Chapter Text
The bullet hits the Targora in the middle of its jump, a clear shot right between the eyes. It goes down with a dull sound, the roaring mewl dying abruptly when its eyes break.
There's no real triumph, only a sense of grim satisfaction when Andrew watches the Targora fall to the ground. Three of them dead now, this was the third one Andrew has shot, but there are others somewhere out there, many more of them, hunting him like he's hunting them in return.
There's no time to gloat over his excellent shot, and the angry roar in the distance urges him to hurry and find a place where he won't be out in the open and such a perfect target. Andrew secures his weapon and turns to the path that will lead him to the southern mountains where he's left his ship in one of the caves, well hidden from his enemy behind the large rocks. It's a long march, but he knows these mountains better than his enemy. It's not their homeworld or their natural habitat, they only come here to shift and hunt, and it's still early in the day, so they will mostly hide and wait until darkness falls. The one Andrew's just shot was clearly a young and inexperienced one, still in training and not cleared yet to hunt their human prey. It thought itself to be safe and alone, didn't expect a single weak human to be so bolt and intrude on its territory.
If Andrew hadn't been forced to take a detour on his way to Coryss Prime where he wanted to meet some of his fellow fighters, the Rallian ship wouldn't have shown up on his radar and made him curious. But he did, and the small blue dot moving over the screen was like a magnet he couldn't resist its strong pull. Curiosity is one of Andrew's strongest features, and he's dealt with enough Rallians in the past to be cautious and not arouse their attention by accident. Besides, they've started to expand their territories, always in need for more worlds with human populations they can enslave and oppress, and the opportunity to follow this ship and hunt the hunters for a change was too good to ignore it.
The sun is just setting when Andrew reaches the cave where the Nightowl, his small but fast and efficient ship, is waiting for him. He's still moving in the shadows and using trees and bushes as his cover, and he pays close attention to his surroundings, but there's a rustling noise coming from somewhere behind him, unexpected and too close, that shouldn't be there at all. It alerts him, not quick enough, though, and before he's halfway turned around something hard hits his back and hot white pain explodes in his skull. He's still blindly searching for his gun when his body hits the ground, and then there's nothing but blackness surrounding him for a long time.
***
When the darkness is finally lifting, Andrew finds himself in a prison cell. He's been in a Rallian ship's prison cell before and knows how they look and feel like. He's been left lying on the pulsing ground after they've dragged him here, and Andrew remains still for several minutes and listens inwardly to check himself for injuries - well any other injuries except for the bump on his temple that formed when he went down after being hit by a Rallian stunner. There's a dull ache in his skull that sharpens to real pain when he moves his head to the side, but apart from that he seems to be okay. He still feels numb and a bit nauseous from the large dose he got from the stunner, but that'll pass and is the least of his concerns right now.
Andrew carefully sits up because he's surely watched in his cell, and one of those damn creatures will show up here sooner rather than later when they see that he's awake again. No way that he's facing them lying on his back. The cell starts spinning around him, and he breathes through his nose as he fights the dizziness. The cell is still rather dark, the light emanating straight from the gray walls themselves red like the glow of dying embers, but it's enough for him to see the interior and make his headache become worse. His current home is almost luxurious compared to the last Rallian cell he's found himself in, there's a small cot attached to the wall opposite the exit and a sanitation behind a screen to his left side. The last cell had been completely empty, so this is new and unexpected. Andrew had noticed the size of the Rallian ship, bigger than most of them, maybe this is a transporter or one of their new warships.
The exit – or entrance, depending on the side one's looking at it from – is locked with bars and the only connection to the rest of the huge spaceship as there is no window or any device that would allow him to initiate contact with his captors on his own. Not that Andrew expected them to offer him such a courtesy – the Rallians are known for their arrogance and sense of superiority towards most other races in the galaxy, and they can't be bothered about courtesy or compassion. For years, the galaxy had bowed their heads before this seemingly invincible foe, but that has changed, and some of the worlds the Rallians have annexed finally start to stand up and fight against them.
Andrew can pride himself without being conceited that he's no small part of this rebellion.
When he trusts himself enough that his legs will support his weight, he rises to his feet and staggers to the cot to sit down on the edge of it and wait for their next move. It's a compromise because the aftereffect of the stunner has still not fully left his system and he knows that he can't stand for too long yet, so sitting on the cot instead of the floor will have to do for now. There's no way that he'll crane his neck back to look his enemy in the eyes when they'll come to him.
At least the nausea is thankfully gone, and Andrew brings himself into the calm state of meditation to prepare himself for what is to come soon. That it'll be nothing good, that is as sure as the fact that the sun his homeworld circles around will explode in one big supernova one day in the distant future of five millions years, when even the memory of Captain Andrew Winter, hero of the rebellion against the Rallian terror, will be lost forever in the endless vast of the universe.
***
A quiet sound coming from the floor behind those thick bars rouses him from his state of untroubled calm, and he lifts his head in time to see one of his enemies materialize seemingly out of nowhere.
One heartbeat the space before the organic bars was empty, and in the next there's someone standing before them and staring at him through the small space that's left between them.
The Rallian is a beautiful creature, Andrew has to give him that.
Lean and graceful, the posture of the victor carved into every bone and muscle of his tall frame. His long black coat, more an armor than a simple garment, hugs the Rallian's torso like a second skin but leaves enough room around his endless legs for him to move elegantly and without making a sound. The high collar protects his throat, one of the few vulnerable spots of this race. Pitch-black curls crown his head, falling down to his shoulders where they surround his ivory-pale face, and Andrew can't help but think that he looks like a dark angel that has fallen from grace of his godly maker. A nose that can only be called delicate, and his sensor pits on each side of that pretty nose are small and not like the usual big holes Andrew knows from other Rallians. Bluish veins accentuate the paleness of his skin in complicated patterns, visible enough to be fascinating but faint enough not to disturb the picture of ethereal beauty.
His lips are almost as pale as his skin, covering the dangerously sharp teeth behind them only barely. Andrew tells himself that the slight shiver that's wrecking him at the sight of this sensitive mouth is a shiver of disgust and not... temptation.
He tears his eyes away from the way those lips twitch at his staring and lets them travel upwards until he can lock gazes with the Rallian.
His eyes are the most disturbing part about him, even more than his mouth and his teeth. They are of a brilliant deep blue color like icy crystals, and Andrew knows that they can change their color from that deep blue to bright silver and back, depending on the Rallian's mood – or his hunger.
They look so scaringly human and yet so alien at the same time because the pupils in the midst of the sparkling blue are slotted and not humanly rounded.
It's dangerous to look into a Rallian's eyes for too long, and Andrew has been a first-hand witness to how people lose their minds and their souls after looking into those eyes for just a second too long too many times. Their eyes are the gate to hell, people whisper behind their closed doors, and they might be right with that. Looking into the eyes of a Rallian for too long gives them the opportunity to invade the mind of their human prey and turn them into willful slaves of their new masters, but it's hard to resist the spell they cast over you so easily.
Strangely enough, it has never happened to him, and so he stares at the creature watching him through the bars with both defiance and challenge until the Rallian relents and drops his own gaze to Andrew's mouth for the split of a second. He raises a pale hand, and the bars become transparent and allow him to go through and enter Andrew's prison cell. If he were fast enough, he could maybe escape, but this ship is full of more Rallians, and he's sensible enough to know that he wouldn't make it to the hangar where they're surely keeping his beloved Nightowl.
So he stays where he is, craning his head just so that he can meet the sparkling alien blue eyes looking down at him. Their expression is a mixture of annoyance, arrogance and – surprising enough – curiosity, and Andrew feels like a rare exhibit under the scrutinizing gaze.
“Captain Andrew Winter, so I can finally welcome you on board my ship. Your reputation precedes you, but the stories I've heard about you don't do you real justice.”
Andrew has waited for the Rallian to break the silence first, yet he's not really prepared when it happens. He's heard Rallians speak before, but mostly through the filters of communicators, radio devices and speakers, and none of them do the rich sound of their multi-toned voices real justice.
His voice is low and vibrant, with too many different layers to it and which Andrew can't all detect with his human ears, and it floats around him like mist and makes him feel dizzy. He blinks, and the image of a purring Targora sitting on a thick branch and watching him with glittering blue eyes is so strong that he flinches backwards with a gasp.
The Rallian stills in surprise. He tilts his head curiously, his lips curving into a smile and showing the tips of his pointed teeth.
“So you're not as immune as we thought that you are. Interesting. If we'd known that, we'd have doubled our efforts to capture you sooner, Captain Winter. Well, our efforts paid off in the end, didn't they?”
Andrew hates his triumphant smile, and he hates how he's let himself be caught off guard.
“So it was a trap,” he shrugs, “you could just have sent an official invitation, I might have taken you up on it.”
The Rallian's gaze flickers to his mouth once more before he catches himself and stares back straight into Andrew's human hazel-green eyes.
“We'll never know it, will we?” he considers aloud, “but the chances that you would have weren't high enough anyway.”
Andrew grins up at him. “But they could have been. I wouldn't dwell in the hope that you can do to me what you're doing to the others, though. Your stunners are nasty things, but they are not enough to turn me into one of your mindless worshipers just because you're using your voice or eyes on me. It's never worked this way with me. Not before, and it won't now.”
“We'll see, Captain Winter. Maybe that was because the Rallians you've encountered before were not as strong as I am.”
The proud statement has Andrew's lips purse into a grin. “Modesty is not one of the features you're known for, is it?” he counters, “arrogance is it more like. As you know who I am, will you introduce yourself to me?” he asks curiously, and the Rallian pauses, several emotions flickering over his face. They're gone quickly again, though, not allowing Andrew to grasp them, and the meaning behind.
“I'm the Commander of this ship,” he says at last, obviously not willing to say more, and Andrew doesn't give him the satisfaction of asking again.
“Well then, Commander,” he just says, the emphasis of the Rallian's title, and there's a sick sense of pleasure in the pit of his stomach at the soft annoyed hiss it earns him in return. “Where are we going?”
The look of pleased malice he gets for his curiosity should alarm him, but as he already suspected the answer, it really doesn't.
“We're going to Rallias,” the Commander informs him, “ I'm taking you to the crown prince. The day of his coronation isn't far, and on that day, we'll set a warning example for all of those who believe you to be their savior, Captain Winter.”
***
At least they're not planning to let him die of starvation before they reach their homeworld Rallias.
Andrew's getting two meals in the timespan of twenty-three hours, the time Rallias needs for a full circle around its sun. Only few people know the position of the Rallians' home system, which is well hidden in the center of a dark cluster, and even fewer people have ever come back from there.
The food isn't haute cuisine, but it sustains him well enough, and Andrew doesn't make the mistake of being too stubborn to accept food from his enemies and starve himself. It would be a foolish act of heroism that won't help anyone, least of all his fellow comrades and fighters, and he doesn't need to worry about the Commander wanting to poison him, either. He's made clear what they plan to do to him, it would be pointless to harm or kill him before they reach Rallias - where they can set a warning example on the day of the designated crown prince's coronation for the whole galaxy to be a witness of his execution and with that, of the death of the rebellion, too.
There had been rumors about the death of the former queen, a vicious monarch whose only goal was to enslave every single planet with human populations, the reason why the rebellion exists in the first place. When the killing and slaughtering became too much, when each family of any planet had to mourn the loss of their loved ones, more and more men and women followed Andrew's example and started to fight back, to kill their Rallian masters whenever they had the chance to do so.
Andrew can't count how often he's been offered the post of their leader, to be the face and the voice of the rebellion and gather their fighters together. He'd always refused because he's not the leader they want and need him to be. He's best left on his own, and he's not half as good a politician and diplomat as the current leaders Valia and Torran are, who belong to the small circle of real friends he has. He prefers to stay the lonesome warrior he's been right from the start, hoping that it would make him less of the hero people see in him, but they do, nonetheless.
Executing him will make him a martyr above all the other things, and he wonders why the Rallians are willing to take that risk and do that instead of just killing him here and now and bury his body where no one will find it. It would take some time for people to forget about him, but it would eventually happen, and Andrew is still mulling over this question when the Commander pays him a second visit after another half circle of twenty-three hours.
Andrew wakes up from his restless slumber to the feeling of someone watching him, and he slowly sits up and blinks the sleep out of his eyes. The Commander is standing before the bars, staring down at his crumpled figure with his alien blue eyes, and he steps through them when Andrew is upright and looking back at him.
Andrew shivers in the cool air of his cell, air that is strangely clean and doesn't smell of anything. Rallians prefer a cooler climate when they're in their human form, whereas they seek heat when they shift into the predatory appearance of the big black Targoras; and Andrew, who has grown up on a planet with high temperatures, feels goosebumps form on his bare skin under his worn green jacket.
The Commander pauses in his approach, tilting his head silently, and after another blink of eye, the reddish glow coming from the walls intensifies and it's getting considerably warmer in Andrew's cell.
It's not a sudden display of compassion or courtesy, of course, it's just cold calculation and logic to ensure that their important prisoner will stay alive and healthy until they reach their homeworld and he can present Andrew as a gift to his crown prince, but Andrew acknowledges the Commander's willingness to grant him some minimal amount of comfort with a brief nod of his head and the hint of a smile anyway.
“So the rumors are true that your queen... has passed away,” he says by way of greeting, observing the tall male from the corner of his eye. The Rallian is as gorgeous as Andrew remembers him to be, and he leans against the wall next to the exit with his arms folded across his black-clad chest. He appears somewhat insecure today, as if Andrew's reaction is nothing he's ever had to deal with before. Which is probably true, because humans usually don't have the means to resist a member of his kin, not with their ability to force their human prey and slaves down on their knees with a single glance out of their alien eyes or a single word spoken with their vibrant voices.
Andrew has always wondered why it never worked with him, why he always feels the strong pull of their mental powers but never has to obey them. Maybe he's a genetic anomaly that makes him immune against the spell they cast on anyone else, maybe it's just his stubbornness, he'll probably never going to find out which of these two it is, not with his execution looming over him so close.
The dark cluster that hides the Commander's homeworld is on the other side of the galaxy, and it'll take even the big Rallian ship at least two weeks to get there, but two weeks is a small timespan when you know that your life will end after that.
“Queen Tabithya is dead, yes,” the Commander confirms after considering him some more, “Prince Tavalion will succeed her after our arrival in Targor, our capital. His reign couldn't start any better than with setting a warning example for others with you, human.”
So now he's just 'human' and not 'Captain Winter' anymore. Well, it's a good thing that Andrew has never really cared about his rank or what his enemies think him to be. He peers up at the beautiful but dangerous creature through dark-blond lashes and smiles.
“I'll drink to that, Commander. I'm sure your coup will push you up the ladder and make you Prince Tavalion's favorite. Too bad that I won't be there to watch your quick rise and certain fall when you'll do something that'll displease him soon enough afterwards.” Andrew's not sure why he feels the need to anger him, or why he accepts his fate without at least trying to fight against the inevitable. Maybe he's tireder than he realized. Tired of running and fighting, of hiding and watching entire worlds succumb to slavery and doom.
The Rallian bares his teeth at Andrew's snarky remark, his pointed fangs gleaming in the red light that's filling the cell and causing Andrew a bad headache the whole time. He doesn't flinch back from the sight, even though he can feel the creature's hunger like a dark pressure in the back of his mind, the ghostly memory of the Rallian's last meal leaving a metallic taste in his own throat.
It's not the blood for itself that these creatures crave, it's the warmth, the energy, the pure life human blood means to them and which they need to nourish themselves and keep their mental skills and their ability to shift into their other form at the highest level – Andrew sometimes still thinks that it might actually be their real form - the form of the elegant black and cat-like Targora.
“You're not like the stories about you made me believe that you are, human. I'd thought that you'd put up more of a fight,” the Commander says at last, and he actually sounds displeased – as if he'd hoped that Andrew would try to argue his hopeless case nonetheless.
“Sorry to disappoint, then,” Andrew shrugs, closing his eyes. There's a heavy weight pressing down on his mind ever since the Commander has entered his cell, and he feels dizzy and nauseous because keeping his walls up against the attempted mental oppression makes it hard for him to concentrate and ignore the pain his inner fight and the artificial red light causes him.
The pressure eases a bit when the expression in those alien blue eyes softens at his obvious pain, and he curls himself up into a tight ball on the cot, drifting back to sleep without caring that he's fragile and an even easier target now. No Rallian has ever succeeded in getting behind his walls, not even when he was unconscious so far, and he doubts that it'll be any different with the Commander, no matter how strong his powers must be to make him become a Commander in the strict Rallian hierarchy.
He's almost asleep when there's a movement next to him and the thin blanket is pulled up to his shoulders, a strangely gentle gesture coming from one of his worst enemies, but Andrew is too tired to wonder about that right now.
***
The dreams start after the Commander's first visit, and they become more intense after his second.
Every time he falls asleep, they come to him, always the same in different variations, and he still remembers most of them for hours after waking up again. They're disturbing, and Andrew hates them as much as he craves them because they speak of things he'll never get to have anymore.
He knows that they are not his dreams, that they are probably more actual memories than just dreams, but he can't stop or escape them when they creep up on him in the night.
Night and day don't really matter on board the huge Rallian ship, they're all the same, always reddish light that hurts in his eyes and in his brain, always pulsing walls and floor, the tristesse of his depressing prison cell, the endless hours only broken by the Rallian officers who'll bring him his meals.
Andrew dreams of thick green forests, the vastness of countless shades of green and brown and gray. He dreams of the hot breezes that ruffle his black fur and tickle his belly when he rolls around in the soft grass, of the excitement of the hunt and the bone-deep pleasure of pointed teeth sinking into his prey and feasting on the warm blood of his quarry.
In the night, he's running through his territory and the joy and pleasure are overwhelming. There's nothing except for him and the jungle and those he's come for to hunt them down. There's a sense of peace and rightness in his mind and his very core he's always missing when he's awake.
There's freedom.
A freedom he's never had and never will have because he's been born into a role he never asked for and never wanted to have.
He keeps fighting against waking up from those dreams every morning a little bit more, keeps longing for the hot wind and the endless green of the forests more and more. He knows that this isn't right, that he shouldn't let those dreams pull him under like their doing because they're not his dreams, not his memories.
It's the dreams and memories of his worst enemy, their new way to defeat him and control him.
Andrew's sleeping self doesn't care about that because being asleep and dreaming is much better than being awake these days.
***
It's bribery now.
The day after the Commander's second visit Andrew's marched through the long gloomy corridors of the Rallian ship to another cell. This one looks more like guest quarters than an actual prison cell, with a proper bed, a table with two chairs and a small bathroom. There's nothing he can use as a weapon to fight his way through the ship and harm any of his captors, his meals consisting of food he can eat with his fingers and the cup he's getting to drink from always taken away from him again after he's finished his breakfast and dinner.
No mirror in the bath he could crush and use its shards to stab the officers bringing him his food in their throat, no razor or knife to shave. Andrew can feel the stubble grow on his chin and his cheeks, even though it's slow. He's never really managed to grow a beard, so maybe this is the first time he'll actually get the chance to see how he'd look like with a beard.
The wall over the sink-like piece of furniture changes to a mirror when he stares at it long enough, another proof of the amazing technology the Rallians possess. Not that Andrew cares to admire their technology openly, there's no need to feed their arrogance any further.
The Commander even gave order to change the light in his new quarters, it's more yellow-golden than red now, and his headache hasn't been as worse as it was during the first days of his captivity.
During the first circle of twenty-three hours after his move the Commander remains absent, and Andrew wonders why that is.
There are two officers guarding his door and bringing him food, a rather young looking male with short brown curls and flickering blue eyes, and an older female with long red-blond hair and a sharp smile. Her name is Kythya. She's been the only one talking to him except for the Commander himself so far, and Andrew draws sick pleasure out of the fact that the younger officer is apparently either too scared or impressed by him to dare talking to him.
Andrew eyes the long knife attached to her belt when she puts the tray with his dinner on the table, and Kythya bares her teeth to a hiss when she notices his appraising gaze.
“Don't even think of it, human. It would be a pity if I had to behead you before the coronation day.” Kythya doesn't sound regretful about perhaps being forced to remove his head from his shoulders before that day, but she doesn't sound too eager to kill him right there and then, either. She's merely reminding him that she's his guard for a reason, and Andrew wasn't really serious about trying to escape as long as they're in hyperspace and he's got nowhere to go and hide anyway.
His guards usually stay during his meals to make sure that he won't do anything stupid, and Kythya moves back to stand before the exit with her hands on her hips near her weapons.
Andrew sighs and sits to take a bite from one of the fruits on his plate.
“So you're all looking forward to Prince Tavalion becoming your new king,” he says because her silence is getting on his nerves. “He can't be worse than the old queen was.”
Kythya sends him a look of pure malice. “The crown prince does not need to concern you, human. You won't be there to judge his reign,” she states, the dark sensor pits beside her nose moving with her next deep inhale, and Andrew smiles at her.
“You're awfully sure of that,” he muses, pulling a scornful snort out of her. Her long red-blond hair forms a halo around her face in the yellow glow shining from the walls, and Andrew would admire her beauty if they weren't enemies. She's not as gorgeous as the Commander, but even by human standards Kythya is one of the most beautiful females he's ever encountered.
“Why wouldn't I be?” she counters, her smile all sharp teeth and gleaming silver eyes, and Andrew smiles back at her with mocking nonchalance.
“Tell me something about your Commander. It's a large ship, and he seems to be rather young for such a post.”
Kythya's smile vanishes as if someone has wiped it from her face, and she narrows her eyes at him, looking strangely protective of her superior all of a sudden.
“My Commander is what he is, and what he wants you to know about him or not is none of my business.”
Considering that Andrew participates in his dreams at night, he probably already knows much more about him than Kythya is aware of. That he's part of the dreams of the Commander and not anyone else on board this ship there's no doubt about that, the only thing Andrew isn't sure of is whether the tall Rallian shares his memories and dreams deliberately with him or if that rather comes from his attempts to force his way into Andrew's mind.
If the Commander is even aware that Andrew follows him into his dreams at night. He might be, Andrew thinks, and the tickling deep in his guts at this thought is disturbing.
He pushes his plate aside and folds his arms across his chest in determination. “You know, I don't think that I want to honor your crown prince with my presence at his big day. We're at least two weeks away from Rallias - probably more considering that even your ships will need time to navigate through the cluster where you hide so cowardly from the rest of your 'subjects'. It won't take two weeks for me to starve myself to death – which would be preferable to me and ruin all your carefully laid plans to set a warning example and bring the message home.”
Kythya glares at him at his threat, her sensor pits moving rapidly now, and Andrew can feel the well-known pressure behind his temples, but she doesn't possess the Commander's strength to cause him more than a slight discomfort as he throws her out of his head easily, and he grins at her as he leans back in his seat.
“You're welcome to try that, officer,” he says, “but you won't succeed any more than your Commander did, and he really tried, believe me. You can force me to eat in other ways of course, torture me physically, but that wouldn't look so good, either, right? Executing a man who's already more dead than alive can't be really satisfying and wouldn't set the warning example you want the galaxy to remember.”
“What do you want, human?” the Rallian snarls at him, and Andrew meets her glare without blinking.
“Your Commander is avoiding me,” he says, and he's as surprised about his words as Kythya actually is. It's stupid to demand the tall Rallian's regular presence in his comfortable prison cell, stupid because there's already a far too strong bond between them that formed when the Commander visited him for the first time, and which grew stronger when those dreams started to haunt him.
Andrew really shouldn't long to see the beautiful creature again, shouldn't long to learn the secrets he's hiding from his human captive and listen to his vibrant voice. But he does all of that, and if he's going to die in a couple of weeks, then spending more time with the fascinating Rallian won't make any difference, so why not spending his last days as a part of this universe as best as he can? Listening to the voice of reason is not what Andrew has done in the past when he really should have, so why he should he start doing that now of all times?
'Because the Rallian Commander is dangerous,' a small voice in his head whispers, 'because he's the one who could change your mind and turn you around. Looking into his eyes will make you be his willing slave just like all your friends became willing slaves to their Rallian masters!' the voice keeps warning him.
Andrew has never been known to listen to such voices, and he won't start that now. Besides, the danger clearly goes both ways. The Commander might actually be the one Rallian capable of taking control over his mind and free will and turn Andrew into his willing slave, but there's also the small chance that the opposite will happen and that Andrew will convince him to set him free.
The memories of those intensive dreams always fade the longer he's awake, but the sadness and the feeling of being a prisoner without any free will that accompany the dreams Andrew shares with the Rallian Commander is still sitting in his stomach like a heavy brick the whole day through, and Andrew has to at least try it and get to him through this shared feeling of being trapped and longing for a freedom neither of them has. It might be the key that will open the door to his luxurious prison cell, and Andrew is desperate enough by now to risk that his wish to see the Rallian Commander again will backfire at him badly.
“He wants me to eat and drink? Fine, then he'll better come here and give me a reason to stay alive until we reach your homeworld, so he can gift me to your crown prince,” he says, keeping his face carefully blank so Kythya won't get suspicious about his real motives why he wants to see her superior.
She stares at him like she wants to strangle him with her bare hands, and when he refuses to drop his own eyes first, she inhales air through her sharp teeth in an angry hiss.
“Fair enough, human. I'll inform him about your request,” she gives in reluctantly. It's clear that she doesn't want to do that, but she doesn't want to risk the Commander's wrath when he learns about their little fight from Andrew himself and that she'd kept it a secret from him, either.
“Condition, officer, not request,” Andrew corrects her with a pleasant smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Your Commander is not in the position to refuse my conditions if he wants my cooperation.”
Kythya growls at him, but Andrew can watch the change in her gaze when she communicates through the mental bond all Rallians share. Her eyes float between silver and blue, and when she looks at him again, some of her anger is replaced by confusion.
“The Commander has been informed about your...condition...Captain Winter,” she grinds out through gritted teeth, and Andrew really didn't expect her to admit defeat so easily by addressing him in any other form than her usually spitefully uttered 'human'.
“He has to see to some things on the bridge personally, but he'll come to you after that.”
Andrew gestures to the chair opposite him. “Fine, we'll wait for his arrival, then. Why don't you take a seat and tell me a story about your homeworld? One of your fairy tales perhaps – if Rallians even have tales, that is. It's not as if I could use them against you anyway, so you might as well help shorten the wait a bit,” he says, and it isn't a polite request, either.
Kythya hisses at him but stalks across the room without arguing, and Andrew allows himself to dwell in his small victory for a moment as he watches her taking her seat. They are enemies, but it doesn't mean that they can't learn from each other, and he's determined to learn as much about the Rallians as there is to learn because knowledge is power and might yet buy him his freedom after all.
***
“You requested my presence, Captain Winter?” the Commander asks politely when he strides into Andrew's quarters an hour later, waving an imperious hand at Kythya without looking at her. She's jumped to her feet with a deep bow when the door glided open, and she looks reluctant to leave her superior alone with their infuriating human prisoner, but she makes her way to the exit silently when her Commander gives her a pointed look.
Andrew stays seated, gesturing invitingly at the chair Kythya has just vacated. “Did she tell you that?” he counters curiously, “because you should perhaps choose your underlings more carefully in the future when those you have are lying to you.”
The Rallian stares down at him with bright blue eyes that promise storm and thunder if Andrew keeps provoking him, but Andrew is done with letting them treat him like an inferior specimen.
“She informed me that you refused to eat until I would visit you,” the Commander snarls, but he's taking the chair and seats himself, his shoulders stiff and his back straight as he puts his flat palms on the table and regards Andrew with an impassive face that doesn't match the fury glowing in his eyes.
“Then she actually informed you correctly,” Andrew says, pushing the platter filled with fruits and vegetables in the Rallian's direction. “Sharing our meals with others is an important social act for my species, so at least show the courtesy and share my meals with me during our journey to my execution.”
His blatant words make the Commander flinch ever so slightly, and Andrew feels a pang of satisfaction shoot through him. “I know that your kin eat normal food on a regular basis. You're not just relying on human blood to sustain yourselves,” he keeps poking, and the Commander clenches and flexes his long elegant fingers on the polished table top a few times to keep his calm.
“Will you eat when I do, Captain Winter?” he gives in with a sigh, and Andrew nods his head.
“I will,” he agrees, taking one of the juicy berrika and biting into it. It's delicious, and Andrew chews slowly and carefully, pleased when the Rallian picks another berrika from the plate to take a bite from it as well.
“See, that wasn't so hard,” Andrew smiles at him, and those brilliant blue eyes darken with new anger.
“Don't overdo it, human,” he warns him, but Andrew only shrugs.
“You've sentenced me to death, and I have no chance to escape you, so I have nothing to lose, Commander. You can torture me of course, or kill me right here on board your ship, but I don't think that your precious crown prince would be all too happy if you ruined his big day like that, right?”
A strange expression is flickering over the Rallian's features at Andrew's mentioning of his future king, but it's gone quickly, the alien features smoothing back into a mask of careful calm. He's like a gorgeous marble statue, beautiful and alien and far too fascinating for Andrew's peace of mind.
“You're really not like any other human I've ever met, Captain Winter,” he says thoughtfully after another bite, and Andrew shrugs again.
“I'll take that as a compliment, Commander. I can't really say the same of you, so far you behave like any other Rallian I've met and killed,” he says evenly, biting into his berrika and looking the Rallian straight into his eyes. This time, his counterpart doesn't react to his provocation, only watches him, looking more curious than angry.
The well-known pressure is building in the back of Andrew's mind, but it's not as forceful as it has been before, when the Commander tried in earnest to invade his mind and read his thoughts.
“You should know by now that it doesn't work,” Andrew tells him, and the Commander frowns.
“It's not me who's doing that, Andrew,” he counters, and the way he says his name, rolling the 'r' in the middle, is sending a shiver down on Andrew's spine.
“What the hell...” Andrew swallows thickly, putting the half-eaten berrika back on his plate. “Of course it's your doing!” he growls helplessly, but the Rallian shakes his head. There's no triumph or satisfaction in his gaze or his voice, he's simply stating a fact.
“No, it isn't. I've never heard of any human capable of initiating mental contact with one of my own kin, but you've already proven to be special and different from other humans. Your barriers are the strongest I've ever experienced, but there's more to them and your abilities. You have great potential – if you just chose to use it. I think you could even invade my mind if you just tried hard enough to focus on it. Not control me, but force a mental connection for sure.”
“Really?” Andrew feels his own temper rising at the Rallian's obvious attempt to influence him and make him believe his lies. “Is that why you stayed away from me all of a sudden? Because you feared that I'd be the one forcing myself into your mind like your kind is doing that with us humans the whole time? You wouldn't like that, would you?”
The Commander tilts his head, his sensitive pale lips curving into a sly smile. “No, it wasn't. Believe me or not, but as the Commander of such a large ship I have duties to see to that don't allow me to spend my time watching you eat and exchanging pleasantries with you.”
Andrew graces this poor excuse with a snort, but there's doubt nagging at his confidence. “If your words were true – why does my head hurt when it's actually me trying to bond with you mentally?”
“I don't know, Andrew. You're apparently doing that unconsciously – and you're still fighting against me, so your pain most likely comes from that.” He pauses, his gaze turning appraising. “It will lessen if you stop fighting against the truth and let me complete our bond. You know that it doesn't have to be like that. I could help you.”
“Turn me into one of your mindless slaves who worship you as false gods? No thank you, I prefer the headache over that,” Andrew snaps back, and the Commander smiles.
“Maybe you'll change your mind quicker than you think now, Andrew,” he says, and Andrew actually worries that the Rallian could be right with that.
“Never, I'll rather die before,” he objects nonetheless, with more confidence in his voice than he's feeling. The Rallian takes another bite from his berrika and looks curiously at him, trying to decipher what Andrew is truly thinking, and the pressure in his mind increases a bit, but Andrew slams his inner walls back up, grinning wolfishly at the wince of pain he gets from the Commander in return.
“You can ask me what you want to know, and maybe I'm willing to give you some answers,” he offers, “but I want answers to my questions in return, then.”
The tall male leans back in his chair, and Andrew gets the impression that he actually enjoys their banter.
“What do you want to know, human?” he inquires curiously, and it feels like a small victory to Andrew.
“First, I want to know your name, that's the least you can tell me as you already know who I am. I have a right to know who's my captor and the one sealing my doom.” He feels nervous as he waits for the Rallian to tell him his name. The Commander hesitates for a few seconds, but then he inclines his head in acknowledgment of Andrew's rightful request to have a name to rely on.
“Well, then Andrew, if that helps you to accept your fate better, you shall know my name,” he says, and his eyes are shining like molten silver in the orange light that fills Andrew's quarters as he holds his gaze for a few long seconds.
“My name is Raveon.”
***
Raveon.
Andrew couldn't think of any better name for the beautiful creature that fills his thoughts during his waking hours and his dreams when he sleeps.
The Rallian Commander is truly like one of those big black birds Andrew remembers from his childhood, when everything was different and he still had a home and a family. Ravens are intelligent and elegant, they are dangerous and fascinating, and Andrew has always found the combination of these four things too tempting for his own good. They're actually the only thing he remembers from his childhood, everything lying before his thirteenth birthday is hidden behind a thick wall he can't tear down or get through.
Andrew has always loved ravens.
His dreams change after Raveon's third visit, too. Where it felt like he was trapped in the Targora's cat-body when they first started, he's still himself now and the huge black predator is watching him with sparkling blue eyes, circling him where Andrew is standing on a clearing in the middle of the jungle. It looks at him with Raveon's eyes, and there is a big black bird sitting on its back. Andrew can feel the warm wind on his face and hear the low and vibrant purrs of the Targora, and he wonders what it wants to tell him. He can still feel its hunger, its yearning and sense of loneliness and being trapped through their mental link, and Andrew crouches down before the beautiful creature and reaches out to card his fingers through its shimmering silken fur. When it bares its sharp teeth to a hungry hiss, Andrew wants to offer his throat to him, and that's horrifying and rouses him from his restless slumber with a gasp and soaked in sweat.
The pressure in his mind is his constant companion now, day and night, and it's worse when Raveon is absent from his quarters – as if he's already a real part of Andrew that he's desperately missing when Raveon is not with him, like a leg or an arm, a part of his soul he wants to rip out of his aching human body but can't bear to lose at the same time.
Andrew sits down on the pulsing floor with crossed legs and closes his eyes, concentrating on his slow and deep breaths. He reaches deep inside himself until he can see the link that connects him with the Rallian Commander. It's like the shimmering silver tunnel he knows from flying through hyperspace, and he imagines himself in the pilot's seat of his Nightowl and flying through that tunnel, his course leading him to the small blue dot on the screen he knows is the one on the other end of the link.
Raveon.
But every time he tries to come closer, the hyperspace tunnel collapses and he's thrown back into the dark universe like he's flown against an invisible wall. It's his own fears that hold him back, but Andrew doesn't know how to overcome them. His barriers are his only protection against the siren's call Raveon has become to him, and he won't give up on them even when his headache becomes worse with every failed attempt to get past them.
***
Raveon visits him twice every full circle now to share breakfast and dinner with him. He often stays even when the plates are empty, just as if he couldn't bear leaving Andrew.
Andrew won't admit that he craves Raveon's visits and that the pain throbbing behind his temples is more bearable when the Rallian is so close to him that Andrew just needs to reach out with his hand to touch him, only separated by the small table between them.
Instead he braces his elbows against the table top to rest his chin on his folded hands and looks at him. “Why did you put so much effort into trapping me?” he wants to know curiously, “you even sacrificed three of your younger crewmen just to catch me. I'm just a single man with a small ship, why going to such lengths for one single human?” Andrew's not conceited, but he really wants to know why the crown prince sent one of his biggest ships after him.
Raveon leans back in his chair in his usual posture with his palms resting on the table. He regards Andrew thoughtfully and with a hint of a smile.
“You're a dangerous man, Andrew. You're special, you're not just any ordinary human. Special precautions and measures were required to get you and make sure that you wouldn't escape – again – like you've already once done. Plus, a ship of this size is needed in a fight against the ships of your rebellion. So here we are.”
“It's not my rebellion, I'm not their leader,” Andrew objects, and Raveon's lips peel back from his pointed teeth for a moment. Andrew finds himself staring at his mouth in fascination, and he blinks to shake himself out of his sudden confusion.
“The rebellion wouldn't exist without you, Andrew. You're their hero, their true leader, even of you don't want to acknowledge that. You were the first one to fight against us, and you're the only human still alive who's able to resist us. They worship the ground you're walking upon, and we need to set a warning example for all who think they can do the same and prove to them that you're not a god with powers greater than ours.”
Raveon pauses, and his gaze turns cunning as he adds in a voice that's dropped to a low seductive purr: “You could put an end to all of that, Andrew. The war, the fighting and dying. All you need to do is stop fighting against me and accept that you can't flee from the truth any longer. You want this bond between us, no matter how often you'll tell yourself that you don't. I was the one initiating it, that's true, but you're the one keeping it alive. We could do great things together, you and me, we could stop the war and bring peace to the galaxy.”
Andrew is used to the pressure in his mind and the headache, but he's not used to the hot want deep in the pit of his stomach, to the yearning that tugs at his heart so forcefully.
'Raveon is right. This is what you truly want, Andrew!' the voice in his head whispers urgently, 'you two could be so great together, you could do unimaginable things, rule the galaxy, and no one would have the means to stop you.'
“Your vision of 'peace' is keeping the whole human mankind in slavery and as your willful puppets whose only purpose is to be your feeding source and your toys to play with. No, thanks, I have to refuse your 'tempting' offer,” Andrew growls, but one small part of him still wants to say 'yes, yes, yes!' to the Rallian Commander.
Raveon doesn't look angry, and he lets out a small sigh. “It wouldn't have to be like that, Andrew,” he promises, but Andrew shakes his head.
“Yes, it would, and we both know that. Besides, what about Prince Tavalion? Does he share your... 'vision' of a galaxy where Rallians and humans live together peacefully as equals? Because I really don't think so.”
A shadow flickers over Raveon's beautiful alien features, and he hesitates for a moment, thinking about his answer before he says: “Prince Tavalion is not like you think that he is. He's not like Queen Tabithya was. He wants to change things for the better.” There's an odd undertone in his voice, almost pleading, as if he desperately wants Andrew to believe him.
Andrew just snorts. “If you say so. He's not here to speak for himself, is he? If he really wanted to end the bloodshed, he could just do it. Stop trapping and enslaving humans, tearing families and friends apart. So far, he hasn't stopped his henchmen, so excuse me when I don't believe you.”
“It's complicated,” Raveon defends his prince, and Andrew barks out a bitter laugh.
“Yeah, I bet it is. Killing me won't change anything, though. Other humans will stand up against you and fight, even more of them when your prince is really going to execute me on his coronation day.”
Raveon tilts his head. “Are you begging for your life, Andrew?” he asks, and Andrew shakes his head.
“No. I couldn't change your mind, even if I were begging, could I? No, I'm not begging. I'm just stating a fact.” He holds Raveon's gaze until the Rallian drops his eyes down, but the short moment of triumph tastes bitter in his mouth.
***
The wind is blowing in his face hot and dry. Andrew's running with his face turned up into the blue sky, and there's a huge black shadow running beside him.
He feels free, and he shouts against the wind. The answering roar next to him makes him laugh, and he runs faster until his lungs are burning. Trees and bushes melt with each other to one green wall as he chases his prey, hunger hot and demanding in his stomach. His teeth ache with the desire to sink into warm skin and tear at delicate flesh, a hunger so raw and wild that it feels like a living beast inside his chest. The silver band of their bond guides them to their prey, and the Targora is a steady presence in the back of his mind, its low purrs a promise of what awaits him when the hunt comes to an end.
The scenery changes all of a sudden, so fast that he feels dizzy with it.
He's back on the large Rallian spaceship, back in his luxurious prison cell. His stomach feels so empty, cramping with hunger, and his head is one big pain, fire behind his eyes and everywhere inside his trembling body. There's a warm and heavy weight pressing against his back, and when he forces his eyes to open, the Targora is curled around him, watching him with glittering blue eyes. They change to silver when their gazes met, and he opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out of his dry throat. The Targora snuggles closer to him, and he lets its low purrs lull him to sleep.
***
Raveon doesn't visit him again.
Not when Andrew wakes up from his disturbing dreams and sits down at the table for breakfast, and not hours later when Kythya carries the tray with his dinner into his cell.
Andrew doesn't ask her where Raveon is, and she retreats to the door and watches him push his food from one side of the plate to the other. His head aches too much to eat, even though he feels sick with hunger. He knows that his hunger belongs to someone else, that it's a different kind of hunger the fruits and bread on his plate can't sate. All he wants to do is curl up on his bed and sleep, to forget what's happening to him for at least a few merciful hours. Keeping his eyes open is an effort not worth his struggles, and Kythya's concerned voice is just a background noise in his ears.
The room goes dark around him, unconsciousness swallowing him before his limp body hits the floor.
***
The blackness of his coma gives way to another dream, and Andrew drifts in and out between the merciful void of unconsciousness and the state of restless slumber where nightmares haunt him, sometimes woken up by his own pained groans but too tired and weak to open his eyes.
'Stop fighting, Andrew. You want this, you know that you do!' a gentle voice whispers in his mind, soft and low and vibrant, promising relief from the pain and the hunger if Andrew just gives in to it.
“No, I don't want this! Leave me alone!” His own voice sounds strange to his own ears, and another darkness swallows him. He doesn't know which time of the day it is, and it doesn't matter to him. He wants to forget, he wants to turn numb and not feel anything, and he lets himself fall back into the void, hoping that the voice in his head won't follow him there.
***
Cool and gentle fingers stroking over his temples are the first thing he becomes aware of when he's next woken from his coma.
The unbearable pain in his head has faded to a dull ache he can almost ignore, but he feels weak like a newborn baby and terribly thirsty. Opening his eyes costs him the last ounce of his strength, and the light is too bright and pulls a pained gasp from him, even though it's hardly more than just an orange gloom and most of the room is kept in darkness.
“Water, please,” he croaks out, and someone lifts his head up as gently as they've stroked his hair out of his face just a few seconds ago. There's a cup with water held at his lips, and Andrew drinks greedily. It's clear and cool and tastes heavenly on his dry tongue, smoothing the sore feeling in his constricted throat instantly.
“Careful, Andrew.” Raveon pulls the cup back before it's empty, and Andrew utters a sound of protest. “You'll get more soon, I promise,” the Rallian says, and it's only now that Andrew realizes that he's lying on his bed with his head in Raveon's lap.
Raveon is still wearing his long black coat, but he must have opened the garment while he was watching Andrew's sleep, and the black shirt beneath is soft against Andrew's cheek. The Rallian looks down at him with brilliant blue eyes that slowly change to silver the longer they hold Andrew's gaze, black hair curling around his beautiful pale face.
He's a devil, but he looks like an angel here in the soft yellow light, a fallen dark angel. He's a devil in the disguise of an angel, and Andrew knows that he's lost, so, so lost. There's no escape from the path he's been forced to choose, no way back to the innocence he's once had.
He's tied to Raveon forever and only death will be able to tear the bond between them that has formed, a bond that's invisible to the eye but palpable in his mind, a silver band that'll guide him back to Raveon in the darkness, no matter where he will be and how far away they'll be from each other.
“What happened?” he asks as he struggles into a sitting position. Raveon's hand on his back steadies him, and Andrew doesn't flinch from his touch like he should. Instead he leans closer and lets their closeness soothe the ache in his head.
“You fell sick yesterday evening during dinner. Kythya tried to wake you up when you fell unconscious, and she called me when your state became worse.” Raveon has drawn his hand back, careful not to invade his personal space without permission, but he remains sitting close to him. “Humans are headblind and can't initiate telepathic contact on their own, but they usually don't have such strong mental barriers like you possess either and accept the mental link with a Rallian much better than you do. All I could do was take some of your pain and wait for you to wake up on your own.”
There's a small frown between Raveon's brows as if he were indeed suffering from a bad headache, so what he says is probably true. But there's more to that, and Andrew doesn't remember too much of what happened, but he's sure that him fighting against their link didn't cause his sickness. The reason is hidden somewhere in his subconsciousness, somewhere in those dreams he shares with the creature sitting right next to him.
Andrew stays still for a moment to think about what Raveon has said, then he shakes his head. “I don't think that this is the problem,” he then says slowly, and a second frown appears between Raveon's dark brows.
“Why would you say that?” he wants to know, sounding on alert all of a sudden, and Andrew draws back a little to look at him with narrowed eyes.
“Because it's not me who's been fighting against our bond and keeping up the barrier between us. It's you, Raveon.” Andrew lets his eyes travel over Raveon's face attentively, and the dim light can't hide that the Rallian Commander looks even paler than usual, the thin bluish veins dark beneath his ivory-white skin. For the first time since he felt Raveon's alien presence in the back of his mind he actively embraces it, visualizing the broad silver band that leads him to Raveon before his mind's eye.
“It's you who's pushing me back, Raveon – at least when you're awake. You can't keep me out when you sleep, and you have to sleep much more than usually these days, don't you? When you sleep, you don't have the same control about your thoughts you have when you're awake, and you pull me into your dreams every time you fall asleep. You're hungry, and your control is slipping more and more because your hunger is growing. Am I right?”
Raveon stares at him silently, something flickering in his eyes. Andrew stares back at him, and the Rallian's image blurs, shifting back and forth between his human self and the black Targora that's lurking right beneath the thinning surface of controlled civilization. He grinds his teeth as he struggles to restrain himself and not let his basic instincts take over control of his actions, and Andrew feels a tight lump in his throat.
“I am right,” he gives the answer himself. “I just wonder why you do that. Why don't you just take what you need from me? I can feel how much your hunger pains you – I've become sick because of it. You're in the desperate need to feed, so why don't you?”
Raveon doesn't say anything, but he slowly reaches out with his hand to trace his fingers over the lines of Andrew's face as if he wants to map them into his memory. Andrew's heart is hammering in his chest and there's something sitting in the pit of his stomach, but it's not fear, and he's not sure that he wants to give this feeling the right name.
“You didn't give me permission to feed on you, Andrew,” Raveon says, his long and cool fingers resting lightly on the curve of his cheek. He trails his thumb over Andrew's smooth upper lip, and Andrew shivers.
He blinks, not sure that he's heard right. “You didn't take what you need because you're waiting for my permission?” he inquires, and Raveon tilts his head, his eyes dropping to Andrew's throat where his pulse is beating rapidly under his vulnerable flesh.
“Would you do that, my pretty one?” the Rallian purrs, “would you offer yourself to me, bare your throat and allow me to taste you?”
He hasn't moved except for his thumb following the shape of Andrew's mouth in a soft promising caress, and he doesn't try to force himself through the last and fragile mental barrier that's still left between them. He's actually even withdrawn from Andrew's mind, the link between them quiet and darkened to gray instead of the shimmering silver color Andrew has gotten used to so quickly. He's as free to accept or refuse as he's never been since the first day of their acquaintance, and if he chose to move away from Ravon now, ask him to leave, he knows that Raveon would obey and cut the connection between them for good.
The Rallian is watching him with impassive patience, waiting for him to make up his mind, and it's surprise, not triumph, that flashes in his human and yet so alien silver-blue eyes when he sees the answer in Andrew's eyes.
The decision is easier to make than Andrew thought it to be, and the tight knot in his stomach unfolds, making room for warmth and something that isn't quite but comes close to actual happiness.
Andrew holds Raveon's gaze when he opens his jacket and starts to unbutton his shirt.