneath his fingers. His own heart beat faster, too.
“Sir, I apologize for disturbing you,” she said quickly, her eyes downcast. “I’ll clean this up immediately.”
“No need to apologize.” He released her arm but stayed close, unwilling to let her escape just yet. “What were you working on?” Was he that desperate to talk to this female? So hopeless that he was asking a prisoner if she enjoyed the work she was forced to do? He wanted to strangle himself and take back the words.
Now she did look up and confusion flickered across her features. She glanced at the fallen branches, then back at the ground. “Pruning the silver-leaved trees, sir. They needed shaping.” She tried to back away quietly, but a branch caught on her uniform with a soft rustle. She winced and muttered something under her breath.
“I’m glad I caught you. I brought you something.” It was utterly foolish. A whim that, even now, he regretted. From his coat, he produced a small cutting tool. It was sleek, sized and balanced for her small hands, and far superior to the dull shears she’d been using. He’d procured it after their last encounter and he’d been carrying it around for several cycles. “The plants deserve better care than those crude tools allow.”
Nena stared at the gift, then up at him. “Why?”
“You handle living things with reverence. They respond to you.” Ah, fek. This was a bad idea. He should never have done this. A gift for a prisoner? Pure foolishness, but it was already out there. “I’ve watched you in the gardens. You touch each plant as if it is your friend.”
“They are.” The admission that he’d been observing her must have hit a nerve, since color bloomed across her cheeks. “Plants make sense to me.”
“Unlike people?” he asked, attempting a smile.
She didn’t return it. Her gaze was steady and unblinking. “Unlike the Axis.”
That was fair. He saw himself then, through her eyes—not the powerful figure he projected, but something darker. A monster who helped maintain the system that had imprisoned her. That had stolen her from her home and stripped away her identity until she was nothing but a number.
She eyed the tool as if it might suddenly jump from his grasp and snip her in the throat. “You’re one of the Twelve. You could order better tools for all the workers.”
“I could.” He held her gaze steadily, even as she challenged him. “But I brought this one for you.”
She took the tool. Their fingers brushed in the exchange. The contact was brief but electric. “The rest of your friends would not like this. But you…” She gestured at the natural grove around them. “You find me here, where the garden has grown wild.”
“First, they are not my friends. None of the Twelve havefriends. Second, perhaps I’m tired of control and perfection.” His voice was low, intimate. “Perhaps I prefer…the wild parts and authentic beauty.”
The way he said it, looking directly at her, well, he’d been hoping to provoke a reaction from her. Anything but fear, that is. Hoping for a sign that she saw something in him beyond the uniform, the title, the reputation. And if he was being truly honest, he needed a sign that hewasmore than the uniform, the title, and the reputation. Needed it like air and food. He watched her so intently, he had to force himself to soften his gaze.
But then, he saw it. Her breath caught. Her gaze dipped to his mouth. And more telling, the slightest smile warmed her face and softened her eyes. It felt more like a victory than any conquest of a planet or space station. Elation burned in his chest. Had anything ever felt as uplifting as coaxing that small smile from 93-A’s face? If so, he couldn’t recall it.
When she bent to gather the fallen branches, he knelt beside her. Their shoulders nearly touched as they worked. Eachaccidental brush of their hands sent sparks through his nervous system.
“What would happen,” she asked quietly, “if the other council members knew you were here? With me?”
