Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Nina

I either sleep really well that night or really terribly because I’m awake and lying in darkness long after I think the new day should have begun. My stomach rumbles, complaining about not getting breakfast, and I’m left to entertain myself by sliding on my ass from one side of my cell to the other.

Determinedly, I keep my gaze off the ceiling and away from the cameras. If I spend too much time thinking about how the Hov are watching me, I’d waste all my energy on being absolutely furious, when I should use that energy to plan my escape.

That’s when the ceiling over my cell opens, and the floor I’m lying on begins rising. I scramble to my feet, fall over and try again. Directly overhead is a wash of brilliant blues, streaking the sky almost like a waterfall, except there isn’t any movement. It’s completely static and reminds me of a background that’s painted to look like the sky .

I bury one hand into the cuff of the opposite sleeve and grip Reke’s broken claw. The edge digs into my palm, but I just hold it tighter. It’s not long enough to do any actual damage if I stabbed someone with it. But if anyone tries coming near me, I’ll slash their throat. It can’t be too different from making a medical incision, surely …

My hands shake.

Sweat rolls down my back.

I think I’m going to be sick.

Then the floor of my cell slots into place and suddenly I’m in the Arena. The fucking gladiatorial Arena. The Arena where they send people to die.

Squinting against the bright light, I scan the world around me for signs of an oncoming attack. That’s when I notice how silent it is. Nobody’s screaming. Nobody’s cheering. Nobody’s chanting for my murder.

I turn a circle. The stadium surrounds the circular Arena. Rows upon rows of chairs rise toward the painted sky, and they’re empty. There isn’t a single parasite in sight.

So … what’s happening? Why am I here?

The Arena itself isn’t empty. Gladiators gather in small groups of twos and threes. There must be nearly sixty in total. I scan the crowd, searching for another Human before I fully register what I’m doing, but of course I’m the only one. I should be pleased that the Hov haven’t gone back to Earth and stolen more women, but some part of me, the selfish part who hates everything about this place, could really do with seeing a friendly face about now.

Everyone stares back at me. Everyone looks pissed, like they’ve spent the last three years waking up on the wrong side of the bed and have been gathering all their rage inside of themselves, waiting for the exact moment when they can rain all their wrath down on me.

Thankfully, I can’t see any weapons.

“Umm … ” I clear my throat and raise a hand, the hand not holding Reke’s inch-long claw. “Hi. I’m N-Nina. I’m from Earth. I enjoy l-long walks on the beach and candle-lit dinners and … ” And please don’t make me hurt you!

And please, please don’t kill me.

I accidentally make eye contact with the alien woman with the four arms. She’s wearing her usual chainmail jumpsuit, and there’s a thick silver collar around her throat. She immediately takes umbrage at my existence and storms toward me, all four of her hands closed in fists and raised like she’s preparing to knock the living daylights out of me.

Bloody hell. I’m about to experience my first fight. The Hov aren’t even making these gladiators attack me. They’d doing it because … I’ve no fucking idea why. Maybe they just don’t like the way I look. Maybe they don’t like the so-called ‘special treatment’ (insert sarcasm air quotes here) I’ve been receiving. Maybe they want me dead for no reason other than this place being a fucking nightmare and them being conditioned to kill anything they perceive as threatening.

That they think I could be a threat is laughable.

I swallow, trying hard to remember the advice my karate teacher told me, but all that’s coming to mind is him saying that if you don’t think you can win, you’d better run away. So I back up, sand crunching under my bare feet.

Fast as lightning, so fast I almost miss seeing it, Reke jumps in front of me. He’s crouched, facing the four-armed woman, his tail flicking irritably, his ears lying close to his head.

She stops short, staring at Reke. With him crouched so low to the ground and her over seven-feet tall, there’s a significant height difference. She’s also broad across the shoulders, and scars across the backs of her hands show she isn’t one to pull her punches. In comparison, Reke appears almost ethereal, his perfect velvet skin unmarked, the patches of gold amongst the black glinting in the direct light.

A slight movement behind me has me glancing back. Venn’s there, his back to me, like he’s also prepared to defend me. Beyond Venn are another half a dozen aliens, all frozen in their approach toward me.

A laugh escapes my mouth. It’s a squeaky, high-pitched sound that even I can’t find the energy to pretend sounded like anything but sheer terror. Without a doubt, Reke and Venn have just saved my miserable life.

“I’m really glad to see you guys.”

“They look at you, they die,” Reke practically growls as he stands up to face me, clearly having decided the four-armed woman presents no further danger. She’s still glaring at me, but she’s backed right off, as have all the other gladiators.

“You can’t kill everyone who looks at me.” I know he killed that one alien, but there must be close to sixty in the Arena at the moment. I slip my hand into one of his, relishing the warmth radiating off him.

“Yes, I could.” Reke answers with such perfect sincerity that I glance at Venn for confirmation.

Venn shrugs one massive shoulder, like he’s entirely willing to agree either way.

Reke presses our clasped hands to his chest. He’s standing close enough I could count each one of his long eyelashes, looking as innocent as innocent could be.

I narrow my eyes at him. And at myself. I should be more shocked by Reke’s casual declaration. I should definitely be more terrified.

Yes, I’ll freely admit to being a tiny bit scared. His instincts to kill are always so close to the surface, and some small part of my brain—the part that has survived since the time when Humans were living in caves and being hunted by big cats across savannah plains—wants to break free of his hold and run as fast and far away from Reke as I possibly can.

More important and far stronger is the tingling feeling in the pit of my stomach, the one that travels lower to between my legs. My knees weaken, and what I really want is to throw my arms around Reke’s neck and make out with that cheeky mouth of his.

There’s something toe-curlingly comforting about holding the hand of the most dangerous man in the room. Since my abduction, I’ve been continually stared at for all the wrong reasons. Now I feel like I’m being stared at for the right reason. I feel … Honestly, I feel powerful.

Power is an elusive feeling at the best of times, for all that it’s so addictive.

I haven’t felt like this since before my abduction.

Hell, I haven’t felt like this since before Grandma had to sell her house and move into full-time care, and I found myself suddenly facing the world all by myself .

I straighten my spine, setting my shoulders straight.

Reke smirks at me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d have said he could read my thoughts.

“Don’t be so smug,” I tell him. “It doesn’t suit you.” Of course it does suit him. Smugness gives him a decidedly dashing air. Alongside his complete unconcern for his own safety, it’s a heavenly combination. One I can feel rubbing off on me, even now. Even here.

His tail wraps around one of my thighs, pulling me an inch or so closer, until my right side is pressed to his left side. I bask in the feel of him and only just resist rubbing my cheek against his fur-like skin because I see Venn’s gaze locked on Reke’s and my hands, our fingers intertwined.

Harsh lines etch his face, his eyes are bloodshot, and he has his hands clenched into fists. In the direct light, he’s much more blue than black. Even his horns are blue tinged. His scars, too, are more prominent. I think I could trace my finger across his entire body just by following his scars.

Before I can overthink what I’m doing, I take one of Venn’s hands too, curling my fingers around his palm. Like Reke, his hand radiates heat. Unlike Reke, Venn’s hand engulfs mine, the perfect demonstration of just how much bigger than me Venn is.

He holds on to me so tightly it’s painful. I try not to wince, but something about my expression must give me away because Venn loosens his grip, almost to the point of letting go, and suddenly it’s me holding onto his hand as tightly as I have the strength to do so.

There’s a moment when it feels like the three of us are suspended in time. My heart races as I wait for Reke or for Venn (but mainly for Reke) to take offense at my divided attention and tear their hand from my hold. I wait for one of them (mainly Reke) to declare they want nothing more to do with me. With us.

Sheer proximity forced us to spend time together. Now, I can’t imagine being trapped in this space station with anyone else.

Venn’s shoulders drop, like he’s suddenly decided he doesn’t have any more fight left in him.

Reke’s got his head tilted to one side and is contemplating Venn with narrowed eyes. His one blue eye is so similar in color to both of Venn’s blue eyes it suddenly occurs to me that maybe Reke has some Ves’os genes in him. It’s possible. Only yesterday Venn was telling me about how he isn’t the first Ves’os gladiator. Maybe the Hov took a DNA sample of Venn’s predecessor when they were designing Reke.

There aren’t many similarities between Venn and Reke but there are a few—their blue eyes, their sharp teeth, their ability to give me butterflies. Even now, my stomach is filled with fluttering.

I wait a little longer, but when it becomes clear Reke isn’t going to say anything, I release a breath and hold onto their hands a little tighter.

“So,” I attempt a conversational tone but don’t quite hit the mark. “What’s going on here? Why are we all here like this? Is this a normal morning activity? Do the Hov regularly throw all the gladiators into the same place and just wait to see who attacks who.”

“This is not usual. We appear to have a special visitor.” Venn nods toward the stadium, and I follow the gesture with my gaze .

Standing among hundreds of thousands of empty seats are three aliens I missed seeing when I made my initial inspection. Two Hov guards and … I squint. He looks just like the dead alien currently lying in front of my cell, his head split open against a bar, his neck broken by Reke’s hand. He’s got the same razor scales, the same long tongue that’s licking the air as if he’s tasting the non-existent breeze. The fundamental difference between him and the dead guy is that this one is wearing a cloak. No other clothes. Certainly no pants. Just a cloak, clasped around his neck and secured with what I think must be a large badge, decorated with a symbol I can’t quite make out at this distance.

“Is he some sort of super-duper wealthy patron? Did he buy all the seats so that he doesn’t have to share the show with anyone else?”

“No,” Venn says. “He is a representative of the Interplanetary Guild.”

“Who are they?”

“The Guild polices the galaxy, enforcing the Interplanetary Guidelines across all planets with species who have developed complex space travel.”

“Oh. So why are they here?”

“Because gladiator fights are unlawful.” He frowns down at me. “Because The Hov are criminals. You did not know this?”

“No.” Apparently everyone had forgotten to tell me that little fun fact. I lick my lips, leaning to one side, all the better to watch the Ambassador. “Is he here to rescue us?” I don’t believe the question even as I ask it. Surely, if this were a rescue mission, the council would’ve sent more than one guy.

“No.” Reke gives me a blatant did you really think that look.

“Stranger things have happened.” I shoot him a glare. “Why is he even here, if not to rescue us?”

“I suspect someone lodged another complaint with the Guild,” Venn says. “And so they have sent their representative to conduct an inspection for illicit activities.”

“The Hov must have been warned beforehand,” I guess, looking around the Arena.

Small groups of gladiators are mingling together. A few are even jogging around the Arena’s edge, like they’re training for track. It’s got a sort of school sportsfield vibe, with the students loitering on their lunch break, enjoying some fresh air between classes.

Still, you’d have to be as thick as a brick not to realize what’s really happening. No sports oval ever looks like it’s populated with murderous students who enjoy ripping each other’s heads off. Even now, two groups of gladiators are sizing each other up. Fists are being clenched. Insults are being traded. One alien is literally banging his own chest. It echoes deep and hollow, a bit like a church bell ringing a death knell.

“This must have been why they were moving the Parakian,” Venn says to Reke. “They did not wish to risk the Ambassador seeing one from his own clan.”

Reke rubs the back of my hand against his cheeks, making it entirely clear that he cares nothing for the dead alien or his role in that dead alien’s death.

“But the Hov claimed the dead guy was supposed to be fighting next, and they made Reke fight in his place,” I remind them.

“And the Hov never lie.” Venn says it with such a straight face (which, to be fair to Venn, is his normal expression) that I take a moment to realize he’s being sarcastic. Lightly, I tug his arm in remonstration, although I can’t help but smile. I didn’t know he made jokes, and I love seeing this other side to Venn.

Yes, I’ll be the first to admit it’s kind of crazy that I can smile in a situation as crap as this one. But, hey, I’ve got the heady sense of standing between the two people I’m supposed to be standing between, as if I was made to be between them.

Which is an utterly ridiculous idea.

I must be more sleep deprived than I know.

“So the intergalactic council thing?—”

“The Interplanetary Guild,” Venn corrects fastidiously.

“The Interplanetary Guild has sent a rep to the Arena to make sure no funny business is happening. And we’re all just supposed to act like we’re not slaves being forced to fight for our lives in front of a massive crowd all screaming for our blood. Do I have that right?”

“Hence, the collars.” Venn points to the collar he’s wearing. Reke and I don’t have one, but now I’m looking, I see all the gladiators have collars. I imagine they’re not just for decoration.

That Reke isn’t wearing one is surely strange, given he’s the most dangerous person in the entire Arena. I touch my own throat. And why not me? Have the Hov judged our lives to be more profitable than everyone else’s? Do the Hov not want to risk injuring the two gladiators whom their parasitic audience has most interest in?

I swallow down a fresh wave of hatred for the Hov. If I were the giant in that old children’s nursery rhythm, I would grind the Hov’s bones to dust under the sole of my shoe and enjoy doing so. Instead, I ask: “Then what will happen?”

“Then, the Ambassador will declare he saw nothing suspicious, and tomorrow everything will return to normal,” Venn answers. The only hint I have about his emotion is the slight tightening of his hold on my hand and the tension in his broad shoulders. “The Guild are not powerful enough to stop the Hov, so they pretend they cannot see what is right in front of them.”

“So I really shouldn’t get my hopes up that we’re suddenly all going to be whisked away to safety and a life of luxury?”

Venn doesn’t even bother answering such a stupid question.

Reke makes that breathy, rather high-pitched sound again, which is actually him laughing. It echoes around the Arena and has the power to stop all the other aliens mid-sentence. Everyone is looking at the three of us again, including the two Hov guards and the Ambassador. I can practically feel their eyes trying to bore holes through my skin and into my thoughts. Although I notice nobody is making direct eye contact with Reke. I’m guessing none of them want Reke to take umbrage with their existence.

I gently tug my hand free of Reke’s so I can wrap an arm around his straight waist and give him a one-armed hug. Still laughing at my question, he sinks into my hold, burying a hand in my knotted hair and cradling the back of my head as if I’m someone to be protected.

The weight of him pushes me back half a step until my back’s pressed to Vennkor’s chest. He doesn’t move. He certainly doesn’t join the hug, nor does he pull away or release my hand. I close my eyes, allowing myself the privilege of sinking into the combined warmth of their bodies.

Part of me knows it’s my laughter now echoing around the huge death stadium and silencing everyone. I can hear how insane I sound. I just can’t find the energy to give a damn.