Caveman Alien's Treasure - Calista Skye Page 0,89

– Brank’ox has had the same idea and is already busy pulling the gun out.

There’s a soft whoosh as Isualic breathes a long flame of yellow fire at the other dragon, leaving only a cloud of ashy dust that disperses and falls.

When he looks back at us again, Brank’ox has the gun in his hand and is busy lighting a wick with one of the small fires around us.

He still needs time. I have to think of a distraction.

And I can think of only one thing.

I push the straps off my shoulders and bare my chest to the dragon. “If you must take me, take me well, mighty dragon.”

He’s no different than most males – he stares.

Brank’ox lights the wick.

But, I realize with horror, that gun only contains gunpowder. There’s no bullet! And a full dragon will not be deterred by just flame and a bang, especially after that gigantic explosion.

I must have… I run my hands down my dress, feeling the bump. With trembling hands I fish the little pebble out of my pocket, the one that was stuck under my foot and which Brank’ox said might bring me luck, the first day in the jungle outside the village.

Very good, little nymph. Not all of you is little, I see. Yes, it’s very appropriate that you humbly offer yourself. Perhaps this needs not be too painful for you. At first.

“I hope I’m worthy.” I go down on both knees, as if worshipping the dragon, crawling closer to him.

I briefly catch Brank’ox’s eye and roll the pebble across the wooden platform in his direction, hoping it’s not too small to make a difference.

He catches it, calmly puts it into the muzzle of the gun, and tilts the gun so the pebble will roll down to the back of the barrel. Getting onto his feet, he takes two quick steps over to the dragon.

I quickly lean back, arch my back, and squeeze my breasts with both hands, as if offering them to the dragon. His red eyes follow my every move.

Brank’ox, now completely ignored, puts the muzzle of the gun right at the little wound where I stabbed Isualic.

“Goodbye,” he says.

With his other hand he puts the wick into the little hole, burning end first.

38

- Brank’ox -

There’s less of a noise than I expected. But of course no bang would seem loud after the recent explosion.

A small, intense flame shoots out of the little wick-hole and burns my hand.

I lower the gun. There’s a hole in the dragon’s scales, its edges burned black.

The dragon looks down on me. What are you doing, fake slayer?

“Making sure that I am in fact a real slayer,” I respond.

But before I can speak the full sentence, the dragon twitches hard and falls backwards onto its tail.

Isualic rolls and curls up, clawing at the wound. Then he screams, like a thousand furious irox, a noise worse than any explosion.

Dolly throws herself down, hands clamped over her ears. I once more put myself on top of her, keeping her safe from the dragon’s death throes.

Isualic violently rolls around and tries to beat his wings, but all his moves are irregular and uncontrolled. He falls from the platform and plummets down into the depths, still screaming, wings flapping wildly, crashing into many alien beams.

I breathe out. “Are you all right, my love?”

“Is he gone?” Dolly’s voice is small, her breath fast, and her scent heavenly.

“He’s dead, yes. Well, not yet, perhaps. But I am a slayer. I know when I have slain.” I get up off her and help her to stand.

Dolly embraces me. “You are a dragon slayer. I knew it.”

There’s a last, fading screech from far down in the Factory, then only silence.

I dip my face down into her hair. I can’t get enough of that smell. “I am now.”

“You won.”

I gently pull the straps of her dress back onto her shoulders. “We won, yes. You and I.”

She sniffs. “Okay. Will you be okay? I mean, your back is burned to cinder.”

“I will be okay. Regardless of what happens, or if I live or die.”

“The magic space gel can fix it. We have some back at the village.”

“Mmm.” I could just stand here for the rest of eternity. But Dolly is starting to shiver in my arms.

I gaze up the higher levels. “There’s fur in the hut— oh. There might not be a hut.”

“It probably blew up. Brank’ox. How much gunpowder did you make?”

“As much as I could. I made some pots to keep them in.

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