Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Vennkor

P ain rips through me, and my consciousness slams back into my body, imprisoned by the walls of my flesh. I splutter, as though my head has just been pulled out from under water. Black spots fill my vision, each like a drop of water clinging to my lashes. I blink, trying desperately to scare them away. And then small hands are rolling me onto my side and tipping my head back.

My throat is raw. I think I have been screaming, although I do not remember doing so.

"Breathe," she begs, rubbing circles over my back. "Breathe for me, Venn."

I drag air into my lungs. My throat screams its protest. My chest expands with a sharp pain.

"Oh thank God!" comes her voice again, her words filled with a shuddering sob that sparks the echo of a clouded memory. But the thought drifts out of my head before I can take hold of it.

I can remember … nothing much, and I wince through the thumping pain in my head. Mayhaps my skull was fractured, and I am concussed. It would not be the first time. And mayhaps my ribs were broken. That has happened before also, when I did not deflect an opponent's attack fast enough.

But I am clearly alive. I survived my latest fight.

I roll onto my back, blinking as the light overhead stings my sensitive eyes. The solid ground on which I am lying does not feel like the med bay bench, and I am not tied down as I usually am when the Hov administer medical aid.

Shivers rack my body, my teeth chattering uncontrollably.

"Akh." My voice is hoarse, barely more than a whisper. I swallow, but that only makes me cough, and everything in my body that was hurting before hurts even more when I cough.

" … alright." She is speaking to me again, her soft hand brushes a strand of hair away from my damp forehead. "You're going to be alright."

I reach for her, but my hands respond sluggishly to my command, and I stare at them, for they do not look like they belong to me. My skin is … not pale, exactly. But dull, more gray than blue, and I fear the color has been drained from my body as though it is my life source.

But I am not dead, I remind myself. Death could not be so painful.

Or so loud. I can hear the nearby sounds of fighting, shouts and screams of pain. The clash of body against body. The crash of falling objects.

I struggle into a seated position, pushing myself against the too-slippery floor and almost losing my balance, until hands grasp my shoulders.

"I will be well," I tell her, trying to ignore the panic I hear in my voice. "I will be well enough to fight."

"You don't have to?—"

"I will be well enough to fight." I clamber to my feet, clutching at the medical machinery to keep myself upright. "I will be well—" A small, feverish hand clamps over my mouth.

"Vennkor, look at me," she demands, and I blink, again trying to clear my vision.

Nina is standing before me. It is her hand pressed to my mouth. Her eyes filled with unshed tears. Dried blood coats her feet.

She snatches her hand from my mouth. "I'm fine," she says hastily. "It's not my blood."

I wrap my arms around her petite body, and she falls into my embrace. She feels perfect, pressed to my chest. I hide my face in the top of her head, breathing in her scent, trying to memorize the way her curves feel in my arms. She is shaped so differently to Ves'os Females, all softness where they are sharp, straight lines.

"Fucking hell, Venn," she is saying, her arms around my neck. "That was one of the scariest moments of my life. You were so still, so … " With a slight shake of her head, as if to stop herself from speaking, she presses kisses to my face—to my cheeks, my nose, my forehead, the corner of my mouth. When I close my eyes, she kisses my eyelids, her touch so gentle it almost tickles.

I remember it all now. I remember Nina and Reke and our fight in the Arena. I remember Reke cutting his wrists to drip blood into my wound. And I remember Nina caring for me as I lay on the floor of our cage, half dead and delirious. And then …

I open my eyes, searching our surroundings for answers, but I do not know where we are. The smooth walls and floors tell me that we are still in the Arena space station, but the lights here are not as bright as usual, nor are the surfaces perfectly white. Instead, there is a general feeling of abandonment.

"They separated us," she says, perhaps understanding some of my confusion. "I still don't know how, but they put you into cryostasis. I'm so sorry." She blinks, pulling back a little in the circle of my arms to look into my face. " … and I tried to protect you while you were healing," she continues, as I drift in and out of focus, her words so hard to keep hold of over the constant pounding in my head that has to be my blood being pumped around my body. It has never sounded so loud or been so painful. " … an amazing job," she is saying. "The Hov were … get near him. But I got so tired. I couldn't think straight. I think we … drugged."

She runs one of her hands through my hair, as if she cannot bear to not be touching some part of me. I hold her tighter, locking my arms about her body so that we can ever be parted.

" … awake now. I had thought?—"

"Nina." My voice rasps.

She hugs me again, burying her face in my chest. Pressed together, I can feel the beating of her heart, a fraction faster than mine, her breaths rapid but steady and controlled. I listen to her body, trying to ignore the sounds of my own.

"We're breaking you out of here," she says. "Do you think you can walk? We have to be quick."

"We?" I become conscious of a hard lump at my back, on which I am resting most of our combined weight (for all that Nina weighs so little compared to me). I straighten, my legs unsteady, and glance behind. It is as she said—a cryostasis pod, the perfect size for me, as if it was molded for my body. Had the Hov prepared the pod for me after Reke had both injured and saved me? Or had they made it long before that, just in case?

Dull anger slithers its way through me, starting in my chest and spreading out through my limbs, like it is following my veins, mingling with my blood.

"Reke and I," Nina says, and I think she is answering the question I barely remember asking. She pulls one of my arms over her shoulder, fitting herself against my side, clearly intending to help me walk.

Somewhere near, there is another scream. Nina tenses, looking ahead of us, searching for signs of fighting. I thought maybe I had imagined the sounds of gladiators, but then there is the sickening crunch of bones breaking.

"Reke came?" It's taken a small eternity for my brain to process her words. While I do not doubt that Reke would give Nina anything and everything she ever asked for, even after the time the three of us spent together, Nina riding first his cock and then mine, I still doubt he would share her again with me. I still doubt he would risk coming down here for me. I was in cryostasis, after all, and down here I presume is the bowels of the Arena, where no gladiator would be allowed.

"Of course he did." She bites her bottom lip, but if she is lying to me, she does not hesitate to continue, saying, "Now, please, Venn, we need to hurry."

I was in cryostasis. I repeat this to myself as Nina leverages us both forward a few steps, the space between the storage stacks narrow enough that my free shoulder brushes against the transparent lid of another pod. The dust sits so heavily on it that I cannot clearly see the face of the person inside.

Cryostasis . I think this fact has still not yet sunk in, and a thought suddenly occurs to me. I stumble to a halt, my legs weak and wobbly. Nina's knees buckle as my weight shifts, and she only just remains standing by using the stack to hold both herself and me still. "How long was I in stasis for?" I have heard stories of people in stasis for years. For centuries.

"No long at all. A few days at most." Her cheeks are pale, her eyes wide. "Please, Venn," she begs. "We've got to keep moving."