Page 37 of Captured By the Scaled Outlaw
With a begrudging exhale, I cross my arms. “Livedwith Grandma; she passed away many years ago. She raised me like a daughter.” I pause, recalling painful memories stored at the back of my mind to the forefront. It hurts less than I remember, and I’m grateful for the passage of time. I don’t think I’d live it down if I cried in front of Lowell. “My parents were traveling artists, so I never saw them. I stopped trying to contact them after my eighteenth birthday. I have no idea if they are even still alive,” I finish.
I flick the blood bag tube, urging the liquid to keep moving.
Lowell pinches his lips together, his head turned away from the bag. I thought he’d love the sight of blood, but it turns out he’s unafraid of all but his own.
“They never tried to contact you after your grandma died?” he asks,eyes darting back and forth from the needle in his arm to the side of the tent. The scales of his face pale slightly.
“Nope,” I reply, placing extra medical tape over the needle to make it more secure.
“Leaving a kid with a monster-hunter was pretty bold of your parents,” he says, attempting to adjust his wounded leg. I catch it in my hands, shaking my head.
“No moving. I just got it closed,” I scold him, still straddling his lap.
Lowell frowns, uncomfortably wiggling where he lies. “Yeah, yeah. Just keep talking.”
Pressing down on his fidgeting leg, I continue. “My parents didn’t care what happened to me, only that I was out of their way. I didn’t mind it though, I loved my childhood with Grandma. She was hard on me, but I was better for it. She taught me how to garden, paint, build shelters, and become self-sufficient. She’s why I know so much about biology and conservation… as well as how to defend myself. Especially against Lizardfolk,” I tease, the tip of my tongue pressing to the roof of my mouth.
Lowell’s mouth slides ajar, one corner of his lips quirked. “So, it wasn’t just a lucky blow back then, huh?”
I smile bashfully. “No such thing.”
Becoming serious, his face contorts as if he were piecing together a complex riddle. “So if your grandma was a monster-hunter — an outlaw contracted by the government — when didyoubecome a rule-abiding killjoy? From an outlaw’s granddaughter to a pushover subordinate. How sad.”
I shrink at his harsh words, the truthful concept of Grandma being anoutlawone I tend to try to forget. “It’s not—” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “My background is complicated. Grandma was always at risk of Nilsan revoking her contract, meaning she’d have been arrested the moment it wasn’t approved for renewal. She was perpetually at themercy of the government, forced to abide by their rules while assuming none of the benefits of citizenship. We were only allowed to legally enter Nilsan on the first day of each month to purchase supplies.” I look down at my hands, picking at the skin on the side of my thumbs. “There was a dark fear beneath Grandma’s optimistic demeanor that she thought I didn’t notice, a deep-seated regret she only voiced when she was alone.”
Lowell cocks his head, his focus remaining on my face.
“Grandma hated being an outsider and didn’t want the same for me,” I say, a lump in my throat. “She raised me to believe that laws were made for a reason and should be followed, even if she didn’t. She told me that I should make change the right way, from the inside. This way, I wouldn’t have to live the rest of my life in isolation and fear like she did.”
“And you still believe that?” Lowell asks hesitantly.
I nod. “Well, yeah, it’s all I’ve ever known. Paperwork can be boring, but it’s the right way to achieve what I want. It’s important to me.”
“From what you’ve told me, it sounds like you had more fun as the child of an outlaw,” he snorts.
I squeeze my hands in my lap, delighted by a wave of nostalgia. “In some ways, I did. Grandma used to take me on short expeditions between contracted hunts that would usually start as lessons in foraging for food but would end in her frantically teaching me which animals were venomous and which were not,” I giggle. “But it could be difficult at times. When Grandma left for a hunt, I often wondered if it would be the last time I saw her,” I finish, my smile fading to a slight grin.
I don’t miss the worry, loneliness, or relieving anticipation of watching her caravan pull up to the house. While I miss her dearly, it was far from easy to live the way we did — without family or a community, just each other.
“Is that how she died?” Lowell asks bluntly.
I shake my head. “No, she retired and passed away peacefully at home from old age… clutching her crossbow,” I say, laughing. “She kept it in bed with her at night, and I’m happy to inform you that that tradition still holds strong.”
“You ladies sure love your crossbows. It’s adorable,” Lowell says, attempting to laugh but is stopped by pain. He groans, fighting the urge to move his leg. I don’t doubt that his muscles are stiff as stone, the twitches that rope beneath his scales tensing his jaw in reaction.
I brush over the exposed skin on Lowell’s stomach comfortingly, the soft scales feeling like silk beneath my dry fingertips. His flesh quivers like rouching fabric, his eyes connecting with mine. I don’t move my hand.
“What about your parents? Or whoever you call your family?” I ask, shrugging impishly. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know much about Lizardfolk culture.”
Lowell’s tail gently slaps against the ground a few times, but he doesn’t reply.
“Rough subject?” I say, dragging my touch over the scales of his abdomen again. I trace the indentation and valleys of his muscles, his abs toned and inhuman.
Lowell groans, but it doesn’t sound pained. He suddenly snatches my wrist, my hand now swallowed in the expanse of his palms.
“Oh, come on, I shared. It’s your turn,” I prod.
He swallows a lump in his throat before speaking in a soft voice. “No, um, it’s not that.” His deep scales flush a shade of crimson, the contrast striking. “It’s just that, uh, you should stop touching me like that.” A wet tongue slides over his lips. “You’re turning me on.”
