Alex

ALEX

" Y ou are sharing with the Gryn, aren't you? They get irritating if they are not with their mates," Haxrix says, not taking her eyes from the controls.

I'm still a little stunned, not only at the accommodations provided, given they were larger than I was expecting. Bigger on the inside.

Also, it's not exactly as if Sylas and I have discussed sleeping arrangements. Last night was different. In Tatatunga, he insisted on standing guard, although I woke up in his arms and with his interest most definitely in evidence, but even so, it makes me half wonder about our liaison and what he wants from me.

Was it a mistake? Perhaps the situation, the adrenaline or whatever the Gryn equivalent is, got the better of him.

Perhaps he didn't mean to mate with me. After all, within seconds of us seeing the accommodation, he was ushering me out, growling I should return to the Cirmos to see what supplies she has obtained.

Gladiators as large as Sylas presumably need a lot of feeding.

"I'm not sure. I'm not sure about any of this to be entirely honest. I've only known Sylas for…" I think for a minute. "About a nova-day and a half," I say sheepishly. "And I've never met a Gryn before, let alone a gladiator. I don't really understand anything about him."

"I don't follow the games, but I have met Gryn before, on a space station. They were a little different to your mate though. Less"—Haxrix cocks her head on one side as she contemplates her memory, and presses a button on the console in front of her—"angry."

I bark out a laugh. "Understatement of the nova-year."

"Which is why I want to know if you are sharing with him. The last thing I need is a Gryn with pent-up energy." Now she looks up at me, furry eyebrows jiggling.

I flush like I'm a flipping teenager again. Her innuendo should not be making me feel like one either—like I want to jump Sylas' bones at every opportunity.

Because I can't lie to myself. I want to touch his silky feathers and trace my fingers over his muscles. I'd very much like for him to touch me like he did in the stranger's house. I'd like him to do it over and over again.

"Gak! You've got it as bad as he," Haxrix says, shaking her head.

"I just met him!" I exclaim. "It doesn't work like that for humans."

"Seems like it does from where I'm sitting." She huffs. "I fear for my ship even more now."

"I'm not paying you more credits," I retort.

Her dark lips curl into a smile. "I get a ringside seat to whatever this"—she makes a circle in the air at me—"is. That's payment enough."

"I hate you," I mock growl.

"The usual reaction to my stellar personality." Haxrix chuckles. "If you're looking for food for your Gryn, I got a couple of saytir-goats. They're in the back, eating whatever they can find probably."

I stare at her. "He doesn't eat raw meat." My voice comes out as a hoarse whisper due to the horror.

She holds my stare…for far too long. "Are you sure?"

I am not sure. I don't want to be apart from Sylas, but I have to admit I know nothing at all about him.

"I'm joking." Haxrix turns back to her console. "You can use the dehydrators to make whatever you need. I got plenty for the Gryn."

I do not want to ask what she got plenty of, given Haxrix has an evil sense of humor. I scurry away to examine the dehydrators and hope my cheeks stop flaming.

I'm thirty-four, and I've been around this galaxy long enough. I shouldn't be blushing like a nun at the memory of what Sylas and I did within an hour of meeting.

He's turned me into a person I don't recognize.

And he has set me free.

"Hello, little feather," a voice filled with wicked promise growls in my ear. This time I don't leap into the air in surprise. "I've got something for you."

Sylas towers over me, his dark feathers shining in the lights. My knees go somewhat weak, and I want to berate myself, but it's impossible in his presence. He is a veritable god, all muscles and glower. Dangerous and sexy.

"Okay," I squeak.

He ushers me back through the transport, and I'm sure I can hear Haxrix laughing, until we reach the cabin again. Sylas leans over me to activate the door and then takes a step back.

The entire place has been utterly transformed. Gauzy fabric hangs from above the bed, and it is covered in tiny shards which reflect the light in a hundred twinkles. The bed itself is now bordered by a mound of blankets, enclosing it into a cozy hollow. Everywhere on the ceiling, there are strung items, some pretty, some a little odd, as I'm sure I spot a ladle.

"Do you…" Sylas' voice rasps. "Do you like it?"

"Another nest?"

"For you, my eregri ." Sylas bows, his wings lifting up and crushing somewhat in the confined space of the corridor.

"Wow." I step through the door to inspect his work.

How in all the galaxy has he managed to do this so quickly? Where did he find all of this stuff? I risk a glance back at him. He's stock still, a half confused, half goofy smile on his face. I don't think even Sylas knows why he is doing this.

But he is doing it for me.

I make a show of inspecting his work because I feel it's probably what he's waiting for. Trace my hands over the items he has hung until I get to the bed. Behind me, there's a strangled noise as I pat the edge and smooth it out.

"I like it," I announce.

Before I can move an inch, there's a swish of feathers and I'm lifted up and into the bed, my massive Gryn gladiator caging me, nostrils flared and a feral look in his eyes.

"It is yours, I am yours." His voice is hoarse, his cinnamon scent pouring from him, sweat sheening his bare chest, wings outstretched, covering us both. "I need you like I need my wings, little feather. Let me pleasure you in our nest."