Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Reke

" I want Nina." I glare at the closed door, knowing that even now I am being watched by Hov guards. All the cameras in the ceiling of my berth are focused on me, and I look from one to the other, imagining I am looking straight into the eyes of the Hov who forced Nina, Vennkor and me into the Arena. "You will bring me Nina."

"Or what?" A voice crackles over the intercom.

My ears twitch.

"Hovven." I crouch low to the ground, making myself look small and unthreatening. "Open the door, Hovven," I tempt the Command Trainer, the Hov guard who heads the team responsible for my so-called care.

My tail flicks. My head is foggy; my thoughts are heavy.

Hovven is not his real name, but it is the one I have given him so that he knows I know exactly who he is. If the Hov have names, they do not share them with the gladiators, not even with me.

"I am no scudding fool," comes his reply.

"Are you afraid of me, Hovven?"

His laughter is magnified by the intercom speaker. It grates on my nerves, and I stalk the length of my room, attempting to disguise my agitation.

My hammock hangs along the length of one wall, set into the ceiling by thick rope cables. A shower and toilet line the opposite wall, a drain at the center of the floor. Deep grooves paint the walls and ceiling where I have sharpened my claws. Only by concentrated persistence have I made some scratches deep enough to become hand and footholds, turning my sleeping quarters into a climbing obstacle course. Each groove represents many hours of my work.

Set into the third wall is a large display window, behind which is a viewing platform where patrons who pay extra money for the privilege of watching me are escorted. Today, the window is dark, meaning I cannot see through it to the other side. The patrons can choose if they wish the window to be one-way or two, depending on if they want me to see them. Some enjoy the apparent thrill it brings knowing I have seen their face. Others prefer their anonymity.

I do not look toward the window, refusing to give the patrons on the other side the satisfaction of my attention.

On the last wall, there are three screens. One displays today's list; one displays tomorrow's list; and the third shows the Arena broadcast. The fights are almost over, and the stadium has already begun to empty. A neon scoreboard displayed across the arched dome of the Arena ceiling highlights the day's death count.

My fight was hours ago. Sometimes I am first in the Arena. Other days I am the last. The Hov vary the order so no two days are the same.

I tip my head to one side, blurring my eyes as I focus on the memory of the last time I saw Nina. Still locked in the cell and covered in Vennkor's blood, I had laid Nina down beside him as her eyes had closed and she had fallen asleep. I had straightened then. I had returned to my position guarding the door to our cell. I …

I shake my head as if I can shake my hazy memories into order. The Hov had been too hesitant to approach for fear I would gut them. Instead, they had taken shifts watching us, not content to merely monitor Nina, Vennkor and me on the cameras. And then … And then I woke here, back in my berth. Alone.

I prowl another circle around my berth, flicking the edge of the hammock with my tail and sending the fabric rocking.

Surely the Hov realize that separating me from my Mate is a killing offense. I will tear into their throats. I will lap their blood from their spurting arteries. And when their corpses litter the floor, I will find my Nina and I will let nobody part us again. This I vow.

And Vennkor? Unfamiliar guilt stirs, and I attempt to dismiss him from my thoughts with another flick of my tail. I did what I could to save him, for Nina's sake. What happens to him now is his own responsibility.

If he dies, it will not be my fault.

Yes, commanding Vennkor to pleasure Nina when I could not touch her myself had been intriguing. Yes, watching him rut with Nina had been arousing. And being forced to nearly kill him in the Arena had— Akh! It had brought me nothing like the usual thrill, and now when I close my eyes, I can vividly recall the feeling of biting down on the pulse in his throat and the gush of his warm blood into my mouth.

My stomach heaves, and I clench my fists, fighting down an unprecedented wave of nausea. My claws cut into the palms of my hands.. Sweat dampens my forehead, and I let out a shuddering breath.

The intercom crackles as if Hovven is going to say something, but only silence follows.

"Come in here, Hovven." I peel my fists open, sliding my claws out of my palm. What pain there is, I easily ignore, even as blood splatters the floor. "I dare you."

"Ha!" Another grating laugh that has me wincing.

I stare directly at the nearest camera. "You are a fuckwit."

"Fuck-wit does not translate."

"You are a shitshow." I run my hands over the locked door.

"Sh-it-sh-ow does not translate."

"Bring Nina to me." The groove where the door meets the walls isn't as deep as some of the holds I have carved into the wall, but my claws still fit. I tug, testing my strength against the door's seal. "She will tell you what those words mean."

He sighs into the microphone. "Very well."

"Yes?" I straighten, relaxing my hold on the door.

"Ha ha!" Laughter bursts through the intercom.

My shoulders drop. My tail flicks. "I will kill you, Fuckwit. That is your new name. Fuckwit." And I return my attention to the door. I broke the collars, a feat nobody thought previously possible. Maybe I can force the door to open. I lean to one side, putting my weight and my strength behind my attempt.

The door groans.

"Reke—" A touch of panic coats Fuckwit's voice. It's a warning, but I don't stop. If anything, I pull harder, exerting all my strength.

Nothing more happens. The door remains firmly locked.

There is another crackle, as familiar to me as my voice. It is the sound of Fuckwit taking his finger off the intercom button, and silence falls over my room, a reminder I am alone.