Pact of Dragons

9

Rahel fell to the ground, gulping in air, while angry tears clouded her vision. Why had these two overgrown idiots gotten mixed up in this? She didn't want the dragon to relent. She didn't want any more of any of this. If he'd lost it just now, if he'd strangled her, it would at least be over. She felt the terrifying, senseless rage boil up in her, a feeling that had been mounting for weeks and months.
"You—you have no idea, you dumbshits! I'm not going to be any nicer to this asshat tomorrow morning, or to anyone. If you get off on it, I'll take the piss out of any of you who get on my last nerve—morning, noon, and night!" she cried, her heart racing with fear. Quarterback turned to her very slowly with a low, threatening growl, but Rugart sprang between them and dared push him back a few steps. "Wow—Leader—step off, okay? Off...! It's cool. She's just scared shitless. She has no idea what's going to happen and those fuckers doubtless didn't tell them word one, right? So she's provoking you, the miserable little shit. She wants to know who you really are. But just do it like at training, okay?" Rugart said, speaking quickly, until Quarterback nodded shortly. He then turned a serious gaze on Rahel, who'd risen from the ground, her hands balled at her sides again, but quivering. The monster smiled. He bent his head to her arrogantly. "I apologize. I shouldn't have hurt you like that. That'll just agitate you more. My emotions run away with me sometimes.
"Now, you're obviously pretty tough. You didn't just piss yourself and run away. No, you stand and fight.
Rugart's right—I like that in a person. So here's what I propose, since I seem to have provoked you unknowingly. When you need my help later, when you're dopesick or whatever, don't say a word to me. Because this was apparently my mistake, making you lose your shit, right? You have a quick temper and a lot of pride, too, that I doubtless stepped on just now," he said to her in complete seriousness, and gave her a little bow.
Rahel just looked at him cluelessly. "Uh...what?" she croaked now, confused, between coughs.​
I said it's my fault and I'm asking for your forgiveness. I just meant, if you needed help, all you had to do was ask. Of course, to you that probably sounds like I'm saying: get down on your knees and beg. But that's not it, Rahel. You don't have to beg. Not ever. That's probably what upset you and also that no one gave a shit and explained why you can't take a drink right now. It's just something we've learned from experience with new girls and first flights. They happen to get upset stomachs if they've eaten and drunk a lot. Since you didn't know that, I forgive you. But it would be nice if you could just lean over to the side if you have to puke, right? Of course, if you can't, that's okay, too. I won't hold it against you. You can't help it—you're only human. And humans in the wrong company are weak and temperamental. Good that we cleared this up."
What now? 'Wrong company'? Temperamental?
If Rahel only could have, she would have just blown him away. He was—insane. But, as she'd just seen in the wash basin incident, the guy was also lightning quick on his feet—a lot faster than she was. She remained standing there and, shooting him a bitter gaze. She took stock of the situation.
So this asshole had actually ordered them not to be given anything to eat or drink on the eight-hour flight. The one sip of water she'd managed had barely wet her thick tongue. Her dislike of the dragons grew exponentially in the span of a moment. The feeling was so powerful, it made her head spin.​
All the while, the Leader kept talking. "We'll manage the situation with the drugs, okay? Because we don't have anything like that here. If you're looking to satisfy a craving, just tell me what you like to eat. Eating is a much better option and I can get you anything you'd like. What do you like to eat?" he asked her, almost like he was making small talk.
Rahel just continued to look at him with a dumb expression of hate. So he took her for a simpleton, did he? Or did he want to fatten her up for some perverted purpose? Yeah, that was it—for the parasitic spawn he was going to deposit inside of her. Ha! Goddamn idiot. She let him prattle on—something about sweets and soft drinks and as many parties as she wanted to have, as far as he was concerned. Yeah, right—for whom? Lia, Clara, Antonia, Hendrick, Kai, Jacob—all her former friends were back home. Was he suggesting that she invite people here? Or was he going to go and kidnap them from oversees? Is that how this tribute thing really went down? First a few girls and then all their friends, because the hos didn't realize that the dragons were entrapping them? 
Is that why they were so—so slick with them? Because they were luring them in for more?
Rahel didn't trust the uneasy peace. The shithead had something evil in mind. Better not to get into it at all—passive resistance, that was it. Just don't say a word, wait it out. If she didn't deliver up anyone to him, he'd get back to ending her—although just the thought alone was difficult to bear. After that one swallow of water, her thirst had only grown. She would have killed for a bottle of water—preferably killed this monster, himself.
The dragon just prattled on while his buddies wrestled their girls to the washbasin or held them fast. Even Blondie, who stood next to her now, looked sinister—but her dragon held her tightly by the arm, probably because she'd tried to get loose at the basin. Then there were a couple escapees, who tried to reach the airplane as its engines roared to life; they were quickly caught and led back to the others.
Her own dragon finally fell silent when he noticed her darkly blank stare that went right past him and realized that she would not answer his questions—requests she hadn't even heard. What for, Rahel thought bitterly, wishing desperately for a knife sharp enough to ram deep into the monster's abdomen.
"Hm, you are actually really high. No attention span," he sighed and grabbed her arm again, pushing the shirt sleeve up further to expose her elbow. "Let me go!" She tried to snatch his arm away, but he had already let it go and grabbed her other arm, which he treated in the same way.
That he actually still assumed that she was a junkie and was looking for track marks—she didn't realize this until he murmured in surprise, "Hm ... there's nothing here ... I thought you had been shooting up? So only, like, LSD and coke ...?" He asked again, irritated.
"Yeah, sure," she just snapped her head away from him, pulling her sleeves back down to her wrists and shaking her long locks. She'd just refuse to speak to him about anything else. He wouldn't have listened to her, anyway. "I can help you much better if you just tell me what you take. Otherwise I have to wait and see the monkey on your back for myself and that'll be a little uncomfortable for you," he said as he shrugged his shoulders.
She almost snorted out loud.
Just what did he want from her? Should she go ahead and invent a drug so he could start "helping her," whatever that meant? Keep dreaming, she thought, hatefully. But he only smiled again at her toxic silence.
"You really don't want help? Really? OK, fine. No name, no manners, no preferences, no information means no help from me," he gave her a half-hearted smile and then looked again at Rugart, who was now grinning back broadly. "The perfect ladyleader!" the muscular guy nodded, visibly cheerful, and then slapped his friend on the shoulder, which didn't bother him in the least. "Get ready!" Quarterback called out instead and the men, who had stood still until then, grabbed their restlessly fidgeting girls, girls who now began protesting loudly—it was time to go, kicking and screaming or no.