Page 56 of Fated to the Dragon Alien

The needle-thin projectile sank into the side of his neck. He staggered back. His mouth opened in a silent snarl, fire caught mid-rise in his throat.

Then—emptiness. The burn inside him went cold in a blink.

His limbs weakened. His body jerked, like something had cut the cords holding him upright. His claws retracted. His wings turned lighter, returning to their original size. Whatever was happening to him stopped.

Cerani said his name in a panicked whisper.

Pain flashed through his spine. His hands clenched uselessly against the deck plates as the shift reversed. His limbs shrank unevenly. Bones cracked. Heat left him in an icy rush.

The dart stayed in his neck. Whatever had been in that thin spike was unlike anything he’d ever felt. He collapsed onto his side, breath scraping from his throat.

Cerani didn’t scream or panic. She dropped to her knees and cradled his head, fingers on the dart to yank it free.

“Stavian,” she said, bracing his cheek. “Stay with me.”

His body burned and froze at the same time. His vision blurred. He tried to speak. No sound came out.

Suddenly, the ground thundered around him—pairs of boots pounded nearby. Voices shouted. Stavian’s vision cut in and out. One second there was light; the next, darkness. Cold sweat slicked his back.

“Stavian,” Cerani said. Her hands cupped his jaw. “I’ve got you. Keep your eyes open.”

Then a shadow crossed the light above him. Footsteps thudded past and fired blasters that sizzled off the hangar walls. Sparks flew near his shoulder. He flinched, muscles spasming. The smell of burned ozone filled his nose.

The miners. They were fighting back.

He caught a glimpse of Jorr braced beside him, rifle in both hands. A female named Niat ducked low behind a crate and pulled the trigger on a short-barreled blaster. The bolt sizzled past Bendahn’s feet. She stepped back. Her expression was unreadable as the black-clad operatives behind her returned fire. One dropped before he reached cover.

Stavian winced as he struggled to get up.

Cerani’s grip shifted. “Help me!” she yelled. “Get him on board.”

“On it.” Jorr’s voice came from behind, fast and sharp. A second later, Stavian felt thick set of arms slide around him from the back and locked around his chest. Jorr hauled him upright and pulled him backward.

Cerani was at his side, one hand on his bare chest. “Keep breathing,” she said in his ear. “Don’t stop.”

He wanted to tell her that he was fine—he was. If only every step toward the ship’s ramp didn’t send a flash of white through his vision. Fire still swirled in his chest, but his limbs were heavy. Weak. He swore he couldn’t feel his wings anymore.

Shots rang out near the entrance. The reprogrammed mech on their flank clattered as something struck its chassis. Sparksburst from its shoulder. Jorr fired over his shoulder, covering them as they backed onto the ramp.

Cerani ducked behind a support girder and glanced back. “Rinter! Now!”

A second later, the hull panels began to close.

Behind them, two more miners dragged a third body onto the ramp—someone was bleeding, but alive. Sema followed them and fired twice into the hangar, forcing one of Bendahn’s operatives to dive for cover. The doors sealed halfway. A stray pulse slammed into the frame and scorched the edge black.

“Med kits. Now,” Cerani ordered, pulling Stavian to her. Another arms-wrapped hug from Jorr helped them stagger up the deck. They cleared the ramp as the ship screamed a warning chime.

“Ramp closing,” someone yelled. The ramp sealed with a heavy clang.

The ship was closed.

Something deep and heavy rumbled through the floor. Stavian’s skull throbbed. Lightning scraped behind his eyes. He slumped hard against Cerani as Jorr lowered him roughly onto the floor. Cerani dropped down beside him and hit her comm.

Cerani’s fingers trembled for the first time since he’d met her. Her voice came low. “Rinter, I need whatever you’ve got in the med stash to bring him back around—a stim would work.”

There was chatter, insistent and frantic as the other injured person was tended to as well as him. They had so little time. Even as they fiddled with him, Bendahn likely had someone in the control tower shutting down the hangar and arranging for the hull to be opened. Quick hands snapped a stim into a press-injector. No words. No warning. The tip of the needle slammed into Stavian’s chest—right between his ribs.

The jolt tore through him like acid and lightning.

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