Tarak
I am Tarak of the scourge and commander of Draco, a fighter ship. My job is to lead my crew into battle, dominate other aliens, and harvest their supplies that we then bring to our starship, Hydra.
Hydra gave us a mission. Illegal settlers had stolen from us, claiming our territory, twin moons, as their own. The scourges cannot permit such an act of defiance to go unpunished, even if it was for occupying insignificant rocks on the edge of the galaxy for which we have little use, so we set off in pursuit.
When we find that the criminals, the settlers, have not only run but another spaceship is sheltering them, we fire on them. The ship just floats there.
"Keep their ship from fleeing," I order, and my crew activates the pincer, Draco's metal claw.
Like most opponents to Hydra, our opponents are powerless and weak, showing no sign of resistance as we hold the puny-looking ship.
"Storm them."
The sounds of our metal-tipped boots striking the floor of our opponent's ship bounce from the metal walls, echoing. We arrive at a flimsy door, which we break.
We march into a large room where our weak opponents huddle, and I gag. The air stinks of death and disease. Perhaps a millennium from now, these thin and sickly creatures would be ready for space flight, but as for now, they seem incapable of surviving, let alone protecting themselves from us.
Dragging out the punishment of such weak creatures is cruel, even for us.
"Tell them to submit," I tell the robot.
The robot speaks gibberish in a raspy voice and the creatures blink at us like confused cattle.
"Permission to speed things along, sir," asks one of my crew, grabbing a little one and threatening to throw it from the airlock.
Jettisoning them all from the airlock would be more merciful than their slow, drawn-out death. "Proceed."
One of the weak creatures approaches me, muttering something unintelligible.
The robot insists the weakling is speaking an actual word: mercy.
I glance at the quaking creature. Does she know how worthless the concept of mercy is to the scourge? She must be sick, too, because liquid leaks from her eyes.
My crew looks to me for guidance. We are only postponing the inevitable. We are scourges. It is our right to take and dominate.
I give the order. "Proceed."
Then she invokes the word-Thoth.
This pitiful creature is offering herself to me, and this changes everything.
My eyes rake over her body. Grime coats her hair and skin. Don't these creatures bathe? More fluid leaks from her eyes. She's definitely infested with a disease.
Compared to a scourge, she is small, but she also looks well-proportioned and lithe. My hand whips out, gripping her chin, tilting it so I can examine what will be mine should she accept the title of Thoth.
Her bright green eyes snap to mine, flashing in defiance. Her defiant glares might make some want her less because this might indicate a hard-to-train pet. Not me, though; that spark of resistance feeds my hunger for her. I have a sudden urge to scrape my teeth on her shoulder and mark her as mine.
To her eyes, we probably look large and ugly and as if we might eat them. We could, but... Scourges can also be gentle, merciful, and kind. How else would we come to have a ship filled with pets from every corner of the galaxy? So, when this alluring creature invokes the word Thoth, volunteering to be taken as a pet, I can't turn away. I want to show her my kinder side. I want her to be mine.
Does she know what she has offered? Thoth is based on one of our oldest traditions. If one offers themselves in this manner to a scourge, we will be merciful in return. As for the one who offers themself, though; that one will forever be a pet.
The beings navigating this ship barely seem capable of spaceflight, so how would they come to know the meaning of Thoth?
There is a test. I remove a metal collar from the chain around my waist and throw it at her feet. The collar rolls, clattering. If she puts the collar on, it will mean she accepts. Only then can I take her.
She shakes as she grabs it, and something blooms inside me.
Scourgekind has two main sexual orientations: dominants and submissives. The scourge elders say that if we let ourselves fully express our orientation, we will be healthy and well-balanced and achieve inner peace. That was easy for them to say, though, because dominant scourges crave travel and end up aboard starships, while the submissives want to nest on our home planet of Cerberus. This means that there are so many unsatisfied scourges scattered across the galaxy, especially aboard starships where the dominants concentrate.
I know what it's like to not express one's dominant orientation. I am constantly off-balance, wanting to pound and break things. It's why I have taken this job and gone on so many missions; because I can take it out on the creatures we battle.
Hydra knows that most scourges battle with controlling our impulses. That is why Hydra gives us medication to control our urges while on a starship. Supposedly, pets can help pacify us. I have always doubted the practice, but when her hands shake and she exudes a fear-laced scent, even with my meds coursing through my veins, my urges simmer.
I ball my hands into fists. I need her to take the collar.
According to the ancient tradition, I cannot force her. She must decide for herself.
The other scourges are becoming aroused by the potential pet in our midst. They thrash their tails, protrude their fangs, and form a tight circle around her. My crew is following their instincts. Fight. Dominate. Take a pet as their own.
I hiss at my crew. "We are scourges, and-"
One of my crew growls back. "Dominate!"
"No," I growl. "We must follow our rules and traditions. No one can touch her. She must decide."
I say this not only to preserve our customs but to remind my crew that I am the commander. She chose to establish communication with me. By scourge rules, if she puts on the collar, she will rightfully belong to me.
When the collar clicks and locks, something inside me settles. I clip the chain to her collar, satisfied at taking possession of what is mine.
"Drop the boy," I tell my soldier.
My soldier lets go and the boy falls onto the floor. The child whimpers, scurrying off into the arms of another weakling creature. The other occupants of this ship are no longer important to me, though, for I have what I need: a pet and, more importantly, my pet.
"Come," I say. Without training, she won't understand yet, so I tug the chain, showing her what I need from her.
This plucky little pet resists and I yank the leash harder, and she falls onto me.
Is she hurt? I can't help myself, immediately sniffing for blood, but she gets to her feet.
I give the command again.
I want her to kneel for me, like a good pet, except her eyes roll back and she tumbles forward.
That's alright. As her owner, I am here for her. I catch my falling pet, throw her over my shoulder, and march off this ship. My warriors follow.
***
Aboard the Draco, I hold my pet securely in my lap, fastening the belt for both me and my pet. While Draco hurtles toward Hydra, my pet regains consciousness.
She gazes about, her brow furrowing when she discovers she is in my arms and I'm holding her tightly with a belt looped around us. She whimpers and flails against my chest. I'm not sure what she doesn't understand. Our small transport vehicle does not have extra seats for pets. Doesn't she know what flight travel will do? Does she want to fly about the ship when the ship accelerates and de-accelerates? I grip her tighter because I don't want my pet to fly about, and she does her shaky thing.
Her racing heartbeat is loud, and it is not healthy for a pet to be too anxious, so I grip her by the back of the collar and press her against my chest. My skin tickles from the little puffs of air where she breathes. Eventually, she stops shaking.
A calmness I haven't felt since I lived on Cerberus, decades ago, washes over me, and I feel settled. I hug my pet tighter.
*****************Author's notes*************************
As previously mentioned, I am very new to romance, which is why I'm sharing this story. I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions along the way.
So now you have met Tarak and Kayla and Tarak's interaction was meant to be a 'meet-cute'-thoughts on this (cute, creepy, or WTH is this)?