Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Reke

H er eyes widen magnificently, and then she sticks her tongue out at me. “No, of course not.”

I blink. The tip of her tongue is pink, and instantly I want to bite her. To eat or just to taste, I am unsure which.

Nina does not stand. Rather, she scoots herself along the smooth floor on her rounded ass, using her hands and feet to propel her a fraction closer.

I stretch my arm until I have my shoulder pressed against the bars. I can just about reach her, and the fingertip of my longest finger brushes against her shirt.

“Hey! That’s my boob.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and her tone is admonishing, but she does not move away. Rather, she shuffles a bit closer, until I can run my fingers down the side of her face. Her skin is smooth, unlike anything I have felt before. I touch my own cheek with my other hand, comparing the two and imagining it is Nina’s hand on my face .

I bare my teeth. “Closer.”

“Why? Are you planning on eating me?”

Her words are so close to what I was just thinking that I narrow my eyes. “Are you listening to my thoughts?”

She laughs and then blinks as if she surprised herself. I think she has not had reason to laugh in a long time.

“Telepathy is banned in the Arena,” I tell her. It is one of the many rules I have been taught.

“Wait, you’re serious? There are aliens who can read minds?” She slides the rest of the distance, resting one shoulder against a bar, her back toward the crowd gathered on the viewing platform.

Her closeness to me sends a stir of interest through our audience. They are filming us, I know. But when have I not been filmed? I pay them no attention, focusing entirely on Nina.

She leans into my touch, resting her head against a cold bar.

My face is as close to hers as I can get.

“Is it always like this?” she asks in a whisper so nobody else can hear. I think it is the first time anyone has spoken to me in such a way, as if she is trusting me with one of her secrets.

I seriously consider her question. I feel it is important not to give the wrong answer.

She must take my silence for confusion, for she clarifies: “So boring yet so scary, all at the same time?”

Some of her hair has fallen through the gaps between the bars, and I rub the strands between my fingers. Soft too. “Scary? ”

“Yeah. Aren’t you scared?” Another whispered question.

“No.” I lower my voice to match hers. I like this game of sharing secrets, although my answers are not anything everyone does not already know. I wish I had a secret I could share. I shift through my thoughts, searching for something I might whisper to her.

“Well, not now, I guess,” she concedes. “But what about when you’re sent up there?” And she points at the ceiling again.

“No.” I wrap the strand of hair around one finger, tugging gently. She does not react. “This is what I was made to do.”

“And you never lose?” She meets my gaze.

“I will never lose.” I stare back at her.

“You can’t know that for sure.”

I tug the strands a fraction harder.

“Ow!” She reaches through the bars and untangles her hair from my hold.

“That hurt?” I straighten, my chest tightening unfamiliarly.

“A bit, yeah.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder, and it falls gracefully down her back and resumes leaning against the bar. “How old are you, Reke?”

I like the way she says my name.

“I am … this age, Nina.” And I gesture at myself, not understanding her question.

She follows my gesture with her eyes, looking me up and down.

“Do you like what you see?” I puff out my chest, tensing my muscles. Uncontrollably, my hips thrust, as if I am seeking friction. As if there is an itch inside of me that I cannot reach to scratch.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were flirting with me.” The corners of her lips turn up, but her smile does not reach her eyes.

“Flirting?” I seek clarification.

“It means … ” She scrubs her face.

There are dark circles under her eyes that were not there the first time I saw her. Is she changing her coloring on purpose? I think she is not a chameleon, or she would not remain visible to our audience.

“It doesn’t matter.” She gives a little wave of her hand, as if dismissing my question. “It’s not important.”

“I want to know. I want to know everything about you.”

“You do?” She turns a little to look at me more fully. “Why?”

I think the way she raises her eyebrows indicates her interest ... Or maybe her confusion. I have not entirely decided which yet.

Why would I not be interested? I breathe deep, drawing her scent in, shifting through the smells. “I cannot decide if you are prey or predator. You smell like … ” I cannot describe it. She smells like both a friend and an enemy. She smells like something more … something I have not smelled before.

Certainly she is nothing like how the Hov smell. Or like how any of the other gladiators’ smell. And I think she does not have the scent of the audience either, so eager to see death and blood and suffering that their reek makes me physically sick when I stand downwind. And I am always standing downwind to someone in the Arena, enveloped as it is by the stadium of thousands.

No, Nina is not like any of those others.

The hair on the back of my neck rises. I run my fingers down her throat, feeling the steady beat of her pulse. I do not want to rip her throat out. I do not want to hurt her at all. I want … I want … I cannot describe what I want. It is an ache low in my belly. It is a weakness in my knees. It has something to do with her hair. And her … What did she call them? Boobs. And with her perfect skin. I would count the tiny brown dots that cover her nose if only she would stop asking me so many questions and I had the time to think.

“Are those my only options?” she asks. “I don’t think I like the sound of either of those.”

“Everybody is either prey or predator.” My voice falters. Until Nina I had thought there were no other options. Now … Now I am not so sure.

My internal itch increases, and I shift from foot to foot, trying to find a more comfortable position.

“I think there should be another option,” Nina snaps, growing angry with me. “I’m an independent woman with thoughts and feelings of my own, and I don’t want to be either prey or predator. I want to be … I want to be … ” She crosses her arms over her chest. A crease mars her forehead as she thinks. “I want to be free,” she finally finishes.

“Vennkor also wishes to be free.” Now I think of it, she reminds me a little of Vennkor. Although he is most definitely prey, for all that he does not appear to know this and does not easily succumb to predators .

“I can’t blame him. I’d think every gladiator in this shitshow would want their freedom back. Don’t you want to be free?”

“What is a sh-it sh-ow? That does not translate. ”

Another laugh. This time it is a gentle sound, and she does not act surprised to hear herself. The itch inside me increases. I want to consume her laugh as I consume food.

I flex my hips, rubbing a little against the cold of a bar. The itch remains stubbornly in place.

“It feels kind of illicit teaching you English swear words.”

“Teach me more.”

She straightens, a brightness illuminating her eyes for the first time. “Okay.”

Her joy is almost palpable. It is a sweet smell, something akin to the feeling I get when I pump my cock into my fist. “Sh-it-sh-ow. Shitshow.” I string the sounds together, as Nina did.

“Perfect,” she praises, sending a shiver down my shine. “Now say fuckwit. ” She fills it with aggression and relief and maybe a touch of joy. These sw-wear words must be important to her, a ritual perhaps. Or some kind of barbarian observance.

“I was wrong before,” I tell her. “You do not smell like prey or predator.”

“Good.”

I reach through the bars, wrapping my hand around her throat. She is not fast enough to move beyond my reach.

Her pulse jumps under my touch. I could so easily rip her into small pieces and lick her blood from my claws .

“Reke.” Her eyes narrow dangerously as she stares straight at me. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

I tighten my hold fractionally and, wrapping my tail around myself, I rub between my legs, desperate to quash the unbearable itch at the apex of my thighs.

Her gaze follows my tail. I feel her swallow.

“You, Nina, smell like my Mate.”