Chapter 8

The forest whizzes around me as the bike detours around large fern fronds, passes downed spaceships and debris, zips past a herd of … somethings? … that are minding their business and eating alien cricket grass. My eyes sting and I’m forced to let go of one handlebar to keep the translator on my head. If I lose that, I am in big motherfucking trouble.

It takes a fraction of the time for me to zip through the woods on that bike than it did for me to walk to the road. Within an hour, I’m exiting the trees and those awful suns are beating down on my skin. The bike keeps to the road, skipping past those awful fields of purple flytrap plants. I flip them off as we go and nearly end up on the ground on my back. Not a great time to be ornery.

The gates of the market are just around the curve in the road, wide open and unguarded. I don’t know what’s going to happen with the bike or where exactly it’s taking me, but it slips right into the market and down a dusty aisle with stalls on either side. Crude fabric coverings stretch across the road from one side to the other, blocking the worst of the sun.

People—aliens—are staring at me as I whip into that place like I own it.

The bike makes this big splash of carting me into some sort of centralized square with a steaming fountain (that can’t be good, can it?) and then it … stops. It shudders, dies, and lowers back to the ground. There I sit, surrounded by curious alien spectators, frantically tapping at the screen to bring it back to life. I wanted to get to the market, not be dropped in the dead fucking center of it.

A strangled laugh escapes me when I can’t get it to start back up.

It’s dead.

It’s fucking dead, and now I’m trapped here with no way out.

Doesn’t matter. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Only, I got here much quicker than I expected, and now that I’m here, it sort of feels like those last-minute decisions you make on a Friday night after work, ordering in takeout from the questionable place downtown. Wake up with heartburn and a headache. It’s like that.

I sit up straight, tossing my hair the way Tabbi Kat does—like the world owes her a favor—and adjusting my headset. I climb off the bike and rest a hand casually on the handlebars as I look around.

If I thought the alien dragon was weird, well. Color me fucked.

The assortment of species in the market makes Trevor look cuddly, the Tusk Guys look like philanthropists, and Big D look like a superhero. I spot one of the slug monsters in the crowd, and my entire body breaks out in a cold sweat.

“Look at that … it’s a Cartian bike,” one of the creatures closest to me remarks, voice translating smoothly through the headset. “Haven’t seen one of those in years.”

I whip around on the dude with a bright smile that has him shrinking back from me like he’s been threatened. Then I remember that most animals—like primates—bare their teeth as a threat and not a friendly gesture. I snap my mouth shut.

“Are you looking to buy?” I ask, gesturing at the useless hunk of metal behind me. “I came here to sell the damn thing.”

The alien that I’m staring at has a hooded cloak on which is probably a good thing. Its hands are spindly and bird-like with sharp talons at the tips. I see something of a beak peeking from the shadows of the hood.

“Not in the market for kitschy Cartian crap,” he grumbles, steering clear of me and blending into the crowd. It’s actually quite busy here, but the sea of market goers splits around me like I am the problem. People—sorry, aliens—wave their hands at me or choke, clear their throats, cough dramatically.

“Aspis whore,” one of them mutters, and his friend—some guy with a mane like a hyena—grabs onto his arm with sharp claws.

“If she’s marked by an Aspis male, the last thing you want to do is pick a fight. It’s not worth it.”

I purse my lips. My eye twitches. Marked by an Aspis male?

“Goddamn it, Big D,” I grumble, but then I realize that maybe he’s done me a big favor. Nobody seems to want to come near me. Definitely nobody here is out to kidnap me again. Apparently, I stink to high hell and I’m some bad ass dude’s girl. Fine. I can work with that.

Squaring my shoulders, I slip my thumbs in my belt and blend into the crowd. Well, I follow along with the crowd and everyone scrambles to get away from me, complaining about how badly I stink. Loudly, too, I might add.

“Not only is the female ugly, but she reeks,” someone comments, and I grit my teeth.

Right.

My heart is beating wildly, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m scared shitless. The culture shock is next level. There are smells I can’t identify, that my nose doesn’t even know what to do with—some of those smells have a taste. I gag and cover my mouth, hurrying past a booth that’s swarming with giant flies. Or … something like giant flies. Not only do I see too many legs on the insects, too many sets of wings, but I also see that they’re attracted to and crawling all over a creature with more limbs than I have fingers.

I walk faster.

As far as what’s for sale here? I see mounds of strange spices, dried tentacles on hooks, pieces of space debris, a whole row of jars with rainbow-colored slugs sporting pixie wings. As fascinating as all of that is, I’m only looking for one thing: a sign that reads Humans … pets, meat, or mates. There are other creatures being sold off, leashed beasts and serpent-tailed monsters, things with far too many legs or far too many eyes.

Hmm.

I pause near a stall peddling body parts in jars—unrecognizable body parts—and cup my hands to my mouth.

“Jane!” I call out, taking advantage of my position as Big D’s woman to scream my bestie’s name without consequence. It’s a long shot, but hey, I’m here so why’s it so hard to think she might be, too? “Avril!” I drop my hands and keep walking, pausing every so often to call out their names. “Connor!” I don’t call for Tabbi because, honestly, even if she’s here, I don’t want to see her. I just pray that poor possum’s okay. “Jane!”

The heat is already getting to me, making me feel a little unsteady on my feet. Water would be fantastic right about now, but although I can see it being sold at various stalls, I don’t have any money on me. I turn away from a row of dewy canteens and grit my teeth. All I need to do right now is find the tent where Trevor and his brother run their little blackmarket business and take a look around. Then, maybe I’ll walk back into the woods and try to find that stream from yesterday. It’s not far. I mean … I don’t think it’s far?

I press on, following the paths through the market and thanking Big D’s possessive ass that after four days with him, I smell enough like his woman to remain unmolested. Yet again, the guy is helping a girl out. Hope he likes his new dragon female. My lip curls, but I don’t care to analyze my strange thoughts. The man doesn’t belong to me just because I slept a few nights in his bed.

After wandering a while, I get the impression that the paths in the market are nothing near organized. After passing the rainbow slug booth four times, I start treating it like what it is: a maze. Streets twist and turn, all of them hard-packed yellow sand and dust that makes me sneeze. There are stalls full of weapons, guns and swords and glowing ropes that look a bit like the item Moth Guy had on his belt.

Moth Guy. I haven’t seen any creatures like him. No Aspis either. Nothing like Trevor or the tusk men. Definitely nothing that might be called a ‘Sucker Tail’. There’s a minute or two there where I consider asking someone about it. But even I—a city-dwelling caterer—have the instincts to realize that this place isn’t exactly … legit. If I start asking about cops, I’m going to get myself into trouble.

“Jane!” I call out, my throat aching, my tongue fat from lack of water. It’s so goddamn hot here. The space suit is suffocating me, and I’m sure I smell god-awful by now. Lack of deodorant. Yet another reason I’d like to go home. I’m missing my Native brand Sweet Peach & Nectar.

I pass through a break between canopies, harsh sunlight beating down on my scalp and face. There are stalls on my left selling all manner of items—jars of either tomato sauce or blood (don’t care to analyze which it might be), slabs of meat, and what might be alien dildos. Everything seems fine for a moment, business as usual, and then a ripple of fear spreads through the sellers and their wares change as quickly as I can blink. Tables are flipped to reveal whole new sets of items on the other side, cloths are thrown over large objects, food is hurriedly shoved into containers and sealed.

Huh.

I stop walking as a man passes down the alley on the other side of the row of stalls. He catches my attention for several reasons. He’s handsome—none of the aliens I’ve seen thus far today are handsome. He’s wearing a large brown hat—a fucking cowboy hat. And there’s just a hint of tentacles wafting gently around behind him—with a single sucker at the tip of each.

Sucker Tail!

“Hey!” I call out, but he doesn’t hear me, continuing on his way. As soon as he’s gone, the sellers go right back to hawking their (probably very illegal) OG goods. That further confirms my theory that I’ve found myself the cop I was looking for.

I run down the narrow road, people clearing out of my path as I search for a way to get to the other side. The stalls are pressed tightly together with no space to move between them. I’m cursing up a storm as I run, huffing and puffing and hating myself for always taking home the leftover desserts from my catering jobs. Water would be nice, too. Water would be orgasmic at this point.

When I hit a fork in the road, I survey the crowd, but the guy—he was very tall and very blue and impossible to miss—is nowhere to be seen. But you know what else is there? A frosted white event tent with a crude sign hanging above it.

Humans … pets, meat, or mates.

I grit my teeth.

Mad chill, Eve. You’ve gotta keep some mad chill here.

I don’t listen to my own advice, strutting right up to the tent and cupping my hands around my eyes. I lean in, trying to get a read on who or what might be inside. Useless. I can’t see through the fabric at all. I draw back … and the hairs on my neck and arms stand on end. I’d been considering getting laser hair removal at home, but you know what? The fine hairs work great as alarm bells. I hate that I ever doubted them.

A smell—cardamom and honey—hits me like a truck, and my knees get weak. No. Fucking no! No sooner have I detected him than he’s there, a red-gloved hand on my elbow.

I whip my gaze over to find Moth Guy staring back at me from endless black eyes. My blood scintillates inside my veins, my pulse throbbing, my heart pounding wildly. There’s no part of me that isn’t aware of this guy. And you know what? There’s no part of him that isn’t aware of me either. I can tell, just by looking at him.

“Found you,”he says, his voice breathy as it filters through the translator and into my head. I’m trembling under his strong grip, paralyzed and rooted to the spot. His slitted nostrils flare as he leans in, and that scowl of his, aristocratic and uppish, flashes in that alien face. “You smell like another male.”

Yeah. Um. I don’t care if my blood is shoving at my skin like it wants to escape and slither into this guy’s mouth, I am out of here.

I yank back from him, and he lets me go, but … my feet don’t move. I’m just standing there, staring at him. The bright red fur at his throat shimmers in the sun, a stark contrast to the darkness of his uniform. He ruffles his wings slightly, and I see that there are actually two sets of them, long enough to drag on the ground. He takes a step forward, and I take one away. My back hits the side of the tent.

“You killed Avril,” I whisper, unsure of what else to say. He seems to consider that, but then he shakes his head.

“The human medic? No. I did not kill Avril.” He pauses, studying me with an erotic sweep of his demon-pitch eyes. “Do you want to see her? I will take you to her.”

I open my mouth three times before I find the words. I’m mesmerized by the shape of his teeth, his full pink lips, his two-toned skin. I wish I could explain it, but if love-at-first-sight was really a thing, this would be it. When I stare into his eyes, I feel like time and space are meaningless, like my very consciousness was crafted just so I could meet this man.

“Do you know where Jane is?” I ask, because if he’s got Avril then maybe …

“Jane?” he repeats the word in his own voice, a fluttering whisper that sends my stomach into a sea of somersaults. His antennae look like horns, long and white as bone with black frills underneath. He sweeps them forward and over my hair, like he’s smelling me or something. “I have the human medic and no other.” He pauses here, and I swear that he inhales like he’s trying to shore himself up to do something he doesn’t want to. “If there is something else …” Moth Guy lifts one of his gloved hands up and trails a finger down the length of my jaw. My body revolts against my brain. Jelly legs. Hard nipples. A pulsing core. “I will procure it. Anything for you, my Princess.”

Princess? Is he calling me by a pet name? Or is he actually a prince? Which of those theories is worse?

A strange laugh escapes me as I remember the strength of his tongue, the way he sucked my blood off his finger. Wouldn’t it be better if that tongue was in your mouth? Even better if it was between your legs?

He smiles darkly at me, as if he can sense the direction of my thoughts, as if he’d gladly turn those thoughts into reality. He looks at me like we’re meant to be together.

Fuck. This. Shit.

I duck under his arm and take off, sprinting through the crowd until I’m just … not moving anymore. I slam into something hard and bounce off, finding myself pillowed in a sea of blue and white.

A face comes right up against mine, a voice like sex and bubbles before it hits the translator.

“Well, hello there, Earthling.” The man’s words are muffled by a brown bandana that he reaches up to tug away from his smirking lips, leaving it to hang like a cowl around his neck.

I’m blinking back at a sloe-eyed alien with three irises in each eye. Yeah, two eyes. Six irises between them. I don’t even … what the fuck? They’re rimmed in black and set in a pale white face with a bluish tint. The guy has a slash of saucy mouth with small, sharp teeth that he flashes at me in a cheerful grin. He looks like he’s having a grand ol’ time as he tips his cowboy hat in greeting.

My gaze slips past his face to look on either side of me.

Tails.

I’m lying in a bed of blue tails with white suckers. I can’t say how many tails there are. At least six, probably more.

Sucker Tail.

“Oh, thank God,” I breathe, and he laughs at me. Not only is his voice like bubbles, actual bubbles float out along with his laughter. Low, seductive, invitational laughter. My own body reacts accordingly, shivers of interest pricking over my flushed skin.

“You’re thanking the deities for our union? I’m a lucky male, don’t you think?”

Huh. I quirk a brow as he uses his tails to set me on my feet. When he steps back, I realize that he’s got nine of those tentacle tails swaying behind him. He reminds me a bit of a kitsune or a gumiho (both of which are nine-tailed fox legends based in Japan and Korea respectively). Not that historical lore and fantasy is my thing. My little brother, Nate, is the one who’s into that shit.

But the nine tails? The webbed fox ears peeking through small slits in the brim of his hat? That’s where the resemblance between this guy and those things ends. He’s not furry, not at all. He’s sleek and taut and provocative and scaled. Every inch of him shimmers in the overpowering sunlight. Every inch of him—his stance, his smile, his exposed body—screams sex, sex, sex.

This is the cop I was supposed to find? The only attractive alien in the market? One of two, I remind myself, trying not to think of Moth Guy. One of three hotties on this entire planet, and I’ve managed to locate them all.

The Sucker Tail stands above me, casting a long shadow, hands planted on his bare hips. And when I say bare, I mean it. He’s wearing little more than a low-slung belt with a gathered strip of brown fabric to cover his crotch. As wide as he is in the chest, he’s narrow in the waist, muscular in the hips, and wearing see-through cowboy boots with water sloshing around inside. The hell?

I tear my eyes away from his literal ten-pack, past his bulging biceps, to his face. It’s vaguely human which is nice, and that smarmy grin proves that he’s sentient and at least well-meaning enough to flirt with me. Doesn’t look anything like a galactic cop though—with the small exception of the massive assault rifle slung on his back.

He leans in toward me when I find myself speechless, gaze sweeping me like he’s scoping me out for a date, before his attention lands back on my face. His smile colors with contemplation as we study each other. He has a sculpted nose with slits for nostrils and a heavier brow topped with narrow shark-like fins. They draw back over his eyes and curve around the sides of his head with elfin sharpness. Soft sapphire ‘hair’ frames his face, a long braid sliding over one shoulder to fall between us.

I’m starting to think that this world is out to get me. While most of the aliens here are so hideous as to be offensive, this one … I forget who I am and what I’m supposed to be doing for several seconds. His body—which is on full display mind you—is not only rock-solid but two-toned blue and white and very, very pretty. He flicks a purple tongue against the corner of his mouth, flashing a bit of silver on the underside.

The man snaps long fingers at me, and I jump.

“I’ve located one of the trafficked humans,” he says, more to himself than to me. His tentacle tails whisper around me, a single sucker at the tip of each one. As I stand there, he suctions them against the naked skin on either of my cheeks and pulls them off with a pop. Heat rushes to my face that I wish I could explain to either you, myself, or (eventually) my therapist.

“Yeah, um, pretty sure that I located you.” I put my hands on my hips to match his pose, and he offers me the barest half-smile in response. “You’re a …” I search my mind for the word that Zero gave me. I’ve got a strong feeling that ‘Sucker Tail’ might come across as offensive. “A Falopex. That means you’re a cop, right?” I clasp my hands together in pleading, all shame having been tossed out the window the moment I woke up to an alien dragon eating me out. I mean healing my thigh wound. Yeah, that.

“You’re lucky to be alive” he says, and then his gaze shifts up and over my head.

Once again, I smell and feel him before I see him.

Moth Guy steps up beside us, and if I’d never seen my mom in a mood, I’d say this alien guy is the true face of fury. He looks at me like I kicked him in the balls and spit in his face.

“You run from me when you well know your place by my side?” That’s what he says to me, a guy I met for all of ten seconds twice. See what I mean? If it isn’t Big D, the oh-so-helpful but brooding alien dragon, it’s the clingy moth stalker. Or … Cop Guy isn’t looking at me anymore. He’s staring at Moth Guy like the man owes him money.

Now he looks like a cop.

“Do you have business with this human?” he asks, his voice not so much like bubbles anymore. Ocean waves during a typhoon is how I’d describe it. Still, there he stands, half-naked with his hands on his handsome hips, a single tentacle tracing the brim of his hat.

I blink in surprise as a small octopus-like creature floats in the air near his face. It has a tiny beak and massive black marbles for eyes. Two tiny ears stick up from its bright pink body, and it swivels them as it studies me. Next thing I know, it’s landing on my shoulder and Cop Guy is frowning at me.

I like his facial expressions, at least. They’re as human as I’ve seen thus far in this place. I reach up a tentative hand and pat the tiny octopus whatever-the-hell-it-is on the head. It chirps at me and bubbles twirl from its beak, popping in the overheated air. Cop Guy’s eye twitches as he looks back to my stalker.

“Do I have business?” Moth Guy makes a hissing sound that translates through my headset as low, sardonic laughter. “You may wish to reconsider how you address me.” He spreads his wings in what I can only assume is a warning, his antennae drawing back like the ears of an angry cat. He doesn’t blink often, by the way, if at all. Those endless eyes switch from the Cop Guy to me and then back again. “This female is my mate.”

“That’s a fucking lie.” I point at Moth Guy, and he rears back like I’ve pissed in his face. “I don’t know this dude at all. He purchased one of my friends from that market.” I’m gesturing randomly at the frosted tent only to see that the Humans … pets, meat, or mates sign has mysteriously disappeared. Uh-uh. Yep. I found the police officer alright. “Now he’s stalking me. Is that a crime here? If it’s not then it should be.”

“How dare you defy our mate-bond?” Moth Guy growls at me, and my stupid body reacts like he’s just asked me to visit a love-lock bridge with him so we can hang heart-shaped locks with our initials carved on them. “If you hadn’t crawled away from me in the tent—and kept your blood to yourself—I wouldn’t have purchased the wrong girl. Take care, Officer, and proceed with caution.”

Cop Guy laughs at that, the sound like rushing water. He takes a step forward, liquid sloshing around inside his strange boots, and he leans in toward Moth Guy.

“My apologies, Your Imperial Majesty, but did you forget that the Falopex don’t scrape or bow to anyone?” His mouth twitches into another cocksure smile. “Not even to the holy and gracious rulers of the Noctuida.” Cop Guy flings a hand in my direction. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t your wings unmarked? I haven’t seen her bare back—yet—but let me take a crack at this: she’s unmarked, too?” His mouth quirks at one edge, and he snorts, bubbles escaping his nose. The officer’s eyes catch on the naked skin above the zipper of my suit, and I blush.

He is definitely checking me out.

Fair enough.

I’m checking him out, too.

Something about Cop Guy’s statement—or the look he just gave me—puts the moth prince into a frenzy. Great. A stalker who also happens to be a prince. There’s no possible way for this to end badly.

“There are no marks because there has been no wedding.” Moth Guy looks at me as if this is somehow my fault. “But I have tasted her blood.”

Something about that statement sobers Cop Guy immediately. He’s practically stricken as he looks over at me. I don’t like that, not at all. His pet chirps at me again, its tiny tentacles suctioned to the shoulder of my space suit. Swear to God that when Cop Guy studies me again, his gaze drops to the lacy swells of my breasts. He sweeps one of his tails over his face, like he’s stressed out.

“Do you know anything about the other abducted humans?” he asks, which freaks me out.

“That’s why I came back here. I need to get my friends back, and then we need to go home.” I stroke the tiny octopus and find that its skin is pleasantly dewy despite the brutal sunshine. “There are four of us—not including the opossum.” I recount in my head to make sure I’ve got the number right. Me, Jane, Avril, Connor, Madonna. Okay, yep. Got it. I’m secretly hoping that Tabbi’s been eaten.

“Weren’t there six?” Cop Guy asks, sounding alarmed as one of his tails toys with the brim of his hat. His scaled fox ears perk up as if he’s trying to hear me better. He scratches at a burn mark on his chest—it appears to be an intentional design of some sort—and growls out an alien curse followed by yet more bubbles. He shifts those strange eyes over to me again.

“The lawyer was eaten by a slug monster.” I think hard about how to mention Tabbi. “The pop star … wants to stay here. Says she hates it back on Earth.” God, I’m a bitch. But you know what? If I never have to cater another one of Tabbi’s vegan fundraisers, it’ll be too soon. “So can you please take me somewhere safe?” I clasp my hands together again and the pink octopus floats away, drifting in the air around Cop Guy. “I could really use some water.”

He stares at me again and then hooks a pretty smile.

I gasp when he grabs me by the back of the neck with a tail, yanking me toward him and crushing his mouth against mine. What is it with these fucking aliens?! But then the weirdest thing happens. My thirst disappears as I kiss him, and the sensation is oddly like drinking down a nice, cool glass of ice water on a hot day. His suction cup wets the back of my neck, offering yet more relief from the heat.

My heart rebels against my rib cage, my fingers coming up to press against the smoothness of his midsection.

A white wing flings out between us, abruptly cutting off our … whatever that was.

“You are edging precariously close to an early death,” Moth Guy says to a smirking Cop Guy, dropping his wing as his red-gloved hand snags my elbow again. He bares those vampiric teeth in a royal scowl. “Did you not hear me? Or perhaps you’re simply too stupid to understand. This female is my mate which means that I’ll become the next crown prince. I should position The Korol over Yaoh to ensure that the Falopex remember their proper place.”

Whoa.

I’m not entirely sure what any of that means—The Korol? Yaoh?—but the insult does exactly what Moth Guy intended it to do. It pisses Cop Guy all the way off.

“If I were of a different mind,” he growls back, “I would arrest you for purchasing a protected species from an unauthorized market stall.” He abruptly changes color, blooming from blue-and-white to pink-and-white. His pet changes color, too, but from pink to blue. Cop Guy shakes himself all over and fluffs up those tentacle tails, using two of them to rub at his temples. He pushes the suckers against his face and yanks them off with another sharp pop. “So calm the fuck down, Princeling. I was simply offering the lady a drink.” He flushes back to blue again, and Moth Guy grits his teeth. When the prince goes to grab me again, Cop Guy snatches him by the wrist and the two of them are locked together in a battle of wills.

“Eve!”

My heart stops when I hear that voice. Jane. Oh my fucking God, it’s Jane!

“Jane!” I yell back, and then I take off before either Moth Guy or Cop Guy can stop me.

I’m shoving through creatures I’d otherwise be terrified of, diving into the crowd which quickly parts to let me through, whispers of Aspis this, Aspis that following along behind me.

“Eve!” she shouts, the sound frantic, like maybe she heard me calling back.

“I’m over here!” I jump up and down, waving my arms, but I don’t see anything even remotely human in the vicinity. A quick glance over my shoulder shows neither guy has followed me—yet. I keep moving, calling out her name as she does the same for me, a Marco Polo sort of a deal.

It feels like I might be getting close when a meaty hand clamps down on the arm of my pink space suit.

I glance up to see a Tusk Guy—correction: five Tusk Guys—staring at me.

My first inclination is to stab one, yanking the makeshift knife from my belt. The man knocks it away as easily as one might swat a fly. Whelp. There goes my only weapon. Told ya I wasn’t a superhero.

“Is this the bitch?” one of them asks, the translator working through their guttural language like it’s nothing. See? I told you this headset was superior. It only seems to struggle with Big D’s words. “The human that slaughtered our brothers so she could mate an Aspis?” He spits on me then, actually hocks a massive loogie onto my suit.

“The fuck is your problem?” I snap back at him, and then he punches me.

The pain is violent and wild, like my skull’s been cracked in half. His hand fists in my hair next and I lose my footing, finding myself dragged across the sandy road like so much cargo.

This would be … time number three that I’ve been kidnapped by these asshole Tusk Bros.

“Let go of me,” I snarl, so close to Jane and yet so goddamn far away. Where’s my stalker when I need him? I bet Moth Guy—his imperial lord and majesty, barf—would flip all the way out at the sight of me bleeding and being jerked around like cargo. Also, Cop Guy was a character, but he seemed to take his job seriously. What are they doing if not following me?

“Not a chance in hell, Aspis whore,” the bully says, yanking me towards a building on the opposite side of the road. Strange sounds emanate from inside, a sign hanging over the door that very clearly shows a row of phalluses. Each one is stranger than the next, but I don’t have time to dwell on that. I can take a wild guess as to why they’re up there. This is a brothel.

I hear the sounds before we even hit the doorway. Sex. Or a fucked-up, twisted trespass parading as sex. More like, rape.

I scream as loudly as I can, but the sound is swallowed up by the hustle and bustle of the market. Nobody seems to care that I’m being yanked around by my hair and carted off against my will.

“You called me an Aspis’ mate, right?” I sputter through the blood pouring down my face. “How stupid do you think you’ll look when he comes for me?”

“He ain’t comin’ in the market,” Tusk Guy grunts, dragging me through the door. “They rarely come in the market.”

The interior of the building is shadowed, thick with smoke and cloying perfumes and … there’s something going on in the back corner with tentacles and wings and … I don’t even know what the hell else. But those sounds? The smells? This is truly a den of iniquities.

The guy ignores me as I thrash around, biting at him—correction: trying to bite him since his skin is as hard as leather. He crushes my wrist against the wall when I try to punch his crotch, and then slings me over his back as he clomps up a set of stairs.

We’re nearing the open door of a room, a pile of leaves in one corner to serve as a bed, a bucket for God only knows what in the other corner, and a series of chains hooked to the wall and left dangling.

Many horrible things have happened to me since coming to this shitty-shit planet, but nothing’s quite struck fear in me the way this room does. It smells so strongly of blood that my eyes water, and I have a horrible feeling that if I go in there, I’m not coming back out.

A smell, a presence, cardamom and honey.

The small pink octopus sweeps up the stairs and spots me with a chirp.

Somewhere outside, an alarm goes off. It sounds like a tornado siren, but it’s loud enough to crack glass elsewhere in the building. A fight breaks out downstairs that likely has little to do with that alarm and a lot to do with Moth Guy and Cop Guy both coming to my rescue.

Too late.

“Is that the Aspis alarm?” another Tusk Guy calls out from down the hall. My kidnapper pauses to look his way, giving me the opportunity to see what these guys look like naked. Let’s just say this: I am so beyond grateful to Big D for rescuing me from a fate worse than death. Where his dick should be, there’s a mess of swirling tendrils, gray and slimy and wormlike with teeth in the center. As he leers at me, a triple-headed phallus emerges from the ring of sharp, white fangs.

I scream.

The roof comes off the building—the entire roof—and there he is.

It’s Dragon Dude.

He’s perched on the edge of the wall, claws out, wings wide, massive mouth open in a rippling snarl. And he’s huge. He’s goddamn fucking enormous, somehow bigger even than the first time I saw him. Ebony shadows whip around his body, blurring the edges of his form, and those purple markings that swirl across his horns, his chest, his belly, they pulse and then flare. The spikes down his back and tail are sticking straight up and dripping what I can only imagine is venom. It oozes, thick and viscous down the length of the black shards.

If I said I wasn’t afraid, I’d be lying. At the same time, I know that whatever Big D has planned for me, it’s better than whatever might’ve happened in this room.

“Guess being an Aspis’ whore really comes in handy?” I quip, and Tusk Guy looks back at me like he’s pleading for help.

Big D whips his tail out just as Cop Guy and Moth Guy both ascend the stairs. It’s a warm, fuzzy feeling, knowing that at the very least, I wasn’t going to be chained up to that wall. As the two of them look on, Big D leans down into the room, a perched and coiled dragon with a chip on his shoulder.

“Release … my female,” he snarls, and Tusk Guy immediately loosens his hold on my hair. Probably that was a mistake. Dragon Dude slams the spikes of his tail into the man’s throat, nearly severing his head, and then he picks up the body with a simple flick and sends it flying. The dead man smashes into the naked guy and … there’s red splatter, let’s just say that. “So stupid, female.”

That deadly tail wraps around my waist, and I scream. Can’t help it. I literally just saw same-said tail decapitate a guy and turn another into mist with the force of a single throw. The alarm continues to blare outside, and I can hear screaming from the streets.

Moth Guy—who apparently has a death wish—steps forward and lifts his wings.

“Put her down now.” He makes a face, all pomp and bullshit. But he doesn’t look afraid. “By order of the Imperial Court and authority of the Noctuida.”

Big D laughs. I mean, I think he laughs. A violent rumble echoes from his chest as he carefully wraps me in his tail—spikes now withdrawn—and lifts me out of the room. He leans down even further and looks Moth Guy right in the face.

“No.” He rises up as Cop Guy stands there with his tails drifting, his lips pursed.

“What a pain in the ass you are, sweetheart.” That’s how the translator dictates his words to me. He cups his hands around his mouth as I’m hauled entirely out of the building and into the air. I’ve got a nice bird’s eye view of the market now, but I don’t see Jane anywhere. Not that I think I could even if she were still there looking for me. Cop Guy calls out to me and uses a tentacle to flick the brim of his cowboy hat up and away from his eyes. “Stay put, and I’ll send a team for you.”

I’ve stopped screaming now which is probably a good thing because Big D has just lifted me toward him, putting us face-to-face. His lips ripple in a snarl, and I get the idea that I’m in huge trouble. I made a big mistake today, didn’t I?

“You … foolish.”

“You chased after that female.” It comes out like an accusation. Why the hell do I care? This guy can mate a thousand Aspis females if he wants. They probably have huge double vaginas to take his massive dicks anyway. Doubt I could even handle one of them.

Now he’s definitely laughing at me. Mind you, this is all occurring as market goers scream and crowd into nooks and alleys, dart into buildings, fall on the ground in mad terror.

“Kill … not mate.” And then he howls and whips me around so that I’m dangling from his tail behind him. He swipes those massive wings in a downward motion, coils that powerful body, and up we go.