A Warrior for Amelia by Chelsea Blue



“I didn't ask to come here. You people stole me!”

“Well, we did not steal you, though I understand your frustration. And while your arrival in this quadrant of the Universe may not have been of your free will, you now have a choice. You may stay here under the protection of the Council or you may go to the island.”

The being in front of me is some Klingon looking dude with a wild but pretty damn luxurious mane that flows over his shoulders and down his back. Most of it is streaked grey, and while the ridges that V down his forehead and over the bridge of his nose make him look menacing, there is a kindness to his slate grey eyes as he peers down from his High Council chair.

Screw his kindness. I want to go home.

“So, basically, you’re telling me that I have to either stay here as your slave,” I wave my hand at the servants silently moving about the chambers, a couple of whom are human women, “or fend for myself on a strange, uninhabited planet?”

Again, those grey eyes soften in acknowledgement of my frustration. “I can assure you that the beings who serve in the Council halls are not slaves. They are paid a reasonable credit wage, they receive adequate housing, and they are protected from the more unsavory elements of navigating the Universe, all benefits you would not have on your own.”

“You mean, they’re forced to remain here for the rest of their lives.”

He nods. “It is true, that their travel is restricted to this part of the planet, but that is for their own good. It seems pointless to rescue humans from slavers, only to turn them loose in a world they are unprepared for so they can get recaptured—because that is what happens, especially to you human females, and I need not remind you of the fate that awaited you before your rescue.”

I sigh, hating that he’s kind of right, but also hating the unfairness of it all. “Why not just send us back to Earth? You took us. You should send us back!”

His cheeks pull up, exposing two, sharp fangs. It’s not quite a smile, more of an annoyed grimace.

This isn't our first time having this conversation, but it’s my last chance to plead my case for my and the other human women who were taken’s return to Earth.

“Again, we did not steal you. You were stolen. For that I am sorry, but this Council has determined the best way to deal with those in your unfortunate predicament, and the options I have given are your only choices. Choose. We have others to see to before the sun turns.”

My foot taps rapidly against the stone floors as I try to contain my anger. I want to tell him to take his choices and shove them, but I know I can't do that.

To the side, there’s a woman standing just out of the council’s view. She’s one of the servants.

Like the others, she’s dressed in a loose, white tunic. She looks a little younger than me, maybe twenty. Her blonde, curly hair hangs around her shoulders and curtains her face. She waits next to the Council table with a pitcher of some kind, and when she lifts her gaze from where it’s focused on the floor and our eyes meet, she gives just the barest shake of her head.

Don't do it, her eyes say, and with a groan, I focus back on the Council table.

“I’ll take the damn island.”