Not so much with the fire and bodily violation and speedy demise, here, no? None of the dragons had bound any of them up and dragged them off. They looked just like people, talked like people, laughed like them—and were generally treating this like a holiday, instead of a strangely moneyless slave auction.
At some point, Rahel perceived a method behind the madness. She saw how Quarterback was watching the others who, again and again, looked to him, as though asking for permission. Then, Quarterback would wink to someone, nod when one had found or claimed a girl, and the new pair would approach him.
It took about twenty minutes, but, once all girls were spoken for—and most of them whimpering or sobbing outright—he went to the front of the group again and nodded in satisfaction at his dragon companions.
"Now, our Dragongirls will wash up thoroughly and also go ahead and get rid of whatever crap they carried here, bags and accessories and stuff. Your old lives end today and your new lives have already begun. My own ladyleader at least had the sense to only bring the clothes on her back," he sneered, sounding cynical and authentically disparaging. The blond guy he'd called Rugart simply bowed his head, as did a brown-haired type with a disturbed-looking Asian girl in tow. Both of the men yanked their girls over to a pair of tubs, ready and waiting with water, as the ladies first glanced at them in confusion and then began loudly protesting.
"Don't you want to have a wash? Are you wearing false colors on your face?" the head dragon then asked her matter-of-factly. Rahel wrinkled her brow, perturbed.
"Why, do I look like those whores?" she answered insolently and looked away from him quickly. He looked so devilishly handsome, totally normal, almost human—which of course he wasn't. She must not forget that. At all costs. And then he came nearer again. She took an imperceptible step back to create a little more space between them. That's better, she thought, swiftly folding her trembling hands under her arms in an attempt to remain calm.
"No," he responded, still smiling down at her in all earnestness and then winking at her flirtatiously when she, despite herself, glanced up at him coolly.
"You are without a doubt the most beautiful girl here!" he began to brush a strand of hair back from her face, his eyes soft with admiration, but Rahel turned her shoulder to him and tucked the strand behind her ear herself, in an effort to prevent him touching her again.
"Oh... well, fine, then," he chuckled without taking offense at her rejection. "You are also independent, bad tempered, and downright nasty when something displeases you. This is exactly what you'll need to survive as my counterpart, for I am Leader," he whispered to her, still amused, and plucked her hand out from under her arm. Jesus, was he powerful... the might she felt in those two fingers alone...
Rahel's heart was beating in her throat and she had to gather all her strength not to run screaming like the junky girl. The longer she was here, the more it all seemed like a bad dream. So frightening and fundamentally screwed up.
Instead, she forced herself to remain standing there, but she did shake her hand out of his and cross it with the other in front of her chest. Somehow, she had to stop him from touching her. So she scorned him out loud, trying to sound cynical. "Oh, is that right? That's your name? Leader?" she said, all show, for her heart did a little jig at his cool-headed regard. His eyes were so strange up close, so velvety green, like dark moss in a shadowy glade. Not human eyes at all, she thought with discomfort and pulled a long face to cover up how raw she felt under those eyes. She was no desperate criminal groupie who'd just throw herself at the first good-looking gangster.
For his part, he just chuckled anew, as though she were throwing herself at him. "No, that's not my name. But I'm waiting to give my formal introduction until you give me yours—like you humans do it," he announced haughtily. Her small bubble popped—arrogant son of a bitch.
So she was supposed to start, to introduce herself to him?
Her gaze darkened suddenly until it was pitch-black. "Why would I want to do that, dragon? I could give a damn what your name is. Anyway, your bro here just told you what my name is. Or do you have brain damage?" she growled testily, trying to mimic the gang girls but feeling her heart slap against her ribs. Just the thought that this dragon could—no, would—blow a fuse and lay her out, then and there, because of her disparaging tone and her insult, easily overheard, was enough to give her palpitations. Now, indeed, the other dragons were in fact holding their breaths, waiting for what would come next. ​
This was it.
He'd have to do her in when she kept up this nasty behavior. All she had to do was try him a little harder. She could already see it working, how irritated he was over her repellent impudence. Yeah, well—his fault for choosing such a poor slave, right? So insolent, even to the all-mighty dragon Leader himself. But this is all he'd get, even if all he'd wanted was a possession who groveled in the dust and pissed her pants when he looked at her like that. He could forget it. If you were going to go down, better to go down fighting, like her dad used to joke when she hosed him at Monopoly. Granted, this here was much more than a kids' boardgame. But, if she wanted to come out on top, all she had to do was irritate him enough. Make him... really furious. And he was, in fact, as she returned his steely gaze, as she refused to give in to him, to humbly serve up her name and whatever else he might want to know. Probably her cup size—scumbag.
He could, of course, play mind games of his own, make her his, unlike an inanimate possession. But she decided then and there that he would control neither her thoughts nor her feelings, not ever. Never! The dragon could kiss her ass. They could all kiss her ass. It was impossible for them to lord it over someone who already had a death wish. She'd show them all.