Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

BEHTU

M y head spins, a galaxy of stars bursting behind my eyelids every time I try to focus. The neurotoxin throbs through my veins, a vile guest that overstays its welcome, blurring the world into smudges of color and light. I blink rapidly, fighting off the vertigo, forcing the throne room on Vont 4 into some semblance of clarity.

There, on a dais forged from the bones of past conquests, sits General Kragar. His crown, a living, slithering metalloid wraps around his skull, a grotesque testament to his dominion over this star system. It moves with eerie autonomy, as if each segment has a will of its own, reflecting the dim light in unsettling patterns. This is no mere decoration; it's a symbol of power, alive and hungry like the male wearing it.

General Kragar looms over his court, muscles coiled beneath scales that gleam like a slithering pythose in murky water. His predatory gaze pins me with an intense glow, assessing and condemning all at once. Claws, sharp enough to etch fate into the fabric of the Universe, tap an impatient rhythm against the leg bone of some poor hapless victim now acting as the armrest of his throne.

"Behtu Ky'Orlax," he rumbles in a tone like tectonic plates grinding beneath the surface of a calm sea. "The Star Maverick who thought he could dance between the raindrops of my wrath."

I squint, trying to muster the bravado I'm known for, but the poison makes me feel like I'm slogging through the muddy silt beds on Mirk 2. Still, I refuse to let him see me falter. "Well met, General," I rasp, my words tinged with the taste of sulfurized iron. I sniff hard at the fetid air. "I knew I was on Vont 4 the second we landed. The stench of your reign proceeds you."

The air thickens with tension, General Kragar's presence commands the space, a force so tangible it's almost another entity in the room. And yet, despite the venom weakening my body, desire coils within me—a primal recognition of power meeting power, a challenge whispered in the language of conquest.

As I stand defiant before the Enforcer, the throne room fades away into shadows. With each labored breath, I fight against the encroaching darkness, determined to remain sovereign over my own fate, even as it hangs by the thinnest of threads.

The air crackles with a dangerous electricity, the scent of ozone sharp in my nostrils as I meet General Kragar's furious gaze. My pulse throbs in my temples, an insistent drumbeat that echoes the restless movement of the living metalloid crowning his monstrous head.

"General," I say, my voice a low drawl despite the neurotoxin's relentless assault on my senses. "If you wanted to see me so badly, a simple comm would've sufficed."

"Silence, corsair," General Kragar snarls, rising from his throne like a tempest unleashed. "You have desecrated sacred ground, and your flippancy will not save you now."

I can't help but chuckle, though it comes out more as a cough. "Desecrated? You hired me to plunder rillium shipments from the Bioti."

"You were paid for your services before you infiltrated my treasure room and helped yourself to several crates of Dythum crystals." His voice booms through the chamber, every syllable a lash against my already weakened state. "Your insolence is intolerable!"

What he said was true. I'd been hired to thieve energy chips from the Bioti, but as a guest of the General allowed me to get close to his treasure room. The Dythum crystals he had inside were worth more than the rillium and the fee he paid me to steal it. I would have been a fool not to pilfer what was within my reach.

Inside, I feel the stirrings of my sivot, its anger a fiery brand upon my consciousness. Jules, it seethes.

Can't think of her now, I silently mutter, pushing back against the sivot's rising fury. Got bigger problems.

General Kragar steps down from the dais, each footfall resonating with the weight of impending doom. "You will pay for your transgressions with your life."

"Always so melodramatic," I retort, my own defiance a feeble shield against his oppressive might. "How about we skip the theatrics and get to the part where you let me go?"

"Behtu Ky'Orlax," he begins, his voice booming and void of any warmth, "For the crime of theft against the treasure vaults of Vont 4, I hereby condemn you to execution. Your life will be forfeit at the next rise of the three moons."

"Come off it, Kragar," I taunt, leaning into my cocksure persona despite feeling anything but. "Deep down, you love our little dances. What will you do for fun without me?"

"Enough!" The General's voice is a thunderclap, silencing the rumble of whispers from the spectators filling the room.

A little help here, I silently urge my sivot. Now would be a good time for you to show yourself.

I sway on my feet, the poison threatening to claim my consciousness. In the depths of my mind, my sivot writhes, its rage a living thing, You denied me my fated mate! I will help you not.

Bliking dund! I inwardly curse my sivot. If I die, you die too!

A sivot without its mate is dead anyway, my sivot mutters somberly.

"Take him to the dungeon to await his fate," General Kragar commands the Stryt guards flanking me.

"Until again, Kragar." My words drip with sarcasm as I brace for whatever comes next. "It's been a bliking pleasure."

Our standoff is a taut wire stretched to breaking, the space between us thick with unspoken threats and the electric hum of desire for dominance. I stand, defiant and unbowed, the darkness at the edge of my vision drawing near as my body betrays me, yet my spirit remains untamed.

"Do what you must," I whisper, the words barely audible over the pounding in my ears. "But know this—a Star Maverick bows to no one."

"Bold words for a dead male walking," General Kragar replies, his mouth curling into a cruel sneer.

"You might have me now, but you won't have me for long," I challenge, even as the room tilts precariously around me. "Star Mavericks are impossible to kill."

"Take him," the General commands. Rough hands grip my arms, their claws digging into my flesh as they haul me through labyrinthine corridors, down into the bowels of the palace. The dungeon looms before us, a gaping maw ready to swallow me whole. With each step, the stench of dampness and decay grows stronger, wrapping around me like a shroud.

We stop before an empty cell. The barred door grinds open, a cacophony of metalloid on stone, and I'm thrown inside with less care than one would give to a sack of waste. My knees hit the unforgiving floor, and the impact sends shards of pain radiating up my legs. The darkness here is a living thing, thick and oppressive, wrapping its icy fingers around my throat.

"Enjoy your last moments, Star Maverick," sneers one of the guards, his voice dripping with malice as the door slams shut behind me.

I rise to my feet, shaking off the pain. The cell is nothing more than a cold, barren cube, designed to strip away all hope and dignity. I reach out, my fingertips grazing the rough-hewn walls, slick with the moisture of a thousand despairing breaths. There's a small window high above, offering a narrow slice of the desolate sky, a cruel reminder of the freedom that eludes me.

You should have claimed her, the sivot within me snarls a tempest of fury and primal instinct. But even in the face of certain doom, I suppress it, unwilling to surrender to my beast.

My mind drifts to Jules, her presence a beacon in the encroaching darkness. Her image ignites an electric pulse of a connection I forcefully suppress, burying it within the depths of my being. Yet here I am, trapped, burdened by the weight of my decisions. I do not yield—not to dungeons, not to generals, and certainly not to the fatalistic whispers of despair that claw at my resolve.

A flicker of resolve ignites within me, a spark in the endless night. I refuse to let my story end in this forsaken pit. With each passing second, my determination grows and forges into metalloid. I will escape. I will reclaim my freedom.

The air in the dungeon is stale, thick with the scent of sulfurized iron and unwashed bodies. It claws at my throat, a reminder of the bleakness that surrounds me, and I'm not alone.

Two Stryt warriors stand guard outside my cell, their massive forms nearly filling the corridor. They're statuesque, almost part of the structure itself with their slithering scales that shimmer under the fungus light. Their eyes are fixed on me, unblinking and cold, weapons at the ready, a silent threat that's all too clear.

"Enjoying the view?" I throw the words at them, voice laced with the venom of defiance. They don't respond, but I can see it in their posture, they're itching for a reason to use those blasters.

The sivot within me growls, its frustration a living thing, You should have claimed her.

Shut it, I snap internally. We'd be just as trapped, tethered to a mate.

Trapped? Or free? The sivot challenges, pushing against my mental barriers. With her, we would be unstoppable. You've tasted her essence; it calls to us.

Freedom doesn't come with chains, no matter how enticing they might seem. I pace the tiny space, each step echoing off the walls. My corium itches, a constant reminder of the beast I carry within. A beast that now hungers for a connection I'm terrified to forge.

Claiming Jules is not a chain, she is our fated mate. The sivot's anger pulses through me, a tide of primal need that threatens to drown my resolve.

I am the maker of my own fate, I retort, even as I feel the pull, the undeniable draw to the female who's turned my world upside down. I won't be bound by long-dormant primal instincts of a feral beast.

Then we will die here, alone, the sivot hisses, its impatience a sharp edge within me.

"Until again, Jules," I whisper, not sure if it's a promise or a plea. Her image burns behind my closed eyelids, fierce and beautiful. But I shove it away, focusing instead on the guards, the walls, the reality of my confinement.

Until again, Star Maverick, the sivot mocks me. Champion of denial, slave to fear.

Better a slave to fear than a puppet to fate, I counter, feeling the tension coil tighter around me. The battle between my desire for autonomy and the sivot's yearning for union rages on, an internal war with no end in sight.

The sivot's presence simmers, a silent rebuke to my impatience. I pace the confines of my cell, each step a heavy beat that builds my frustration. My thoughts cycle through escape plans, each more desperate than the last.

The cold of the dungeon seeps into my bones, a constant reminder that time is slipping away like grains of pink sand through my clenched fists. My sivot stirs within, a restless force that should be my salvation, yet it remains frustratingly dormant beneath my skin.

"Blinking dund," I growl under my breath, the words echoing off the damp stone walls. "Are you waiting for an invitation?" I spit at the creature inside me. "They're going to slice my head from my shoulders! Is that what you want?"

Better dead than a life without my Jules, my sivot's reply remains unyielding.

As the shadows lengthen and the first distant sounds of the preparations for my demise reach my ears, doubt claws at me. Time is a fickle ally, and mine is running out.

JULES

I crouch low and peer through the bottom edge of the viewport, ensuring I remain hidden from view as the alien spacecraft towing Behtu's ship lands, docking alongside a row of similar crafts. My hand automatically reaches for the blaster gun secured in its harness across my chest. The wide leather strap engulfs me, but I feel comforted by its weight against my skin. Both items were acquired from Behtu's room, a stroke of luck that now has me feeling like a child playing dress-up with her father's belongings.

We're parked on the outskirts of an alien metropolis that sprawls like a living organism under a sky choked with ruddy smog. The tapestry of jagged structures bears no resemblance to my beloved Manhattan, twisting upward in grotesque spirals, their surfaces slick and darkly iridescent under a sky painted in bruised purples. Sparkling city lights are absent here, replaced by a darkness that swallows everything in sight.

A shiver ripples down my spine, not from cold but from a creeping dread trying to seep into my bones. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to shake off the foreboding that clings to me. The city beyond pulses with its own rhythm, slow and predatory. This place feels wrong, a landscape tinged with despair and danger.

The alien ship's metallic hum fades into an ominous silence as the ramp descends with a hiss. My breath catches in my throat and my heart pounds against my ribs as every inch of my skin prickles with anticipation, unsure of what to do next except wait and watch.

Robed figures emerge from the shadows, scurrying toward the alien craft with an eerie reverence. Hooded heads bowed low, their movements synchronized and ritualistic, an unsettling dance orchestrated for the arrival of the spacecraft.

My gaze locks on Behtu as he's manhandled down the ramp by the aliens whose oily scales glisten under the faint glow of the port lights.

"Behtu," I whisper, though he cannot hear me through the viewport.

His powerful frame, so full of life and defiance, now struggles to keep upright, his footing drunkenly clumsy. Even under the influence of whatever drug they subdued him with, defiance radiates from him as he tries to jerk his arms out of their hold. The sight of him being treated so abhorrently ignites a fierce protectiveness within me.

The aliens drag him to a hovering vehicle, its sleek design a stark contrast to the crude architecture of the city. It floats with an eerie grace, waiting to carry my space pirate away from me. As they load Behtu into the vehicle, he clumsily fights back but is easily overpowered by the scaled beast's rough handling of him.

The door slams shut, cutting him off from my view. Urgency grips me as I watch the car levitate higher, its engines purring softly before propelling forward, carrying Behtu toward the city's heart.

"Damn it," I curse under my breath, frustration sharpening each syllable.

With the car disappearing into the snaking alleyways and towering structures, every second counts. There are scaly aliens milling about everywhere and I don't exactly blend in with the natives. Armed or not, I need a disguise if I'm going to tail Behtu undetected through the maze-like streets of the city.

I sag onto the floor as the image of that departing car burns into my mind. With every heartbeat reverberating within me, a single purpose resounds; I have to come up with a plan to go after Behtu that doesn't involve blasting my way through the city. Stealth is the best choice if I don't want to get us both killed.

One scaly alien saunters toward Behtu's ship with a robed figure following in his wake. I quickly slip into a narrow compartment near the floor, contorting my body to fit into the cramped space. Afraid to even breathe, I peer through the small vent holes in the door, heart pounding in my chest as the alien and his robed companion board Behtu's craft and roam the command deck, praying they won't discover me.

The robed figure moves with an eerie grace, its movements fluid beneath the folds of fabric. Beside it, the scaly alien's scales glisten like oil on water, reflecting the soft lighting of the ship. They seem oblivious to my presence, their attention fixed on the consoles and screens that flicker with alien script.

"Wait here," the alien commands, its voice a guttural hiss that cuts through the hum of machinery. With a swish of its tail, it leaves the command deck.

As I study the robed figure, I note it's about the same height as me. An idea blooms but I must act quickly if I'm gonna pull this off.

Now's my chance!

The robed figure stands alone with its back to me, and head bowed. Silent as a ghost, I slip from my hiding place, heart hammering against my ribs, every sense heightened. My hands tremble, not from fear, but from the electric surge of adrenaline that floods my system.

I unholster my blaster gun and bash the robed figure over the head with the butt of my weapon with a force borne of desperation. The gun's butt connects with a sickening thud, the force reverberating up my arm. My stomach recoils over my actions. Violence is not in my nature, but these are not natural circumstances.

"Sorry," I whisper as the figure crumbles. I catch it before it hits the ground, easing it to the floor as gently as possible.

Hastily, I strip the creature of its robe, recoiling at the sight of the gangly, pallid creature beneath the fabric. Its eyes, too large and unblinking, stare up at me, a grotesque portrait of alien life. Repulsion churns in my stomach, but I suppress it as I hoist the unconscious body to my hiding spot and cram it inside before shutting the compartment door.

Donning the robe, the fabric falls heavy around me, concealing my humanity. Clad in this ill-fitting garment, I feel a rush of triumph tinged with revulsion as the stench of the robe invades my sinuses. A blend of oil and decay clings to the fabric like a persistent shadow. The urge to gag is instantaneous, but I force it down.

I squeeze my eyes shut, take shallow breaths through my mouth, and try to imagine the sterile scent of the ER back on Earth. It's a futile attempt, the alien odor is relentless, an assault against my senses. My lungs burn with the effort to hold my breath, battling against the acrid stench of the robe that billows around me. I clench my teeth, swallowing back the bile that rises in my throat.

As I stand there cloaked in my stinky disguise, it's Behtu's face that flickers behind my eyelids—his glossy blue skin, his snow-white hair, his cocky smirk that never fails to send a lick of heat between my thighs. The thought of him, possibly injured or worse, reignites the fire in my chest. I can't allow my discomfort to hinder me now.

The command deck door swishes open with a hiss and I hear the alien's return. I open my eyes to scales glinting in the artificial light, oblivious to my true nature lurking beneath the stolen robe. I remain statue still.

He clutches a bulging sack, its contents clinking with every step. "Follow," he rasps, and I obey without hesitation. Thankful for the translator plugged into my ear, I can understand his command.

We make our way off the ship as my mind races through scenarios, plotting to find Behtu, to save him from whatever fate awaits. The alien orders me to take the seat in the back of a hovering vehicle waiting nearby. I do as I'm told and we speed toward the metropolis.

The alien city sprawls before me, a labyrinth of shadows cast by towering structures that pierce the sky, a grotesque parody of the glittering spires back home. Floating signs flicker in a script I can't decipher, casting an eerie glow on the slick streets. The air is thick, laced with the scent of overripe fruit and something... charred.

"Carry this and follow," the alien demands, shoving the bulging sack at me he pilfered from Behtu's ship. I don't have any idea what it contains, but it's light and feels like a bag of poker chips. Whatever's in here, it belongs to Behtu and if this scaled fuck thinks he's getting it back, he's in for a surprise.

I peer through the weave of fabric covering my face and fall in behind the alien as we navigate the darkened alleys. Born and raised in Manhattan, I have a great sense of direction, accustomed to living in a monolithic concrete jungle. I keep my head bowed but my eyes are up and taking note of the skyline, mentally mapping the city.

There are scaly aliens and robed servants everywhere, the city choked with their presence. I couldn't have lucked into a better disguise. As a servant, no one pays me any mind, and the robe hides my humanity perfectly.

"Did you hear about the Star Maverick, Jurt?" A passing alien stops to chat with the one I follow, his voice tinged with excitement.

"Have I?" Jurt grunts. "I just came from searching the marauder's ship."

"General Kragar can barely contain his glee. An execution in the city center—it'll be quite the spectacle."

My heart clenches as I learn they're planning to kill Behtu. Not if I have anything to say about it. I think about the blaster gun holstered across my chest. It's so tempting to drop my disguise and blast every one of these scaled fucks to dust, but I cool my jets knowing I must find Behtu first.

"Kaul scum, locked away in the dungeon under the palace," the alien sneers and spits on the ground. "That's where he belongs."

"I am headed there now to meet with General Kragar." Jurt's announcement lights me up with a surge of adrenaline. My search for Behtu is over. The enemy is gonna lead me right to him. "Found a sack of rillium on the space pirate's ship."

"Any sign of the stolen Dythum crystals from the General's treasure room?"

"No," Jurt growls. "I would guess that treasure was sold off the moment the Kaul got his greedy hands on it. You said he's being held in the dungeon?"

The alien grunts with a quick bob of his chin.

"I shall pay him a visit. It isn't often you see a Star Maverick behind bars."

"Or executed," the alien chuckles with sinister glee. "I look forward to seeing the Kaul's head separated from his body."

As Jurt wraps up his conversation and continues on his way, oblivious to my inner turmoil, I swallow back the bitter taste of fear yet hold tight to my unwavering determination. Behtu's predicament is entirely of his own making, but that still isn't going to stop me from saving him.

The shadows of a towering structure loom over me as I follow behind Jurt. When he turns and enters through a side door, my heart pounds a relentless rhythm against my ribs.

I've made it inside the palace!

Hold on, Behtu, I vow silently. I'm coming for you.

Sweat trickles down my spine. My lungs burn with the acrid stench of the palace's interior, but it's fear for Behtu that tightens my throat, turning each breath into a silent plea. The feel of the blaster gun bouncing on my hip with every step keeps my panic at bay.

Jurt starts down a set of spiraling stone steps shrouded in darkness, a gaping maw waiting to swallow me up. The air grows colder the farther we travel into the underbelly of the dismal structure until we reach the bottom.

The path ahead winds through a dimly lit passage, shadows dancing eerily against the walls as if alive. Unexplained flames leap and dance in alcoves along the corridor, casting flickering light that seems to defy logic, burning without fuel.

The dungeon reeks of decay and desperation, and the walls echo with the quiet sobs and shuffling of the defeated. My eyes adjust to the dimness, and I make out rows of cells, each one a cage trapping life and hope alike. Two guards stand sentry outside a random cell and Jurt pauses to peer inside.

And then I see him— Behtu! Slumped against the wall of his cell, his long white hair a stark contrast against the blue of his skin, now dulled in captivity. He looks smaller, the space around him too vast for the arrogant, cocksure Kaul.

"Behtu," I breathe out, barely louder than a sigh. His head snaps up, the dullness in his eyes giving way to sharp focus as he searches the space beyond the bars of his cage.

Slowly, I lift my hood just enough for him to catch sight of my face. In the pale light, our gazes lock, and then my face is bathed in a bright flash of white light.