7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

P yne

After our exhilarating victory in the immunity challenge, Becca and I take a moment to catch our breath and refuel with some much-needed food. As we munch on Marzan morsels and exotic Guarian goulash, I can’t help but feel a sense of relief and pride. We may have started this competition on a disastrous note, but we’re proving that we’ve got what it takes to rise above the chaos.

Becca, however, seems to have something weighing on her mind. She sets down her drink and turns to me, her expression apologetic. “Hey, Pyne? I want to say I’m sorry.”

I tilt my head, confused. “For what, sugarplum? We just kicked some serious asteroid in that challenge!”

She shakes her head, so earnest she doesn’t even laugh at my joke. “No, I mean yesterday, in the kitchen. I was so focused on winning that I let you flounder without enough guidance. I should have realized you wouldn’t know your way around a mixing bowl any more than I would know a long sword from a… short sword.”

A surge of warmth bursts inside me. Her concern touches me. “Hey, don’t worry about it, Becca. We’re learning as we go, right? Besides, I’m pretty sure I would have been a disaster even with a step-by-step manual.”

She laughs, the sound sending a pleasant blast straight to my stomach. “Well, let’s test that theory, shall we? We’ve got some time before the next baking round, and we have immunity on our side. What do you say we use this chance to get you up to speed on the basics?”

I grin, my tail flicking with anticipation. “Lead the way, oh culinary captain!”

As we head back to our designated kitchen station, I catch sight of some of the other teams eyeing us with varying degrees of envy and irritation. The sleek, feline pair from Felis Prime look particularly miffed, their fluffy tails lashing as they whisper to each other.

“Look at those two,” one of them sneers, just loud enough for my sharp ears to catch. “Acting like they’re the cream of the crop just because they got lucky in one challenge.”

“Don’t worry, sister,” the other says with a smug purr. “We’ll show them what real bakers can do.”

Their words get under my skin, but Becca puts a steady hand on my arm. “Ignore them, Pyne. We’ve got more important things to focus on.”

She’s right, of course. As much as I’d like to let my gladiator instincts take over and put those catty contestants in their place, I know the real battle will be fought with whisks and spatulas, not swords and shields.

While the others enjoy their break, Becca walks me through the basics of baking with a surprising amount of patience. She shows me how to measure ingredients precisely, how to cream butter and sugar until they’re fluffy, and how to fold in flour without overmixing.

“The key is to be gentle,” she explains as she demonstrates the proper technique. “You want to incorporate the ingredients without beating the life out of them.”

“Funny, that’s the exact opposite of what they taught me in gladiator school.”

She grins. “Well, consider this your crash course in the delicate art of baking, Arena Ace.”

I like the sound of that nickname coming from her lips. It feels like a badge of honor, a nod to my skills in the arena, even if I’m fumbling my way through the simplest cooking tasks.

As we work side by side, falling into a comfortable rhythm, I sneak glances at Becca when she’s not looking. The way her brow furrows in concentration as she measures out the perfect amount of pungent liquid paprish , the way her lips curve into a satisfied smile when the batter comes together just right… it’s captivating. If she wasn’t going to sleep in the same bed as me, I’d be replaying these memories as I stroke myself to sleep tonight.

And when she leans in close to guide my hand as I mix the ingredients, her soft hair brushing my chest, it takes all my gladiatorial discipline not to let my mind wander to thoughts of pulling her into my arms and tasting her sweet lips.

When it’s time for the actual baking challenge, Becca and I approach it with a newfound sense of confidence. The task at hand is to create a Cosmic Pyramid. Becca informs me it’s similar to what is called Croquembouche on Earth. It’s a towering pyramid of cream-filled pastry puffs, held together with caramel threads and decorated with sparkles that look like stardust.

It’s a serious challenge, but with Becca’s expert guidance and my newfound skills (and some gladiatorial grit), we manage to pull it off with only a few minor hiccups.

Even though we have immunity, partway through the competition Becca decides to up our game. She gets the inspiration to make macarons, which increases the difficulty factor by ten, but adds color to the creation, as do random spirals of colored meringue. Because I’m competent at creating the cream puffs, Becca runs point on the other touches that put the creation over the top.

As we step back to admire our creation, my chest fills with pride. It may not be the most elegant croquembouche in the galaxy, but it’s more than we could have pulled off a few days ago.

“Not bad for a team that’s handicapped by a gladiatorial kitchen novice, eh, sugarplum?” I grin, nudging Becca with my elbow.

She laughs, her eyes sparkling with genuine amusement. “Not bad at all, my swordplay savant. I think we might just have a shot at this whole baking thing after all.”

As the judges make their rounds, I find myself caring less about their verdict and more about the sense of accomplishment and companionship I feel with Becca by my side. I want to help her earn her freedom more, I think, than I ever wanted to earn mine.

When they announce that we’ve placed a respectable fourth out of the remaining contestants, narrowly edging out the smug felines from Felis Prime, I can’t help but sweep Becca up in a celebratory hug, spinning her around in a giddy display of joy.

“We did it, Becca!” I exclaim, setting her down gently, my hands lingering on her waist. “We showed those whisker-faced whiners what the Galactic Love Muffins are made of!”

She grins up at me, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. “We sure did, Melee Master. And we couldn’t have done it without you. You stepped up.” We both watch as the team Becca calls the Zombies are escorted off the stage.

I’ve been part of a family since I was rescued by the Galaxy Gladiators. They’re my brothers, and their females are like sisters to me. I’ve never felt something as full of… connection as this moment, though. Our gazes catch and hold as though they’re connected by the strongest steel.

There’s elation and sadness bursting all around us in a cacophony of foreign tongues, but it fades to almost silence as the bond between Becca and me grows. The emotions swirling in my chest have nothing to do with placing fourth in this competition or the mastery of a new skill. No. This heady feeling is a live spark arcing between this pretty female and me.

I want to say something, to swing her in my arms again, to smooth her hair with my palm, to murmur aloud all these feelings swarming in my head. Instead, I say, “You did great.”

“Uh. You, too.”

Perhaps I’m imagining it, but I wonder if there might be more she wants to say to me. I’d like to hear it.