Page 27 of Chosen By the Dragon Alien
The silence that followed was suffocating, like the calm after a blistering battle. Cyprian remained where he stood, wings slowly retracting, folding neatly against his back. His eyes burned with the remnants of his defiance.What had he done?
It was Viparia who broke the fragile moment, stepping forward from her place by the column. “Well, well.” Her voice dripped with amusement, though her golden eyes gleamed witha mix of admiration and concern. “If I wasn’t fond of your little mate, Director, I might have fallen a bit for you myself, after that little display.”
A ripple of nervous laughter flitted through the onlookers, but it was faint and uncertain, their gazes flickering between Cyprian and the now-empty exit.
“The show is over. Everyone go back to your suites.” Cyprian’s head spun. Not only had he just declared war on the Axis, he’d potentially put Erovik and everyone who worked here in danger.
As the onlookers began to dissipate, Cyprian turned to Glivar, who stood with a look of hardened determination. “We need to move quickly. Have my transport ready. I’m taking Fivra and leaving.”
Glivar blinked. “You’re serious?”
“Not only serious, it’s our only option,” Cyprian replied, his voice low with a sense of urgency. “Congratulations, Glivar. You’ve just been promoted to director.”
Glivar’s jaw dropped. “No, boss. You’re the director. There has to be another—”
“I said what I said.” Cyprian ran a shaky hand through his hair. “And I meant everyfekkingword of it. Now find a way for me and Fivra to get off this station. Kaelen is getting two guests instead of one.”
But as he strode to Viparia’s suite, doubt flickered through his mind. What if the Axis found out before they could escape? What if Xryvos was already a step ahead of them? Shaking off the thoughts, he pushed open the door and looked around, finally finding Fivra still hidden in the wardrobe, surrounded by a sea of shimmering silks and jewels.
She poked her head out. “Are they gone?”
“Yes,” he said. “For now. We need to leave.”
She emerged slowly from her cocoon of fabric, expression wary. “Why? Do they know I’m here?”
“Probably, but we can’t worry about that right now.” He pushed the fear down deep as the instinct to protect flared fiercely in his chest. “I need you to trust me. We have a plan, but I need you to stay close. I won’t let them take you.”
She nodded slowly. “I trust you.”
He reached out a hand to her, feeling like he was about to jump off a cliff, unsure if his wings would hold. “Come with me.”
THIRTEEN
Fivra
Fivra clutched the edges of the hood pulled low over her head to keep her pink hair hidden. She peeked out from beneath its dark folds as she followed Cyprian through the winding, chaotic corridors of Hevatica Station. The clean, perfumed luxury of Erovik was quickly replaced by the gritty, unpolished reality of Hevatica’s lower levels. The air was thick and damp, carrying a metallic tang and the faint stench of recycled waste. Machinery droned endlessly, punctuated by bursts of hissing from steam vents.
Noise rumbled around her—gruff voices shouting over each other in haggling disputes, the heavy thud of boots against metal grates, the occasional shriek of metal grinding against metal. She flinched as a small delivery bot zipped past with a high-pitched beep, nearly colliding with her. The tight space felt alive, charged with tension. Everywhere she looked, beings of all shapes and sizes moved with rapid purpose as they scurried through the metallic maze.
Her senses were overwhelmed, but she held tight to Cyprian’s hand. It was the only thing that felt real. Overhead, long, flickering strips of light cast an uneven, dull green glow that barely illuminated the passageways below. Grime-streaked walls were plastered with holographic ads that sputtered and stuttered as if too tired to function. The ground beneath their feet echoed with every step, the grates riddled with layers of grease and dirt.
“Stay close,” Cyprian said, unnecessarily. Nothing could pull her away from him. His brow was furrowed and his silver eyes darted continuously to scan faces in the crowd. His wings were impossible to conceal. They were too big to hide under anything, so they opted for speed as they hurried through the station.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she whispered, wincing as a loud crash echoed nearby.
He glanced at her. “Don’t make eye contact with anyone. We draw enough attention as it is.”
She nodded and clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus on the path ahead. The farther they descended into the station’s depths, the darker and more suffocating the atmosphere became. The sharp smell of chemicals burned her nose, mingling with the acrid tang of ozone and the faint, unmistakable odor of decay. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, trying not to think about what might be causing the stench wafting up from the grates they hurriedly crossed.
Cyprian’s pace quickened and Fivra had to jog to keep up. He moved with purpose, navigating the labyrinthine depths of Hevatica with a confidence that spoke of his long familiarity with its less-polished sectors. Fivra’s heart pounded as she struggled to keep up, every shadow and sharp noise making her jump. A group of scruffy workers argued loudly near a pile of dismantled tech scraps, their harsh voices echoing off the metal walls. Theybarely spared Cyprian a glance but cast long, narrow looks at her as she passed.
Another flash of movement caught her eye—a scrawny, pale being with impossibly long arms skittered between the shadows. Its glowing eyes fixed briefly on her before vanishing into the darkness. Fivra bit back a gasp and pressed herself closer to Cyprian’s side. “Do you come down here often?” she managed, her voice trembling.
“Often enough to know the way,” he said. “There are supplies and shipments that only arrive in this sector.”
They rounded another corner, and the surrounding air shifted. The narrow corridors opened up into a sprawling lower dock. Its massive domed ceiling was a patchwork of corroded metal and translucent panels, revealing the unfeeling blackness of space above. The space was loud, chaotic, and alive with activity. Workers shouted as they moved crates of goods onto waiting ships. Sparks flew from a crew hastily welding a patch onto the hull of a cargo freighter. Nearby, a group of armored beings monitored a transaction, their weapons glinting ominously under the dim lights.
In the center of the bay sat their apparent destination, as Cyprian was heading straight for it—a battered transport vessel that looked as though it had seen more than its fair share of scrapes and near-misses over the cycles. Its patchwork hull, coated in mismatched shades of tan and gray, bore the scars of countless journeys: dented panels and scorch marks.
