Izzy

IZZY

I ’m not sure if it’s trepidation which is causing my stomach to fizz as I approach the cubicle where Blayn has been deposited tonight or something else entirely.

I watched vid after vid with Riklinn yesterday, those we could find which were free to view anyway. She was able to explain to me what the symbols on the screen meant when they flashed up over the dome and the gladiators. There are four Gryn. Blayn, of course, a hulk of a male called Maxym, and two others who can only be described as batshit crazy.

And as for Blayn, he’s the craziest of the lot. He simply doesn’t seem to care what he does as long as there’s a weapon in his hand. The free vids rarely show his “kills,” as the symbols so delicately put it, but he has many to his name and his statistics make him nearly joint top with Maxym.

“They’re all indentured you know,” Riklinn tells me.

“Slaves?”

“Not quite slaves, given Trefa pretends it doesn’t endorse slavery, but they’re all bound to the dome until they get free.”

“Free?”

Riklinn draws her finger across her throat in a universal gesture.

My heart drops to my boots. Blayn is bound to the dome until it kills him. And after what I’ve seen, regardless of how good he is supposed to be, the dome has every intention of killing him, one way or another.

Which means the creature I’m going to right now is one who will kill or be killed, and it’s my job to get him used to being touched, providing the touch isn’t at the point of a sword, because from what I’ve seen, he’s not averse to being injured either.

The Zarvu guards stomp out of the cubicle as I wait to enter. Blayn is in the same spot by the window, but this time he’s facing me. His face changes when he sees me. It’s not a smile, not quite. It’s almost as if he doesn’t know what to do.

Like all the times previously, he’s filthy given he’s been brought straight from the dome.

“.” His wings droop slightly.

“Hi Blayn,” I say brightly, trying not to notice the gunk dripping from his left primary feathers onto the floor. “Bath?”

He nods enthusiastically. I guess it’s better than being ripped limb from limb.

“You know where it is,” I say. “If you need any help…”

His brow draws over his liquid dark eyes. He shakes his head almost as enthusiastically. I turn away to hide my smile as he races over to the door to the bathroom, opens it, and dives inside.

If Madame wants things to take time, I can, if need be, reassure her that they are absolutely going to take time. Because even if Blayn isn’t willing to let me anywhere near him, he is at least willing to stay in the same room as me.

Having laid out his usual spread, I sit and wait for him to exit the bath. The sounds of splashing have been more than the last few times he’s bathed, and I try not to think about the clean-up operation.

When the door opens, Blayn strides through as if he owns the place, hopping over the couch back with sinuous ease to take a seat and begin eating. I sit still, letting him enjoy his meal. After what I’ve watched, I can see how he might be hungry, given the energy he’s most likely expended killing things. I also don’t exactly want to be on the receiving end of those huge claws.

Blayn spears some rare roasted meat on one claw, shoves it in his mouth with a sigh, and then sits back briefly.

But it’s not for long. Those eyes are concentrated on me. For what seems like an eternity, but can only be a few seconds, he holds my gaze, and I’m mesmerised.

Then, in a swift, easy movement, he flicks out a wing and begins combing through his feathers with those vicious claws. Only now they don’t look vicious at all. His eyelids grow heavy as he concentrates on his task, sliding through each primary feather one by one.

“Have you always been a gladiator?” I ask him, keeping my voice quiet and even.

Blayn pauses in his work, eyes flicking to me, before he continues on smoothing down his wing.

“I don’t know. None of us do,” he says.

“You were brought here from somewhere else?” I don’t want to fire questions at him, but I am intrigued by this huge killer who likes to bathe, and eat, and preen his feathers.

“Don’t remember. Maybe.” He fills his lungs and releases a long breath. “There is dark and light, that’s all.” His gaze comes back to me. “And you.”

“I was taken from my planet, a place called Earth,” I say, more to fill the shock which has reverberated through me at his ‘and you’ comment. “I was an author.”

His eyebrows draw together.

“Orth-her?” he repeats, attempting to get his mouth round what is an obviously unfamiliar word.

“I wrote stories, and other humans read them. I like to think they enjoyed them,” I say, sadly.

Now I can’t even read on this planet, let alone write. And what would I write? Sci-Fi romance? I haven’t seen a single blue horned alien since I was dumped on Trefa.

“That sounds…nice?” Blayn seems confused by the sentiment.

“It was nice,” I reply.

“Better than here?” he asks, going back to combing through his feathers.

“Less chance of death.” I shrug. “More freedom too, so yes, better than here.”

He flicks his wing back. Those beautiful eyes, starlight dancing in them, are gazing at me, fathomless, and yet burning with something other than violence.

“Freedom,” he breathes, his chest expanding as he fills my vision and leans forward. “Freedom to be mine.”

The air is electric. I can only take in a breath, not release it. I can’t look away from him. Something tugs in my mind, something primal, something between fear and desire. Something which is not me.

Blayn is so close to me, I could almost touch him. He could almost kiss me…

Behind us the door crashes open, and he jerks away, on his feet and raging at the Zarvu, one of whom casually takes out a pulsar and shoots Blayn, who easily dodges the blast.

“Gladiator. Cease,” the huge Xnosson bull says, filling the doorway. “You are required to return to the arena immediately for the games.”

Blayn snorts at the guard but doesn’t resist further as his wrists are bound by two more Zarvu.

“I’ll deal with you later,” the bull snarls at the guard who shot at Blayn. “Back to the dome,” he adds in a slightly less aggressive way to the massive Gryn.

Blayn shakes out his wings, turns to me, and gives me one of his short bows, the type I saw him do in the arena.

I’m not sure how to react, not after what went on between us still somehow hanging in the air, and before I can do anything at all, he’s hustled out of the door, a mass of dark feathers, dark hair, and tattoos.

And my life seems somewhat empty once again.