Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Nina

A s soon as I step into the brothel room, the door slides closed behind me, with the Hov guards remaining on the far side. An uncomfortable silence fills the air between the Ambassador and I, broken only by the annoying tap, tap, tap of the still-dripping toilet.

I loathe this room. Someone's remade the bed and reattached the rope I'd half managed to disentangle; all evidence of my previous visit has been eliminated as if it had never happened.

The Ambassador remains silent and stares at me with his most I am not amused countenance, his double eyelids partially lowered in a glare. He looks basically the same as before, and I'm left wondering how many identical cloaks he owns—or is he always wearing the same one?

"I'd apologize for our last meeting." I guess it's up to me to break this awkward silence. "But I think we both know I wouldn't mean it."

His eyes widen fractionally. I've caught him off guard. Hopefully that's good.

"Instead, I'm just going to come straight to the point. I want to make a bet with you."

He steps forward, catches himself and stills again, attempting to look disinterested. But I saw a bright flash in his eyes.

He's an addict. He can't help himself.

And I'm trying to take advantage of him. When faced with the choice of picking either the Ambassador or Venn and Reke, I'm always, always going to pick Reke and Venn first. Love, as it turns out, makes us extraordinarily selfish.

"I bet I can escape."

"The Arena?" He frowns.

"The entire space station."

"No." He shakes his head. "The odds are not in your favor."

"It's been done before. T—" Ah, fuck, I've forgotten his name. "The other Ves'os escaped."

"Torksten."

"Yeah, him. And now his statue's in the Hall of Fame. He's a legend."

"His escape was a coincidence. There were extenuating circumstances."

"That will just make my escape all the more impressive." I stand on the bed, once again taking the higher ground. "And it's not just me that's going to escape. I'm taking Reke and Vennkor with me," I announce with a confidence I do not feel.

He flicks his tongue. "Impossible."

"Improbable," I correct.

"And if you cannot escape?"

"If I can't escape before I'm returned to the Arena, then … " I draw a deep breath. "I'll agree to go with you. Wherever you want." I hate the words as soon as they leave my mouth. But Ney was right—us gladiators don't have anything worth wagering. Except for our lives. And as my life is already on the line, thanks to the fucking Hov, I might as well try to get in on the action. "But there are conditions."

"Conditions?"

"Oh, there are always conditions." I force a grin. "You taught me that."

"Like what?"

"I need information, a lot of it. How the doors work. Where the spaceships are kept. Preferably a map. And I want to know where Reke and Venn are?—"

"You are asking for too much." He's shaking his head again, dismissing me.

"I'm asking for the bare minimum. What fun is there on us betting on if I can escape, when I can't even get out of one locked room? I need some sort of advantage."

He's silent.

I bounce lightly on my toes, rocking the hanging bed.

The silence continues as he strides around the room, once, twice, three times. What had he told me earlier—that to place a winning bet, you require skill and practice? Is that what he's doing now, weighing up my chances? Deciding what information he'll risk sharing with me?

"Come on," I cajole. "It's no skin off your nose. You're not the one risking their life. And the Hov don't even have to know about our little bet." There are no cameras in this room, and it's not like I've got any plans to tell them.

"If you cannot escape?—"

"Then I'll go with you," I interrupt.

"If you escape?—"

"Then I'll have escaped, and you'll have no claim on me."

"If you die?—"

"Then I'll be dead." I attempt a casual shrug. "Do we have a deal?" And I twist my hands behind my back, partially to hide how much I'm shaking, partially because I've no intention of shaking the Ambassador's scaly hand.

He pauses in his pacing. "We have a deal." Then he strides to the door, which opens to reveal the two Hov guards. "Take us to Vennkor," he demands.

"Really?" I clap my hands over my mouth. If this is some sick joke— If he's just messing with me— Despite everything I just said, I don't think I really and truly believed I'd seen Venn again.

The guards glance at each other, clearly uncertain about what to do.

The Ambassador takes no notice of their hesitancy. "Take us to Vennkor," he orders again, and strides from the room, clearly expecting to be given exactly what he's demanded. I hurry to follow, stretching my arms out to either side of my body to help keep my balance on the ice-like floor.

We're led down a series of corridors, including down an elevator that isn't constricted by traveling only up and down, but also moves sideways and even diagonally. The farther we travel, the less polished everything looks. The walls lose some of their whiteness, turning into a monotone yellow. These are the backrooms if ever I've seen them. The corridors ahead are dark; the lights only come on when they sense our movement, and they emit a persistent yet low-level buzzing hum.

The Ambassador pointedly doesn't look at me, not even when I slip and fall, or when one of the Hov guards grabs me by the arm and pulls me along after him, my bare feet sliding along the smooth floor as if I'm wearing ice skates.

We don't stop even when we reach a massive storage area, with library-style stacks from the floor to the ceiling. They're holding a collection of what looks like abandoned junks—crates, boxes, chests and old machinery. A layer of dust covers everything, except for the floor where footprints are visible in the dust. The four of us follow the footsteps until we reach the far back wall.

Using a touch-screen tablet, one of the guards directs some of the stacks to move left. They pile up against each other until there's a space between two that's wide enough to fit a person. I yank my arm free and dart down the gap, using a shelf like a handrail to keep my balance.

Suddenly the buzzing hum is in my head, and my hold on the shelf is all that's keeping my knees from collapsing as I try to make sense of what I'm seeing.

"Holy shit, motherfuckers."

Venn is cocooned in what looks like a vertical capsule, with only the front section open. There's a strap across his shoulders and chest and around each of his thighs, holding him tightly in place. There's a breathing tube in his mouth, which I guess extends down his trachea. The other end is connected to a machine similar in style to an Earth ventilator, except much more complicated.

His chest rises and falls with a breath.

The makeshift bandage I wrapped around his wound has been removed, exposing a mess of scarred tissue. I can see where Reke's teeth cut through the base of his throat, but the wound is healed enough that it looks a month old, not something that was inflicted a mere few days ago.

I run my hands over his clammy yet icy skin, searching for a pulse at his throat and at his wrist. My head swims, my own breaths shuddering. Venn shouldn't need to be on life support. The last time I saw him, yes, he'd nearly died, but he'd been healing. He'd been getting better.

I sob escapes my mouth, and I wipe my dripping nose on the sleeve of my sweater.

"What's wrong with him? Is he on life support?"

The space between the two stacks isn't large enough for everyone to fit, and the Ambassador slips in before either of the Hov guards can interfere. He surveys Venn with an expression akin to disinterest, as if Venn is nothing more than a mildly interesting display at a museum. Or in a morgue.

Fucking hell! Is that what this place is? Are there other injured gladiators stored away in the stacks? I step as close as I can get to Venn's capsule. If I could've climbed in there with him, I would've.

"Why's he like this?" I demand of the Ambassador. Have the Hov put him into an induced coma? Is all this machinery keeping him alive? I swear he was getting better the last time I saw him. Reke's blood should have helped heal him.

"Please." I grab hold of the Ambassador's cloak, because I can't grab his arm without cutting myself. I tug on the tough fabric, determined to make him answer my questions, even though his lips are pressed tightly closed. " Please !"

"He is in cryostasis," he says, staring at Venn.

"Is that even a real thing?" But of course it's fucking real. I'm in outer space after all, on a space station run by aliens. "Cryostasis." I test the word. It still sounds surreal. "He isn't dead, so he can be woken up, right? Right?"

I skim my hands over the apparatus. It's got a touch screen, but I can't read any of the words, so I don't know which buttons to press. I'm so desperate to wake Venn that I almost start hitting them all at random, but I don't want to do anything that might put him in danger.

"Wake him up," I order the Ambassador.

He doesn't respond.

"Get the guards to wake him up." I take one of Venn's limp hands in both of mine. He's so cold, he could have been carved from ice. "Wake him up." I glare over my shoulder at the Hov guards. "For fuck's sake, wake him up!"

They laugh, their pustule-covered bellies jiggling. If I had a pin, I'd pop them. If I had claws like Reke, I'd slice them open, as though I were performing surgery. I'm not squeamish. I'm pretty sure I could stand here and watch them die and not feel guilty about it.

Of course, that's the exact moment my panties decide to fall out of my jeans pocket. They land at my feet, a crumpled mess. I'd forgotten about them, and I grab them, balling them up in my hands.

My underwear never embarrassed me before. There's no point; they're just clothes. But now my face is burning with humiliation as the Hov laughter grows even louder, the narcissists absolutely loving my complete and utter lack of power. I feel useless—smaller than everyone, with bitten fingernails, blunt teeth and weak arms.

I can only hope they laugh so much that they burst.

I turn my back to everyone but Venn, cradling his hand in mine, pressing his icy palm to my too-hot cheek. I want to tell him that he's my Mate and that my world centers on him and Reke, but how can I say those words to him for the first time when he's like this? When he's so beyond my reach, even though we're finally together again.

His fingers are so cold they sting my face, and when I breathe out, I can see my own breath as the ice seeps from his skin into mine. We might be one person with one body and one heart, so closely connected do I feel to Venn. It certainly feels as though my heart is trapped inside the capsule with his unmoving, unresponsive body.

"I'll get you out of here," I vow, not caring that my words just make the Hov laugh even harder. I can't even muster the energy to stay angry at them for laughing, because I've made so many promises and I've got no idea how I'm going to keep any of them.