He reached out a gloved hand and grabbed her chin in a steely grip, lifting her face up for him to study. She forced her eyes toward the ground, even as he leaned in close, sniffing her curiously. He then turned her head side to side, examining the shape of her skull and features.
His eyes flicked lower, taking in the rest of her body in a glance. He grabbed her breast roughly, squeezing hard, eliciting not pleasure but pain. Darla winced but forced herself to remain silent. Heydar’s eyes flashed with anger, staring toward the ground, but only just. The Dohrag ignored him, grabbing Darla’s other breast, giving it a squeeze, then shrugging, unimpressed.
“A weak race,” he said to his men. “I have not seen this one before, but whatever she is, her kind are clearly not sturdy at all. I fear we may break her, boys.”
His men laughed, a loud, rumbling roar of ill-spirited mirth. Heydar’s rage flooded him, his head lifting to stare fully at the Dohrag leader. If looks could kill, the man would have been dead in under a second.
“You dare gaze upon Marshal Jinnix?” the ruffian growled, slapping him across the face.
Heydar’s jaw flexed, but he somehow managed to remain silent. He was good with a knife and could likely cause a fair amount of damage before they stopped him. But stop him they would. This was an unwinnable situation and they both knew it.
Darla looked up at him, willing him to see her. Sensing her stare, he glanced at her, locking eyes a moment. She shook her head, mouthing the word no, then turned her eyes down once more.
Heydar’s muscles relaxed slightly with a defeated sigh. He lowered his gaze, even bowing his head slightly.
“You’d do well to remember your place,” the one called Jinnix said, nodding to his men.
One stepped in and hit Heydar hard with the butt of his weapon while the others quickly bound his arms. A small trickle of blood ran from his temple, but the beating stopped there.
“You may live. For now, at least,” Jinnix said. “He’s a strong one. Good enough for labor at our camp.”
“And this one?” a trooper asked, gesturing at Darla.
Jinnix pondered a moment, then pulled her close, sniffing her hair while staring at Heydar, daring him to respond.
“We’ll take her with. I’m sure we can find something she will be good for.”
Now it was Darla’s turn to feel angry. Exhausted as she was, she felt power begin to grow within her, surging through her body. She glanced down and realized her tattoos were churning under her skin once more. And they were getting more active by the second.
Heydar shook his head with an urgent look in his eye. He appreciated her fire, no doubt, but if the Dohrags saw her unusual pigment reaction, there was no telling what they might do to her.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. If she couldn’t manage that feat, she might be a dead woman. At least, sooner than later.
The tattoos fell silent just as the Dohrag troops bound her hands, shoving her into a forced march along with Heydar. She couldn’t help but marvel at the turn their day had taken. Things had gone from pretty damn nice to utter shit in a heartbeat. And she was worried they would only get worse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Darla and Heydar were separated, the burly alien captive at the front of the group and closely watched, while the human was forced to bring up the rear, a lone Dohrag pushing her along in front of him.
Despite outnumbering him by a lot, the Dohrag were not taking any chances with Heydar. He was an imposing man, and his musculature made even the otherwise intimidating troopers seem somewhat small by comparison. It was something their captors appeared acutely aware of. And uneasy men with big guns and a modicum of power was a recipe for trouble.
But it seemed to be more than that. The way they stole glances at him showed something other than just concern in their eyes. It looked like spite. Maybe even hate. Darla realized that with these different alien races it was entirely possible some sort of conflict already existed between them. Aside from the most basic, superficial details, she really didn’t know anything about the Dohrag, or Heydar’s Nimenni people for that matter. For all she knew there could be a long-standing blood feud between them.
Or not.
The Dohrag could also just be a bunch of assholes. Whatever the case, they were not taking their male captive lightly.
Darla, on the other hand, was treated as almost an afterthought. They were unfamiliar with her species, but it was abundantly clear the menacing aliens saw her as no more than a small, weak female they could do with as they pleased.
“Keep up,” the trooper behind her said, prodding her with his weapon.
She had seen enough action movies in her time to know you should never get that close to a prisoner. If only she possessed the martial arts and military skills of those cinematic heroes, she would have been in the perfect position to disarm one and take out the others from behind before they knew what hit them.
But in her reality Darla was most definitely not some super soldier ready to take her revenge.
“I said keep up!” the man said, shoving her again.
“Sorry,” she replied quietly, quickening her pace.
Heydar was moving relatively fast, his stride long and confident even as he was led to the certainty of maltreatment if not outright torture. But he walked tall, without hesitation, his head held high and shoulders back. He may have been a captive, but he was not about to give the Dohrags the satisfaction of seeing him cower in any way.
The trek went on for only a short time, all things considered, especially after the prior day’s efforts. More importantly, it seemed the Dohrags were leading them in the general direction they had already been traveling. This was both good and bad. Good in that they were nearing their objective. Bad in that any survivors had very possibly already been captured.
Whoa, Darla gasped as the shape of an actual spaceship became visible through the trees. She had seen the interior of one recently, but that had all been something of a traumatic whirlwind. But this? It was her first real alien ship encounter. As she got closer, however, she found herself less impressed.
The craft wasn’t terribly large, for one. Big, no doubt, but not some massive space cruiser. Dirt and debris were piled up against its hull, and the entire thing was covered in a not so fine layer of dust and grime.
Clearly, it had been there for a while. What’s more, it seemed some sort of settlement had been built around it with the ship itself acting as a central building of sorts with semi-permanent structures as well as more basic tents set off away from the main cluster.
They marched straight ahead toward the encampment, veering off to one side, bypassing the main tent area and heading toward what seemed to be the entrance to the ship. Marshal Jinnix called for his men to gather close, bringing his prisoners into the center of their group, as they walked, corralling them between them, their weapons ready.
But there would be no need for that. Reinforcements aplenty were to be had if required. A small group of Dohrags were working nearby, overseeing what seemed to be a rather diverse mix of races, all of them working in a series of terraced, interconnected fields set a little bit from the living quarters. By the state of them and the work conditions, it was clear they were indentured labor of some sort.
A few other Dohrags were taking leisure time near their quarters, shirtless in the heat. It was a bit of a shock when she realized they possessed a second set of vestigial arms crossing their abdomens, typically hidden by their attire.