The lower limbs seemed smaller than the upper ones, but she wondered if they weren’t functional, nonetheless. Likely so as even the smaller arms were marked, as was the rest of their bodies.
Without their uniform tops Darla could now see their tattoos more clearly. The lines were similar to those Heydar had marked her with, and those he wore himself, but the Dohrags’ markings were different as well. More harsh and angular, lacking the subtle flow Heydar and Darla’s possessed.
The runes, however, were the same. That much appeared to be the same across races, though the Dohrags seemed to favor almost entirely black ink with no highlights or colors.
Their companions out in the fields wore their full armor as they directed the workers, though Darla thought it was a bit of overkill in full sunlight, carrying massive weapons to watch a group of mostly females, all unarmed, working the land. They were growing crops of some sort, it seemed.
Farming? But aren’t these supposed to be a big, bad bunch of ass-kickers? Guess they’ve still got to eat.
The idea that a war machine could be hobbled by their food supply chain would have been amusing if not for the situation. It seemed a fighting force still marched on a full stomach, and despite their technological advances, the Dohrags needed to do it in a conventional manner. Namely, farming.
Darla squinted to get a better look at the crops and people working them. Orange furry aliens, blue-skinned quadrupedal aliens, there were all sorts there, but one caught her eye. She thought she saw a human complexion among the group and was hoping to get a better look at them, but her view was blocked by a trooper as she and Heydar were directed right into the ship’s entry hatch.
The change in air quality hit her immediately. Where it was fresh and clear outside, the interior of the craft smelled of oil, sweat, and technology. None of the natural aromas softened the environment like outside. It was harsh, and as they were marched in front of a dour-looking man with far more decorations marking his uniform than the others, she thought it fitting.
“You are back several days early, Jinnix,” the man growled.
Marshal Jinnix stepped forward and bowed his head. “General Barzin, we have captured these two interlopers sniffing around our perimeter.”
The general was a large man, much more muscular in stature than his marshal, and when he rose from his seat he loomed over him, standing nearly as tall as Heydar. He gave them a quick over with a haughty gaze, as if even looking at them was beneath him.
“Show me,” he said with a bored wave toward the captives.
The troopers clearly knew what he meant and set to work immediately, stripping Heydar and Darla in a flash, tossing their clothes in a pile at their feet. After all they’d been through, Darla was almost numb to the act. Heydar, however, bristled when they removed her clothing. Protective. Possessive. But he forced himself to remain calm, only the twitching muscle in his jaw and the vein on his neck betraying his anger.
The general sat down as Marshal Jinnix pushed the two closer to him, forcing them to spin around for him to see.
“The Nimenni’s markings, General,” Jinnix said, pointing to a few unusual ones on his upper shoulders that Darla was pretty sure no one else she had seen possessed.
The general nodded, bored. His men grabbed Heydar’s arms and pulled him around to face the general front-on. He didn’t fight, standing tall, his enormous cock dangling confidently between his legs, almost taunting their captors.
But Heydar’s face was not one of calm amusement. He was affected for some reason, and Darla was about to find out why.
“His Infala,” Jinnix said with a laugh, pointing to the dark rune on his chest. The one Darla had run her hands across along with the others as she explored his body. But Jinnix was not a lover. Not by a long shot.
“Look! The pigment has gone still!” Jinnix said with a cruel laugh. His men tittered, and even the general seemed to have his interest piqued and amusement aroused. “This one lost his mate. No wonder he is so broken and weak. He is bonded no more!”
The Dohrags laughed, teasing the pained man. He glanced at Darla, the first time she’d seen anything but confidence in his eyes. Heydar quickly averted his gaze, a dark shadow of gloom almost visible over his head.
Oh my God. I’m such an asshole, she thought. I teased him about not having anyone. And all this time, he’d had one, but his bonded mate was dead.
Her stomach lurched, wincing in sympathy for him, realizing just how much she must have hurt him with her offhand jokes.
Her attention was abruptly shifted to more pressing matters when rough hands yanked her closer to the general, poking and prodding her flesh.
“Look at her pigment,” Jinnix said, genuine curiosity in his voice. “It is fresh.”
“At this age?” the general mused. “How odd.”
“It is, indeed,” Jinnix replied, manhandling her nude body to present his commander a better look. “She is a tiny thing. A race I have never seen before. Not very hardy.”
“I have seen one of this sort. You are not the only scouts bringing back laborers. She is unimpressive but will be good enough for our needs,” the general said with a dirty chuckle. “Put her with the other females. We will get to know her better soon enough.”
Darla locked eyes with Heydar as they grabbed her by each arm and dragged her away, wondering what would become of her. What might become of him.
She didn’t get much of a look around at her surroundings as they bundled her across the compound with no regard for her scrambling feet trying to keep up. In no time they arrived at their destination.
“Hey, watch it!” she blurted as they roughly shoved her into a spartan metal bunkhouse of sorts.
The guards threw her clothing in after her and stepped back to close the door behind themselves as they left.
“Wait! What am I supposed to do here? Where are you going?” She rushed the door, but the guard shoved her back, sending her hard onto her ass.
He gazed down on her, sizing her up with an amused grin. “You will begin work tomorrow. That is what you are supposed to do. This is your one chance to gather your strength. I suggest you utilize this time to yourself. You’ll need it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Darla had spent the entire afternoon alone in the locked bunkhouse. It was unsettling, but at least it had afforded her time to rest, as the guard had suggested, as well as affording her an opportunity to look around and plot and plan. If she could find a weak point, maybe she could escape.
There would be no such luck.
The metal walls were battered and bent, but they were still sound. Whatever scrap they had fashioned this prisoner housing out of, it was more than strong enough to hold her. Even Heydar would be hard pressed to find a weak spot to exploit.
There were a few portal windows allowing natural light in as well as cross ventilation, but they were small enough that a person couldn’t possibly fit through them, so that option was nixed straightaway.
She was stuck there.
Exploring the building, she saw that a series of simple bunk beds had been erected, thin cushions the only thing between their occupants and the hard surface beneath. There was also what was apparently a toilet.
Raised metal foot pads were clear enough on either side of a moveable metal disc. Darla lifted it and discovered it was a lid mounted to an inset rim that went about a foot underground. Beneath that was a pit that was deeper than she could see, but one whiff told her all she needed to know about it.