She tried not to stare at the little round welts on his chest from last night. “You pick another bushel of ammunition?”
“I’m not going to apologi—.”
“Hell, woman, I didn’t expect you to.” His monotone voice came across as tired, not resentful.
What did he mean by that? She glared at him in awkward silence while he assessed her. Direct from Regan’s attack, she must have looked like crap covered with grime, sweat, and forest debris. Her jaw was probably a lovely shade of purple by now.
“Who won?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I need—” She closed her eyes and bit her lip. “Your help.”
His eyes narrowed. “With?”
“Planning my escape.”
* * *
“Hell no.” He rolled away, pulling his blanket up over his shoulder. He’d thought she was going to ask him to train her to fight. Based on that bruise on her cheek, she’d made an enemy.
“Duncan said you’re the only one who can help.”
“Yeah, well, Duncan says more than his prayers.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything that would get you in trouble. Just tell me how you did it. How far you got. How you were captured. What it’s like on the outs—”
“Whoa, woman.” He rolled to face her again. “Where the hell do you think you’ll go?”
“Home. To Earth.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.” Her straight spine and set jaw showed fortitude, but then her bottom lip quivered and she grasped the cell bars, perhaps to keep from collapsing. “You don’t understand.” Desperation colored her words. “I just have to get back home. My freezer is full of blackberries.”
“Well, that’s one I’ve never heard before.” Either it was some pop culture reference coined after his abduction or she really liked blackberries. “You have any idea where in the universe you are?”
She shook her head no. Red-blonde wisps that had escaped her ponytail floated around her pretty gray eyes.
“I can see you’ve thought this through.” Why was he listening to her fantasies of escaping when he should be resting and healing? He rolled away again.
“But I think Duncan knows. He’s been to Earth and back a few times.”
“Possible.” Since she wasn’t going to let him sleep, he might as well play her game. He rolled back, propped himself on his elbow and rested his head in his hand. This should be entertaining. “So your plan is to escape the Yard, commandeer an alien spaceship, and fly it home?”
“Maybe.”
“You an astronaut?”
“No.”
“Pilot?”
“No.”
“Let me guess. You drove an automatic, right?”
“I can drive a stick, thank you very much.”
He snorted. “Woman, you flying an alien spacecraft is like a snake driving an eighteen-wheeler. Impossible. Haven’t you noticed that every piece of Hyborean equipment is controlled by telepathy? You lack the capacity and brainpower. No offense.”
“Then I’ll sneak aboard their ship.”
“Ah. And you know when they’re leaving and which planet they’re headed for?”
The fire in her eyes dimmed. Her shoulders drooped. “Okay, I’m not headed to Earth just yet. I’m going to the equator. Duncan told me about a clan there.”
“Did Duncan tell you it takes months to get there?”
“If others have made it, so can I.”
“Did he tell you about the man-eating smilodons? You know, saber-toothed tigers? Did he tell you about the ice breakups? And the poachers? Go back to Duncan’s house and make babies for your master. You’ll live longer.”
Her knuckles whitened around the cell bars. She stuck her face through the opening. “These Hyboreans already stole my freedom, my liberty. What’s the difference between them and the poachers? Tell me, Max, what’s the difference between the wild animals and you damn gladiators? I’ve already been preyed upon. At least out there I can only die once.”
Point well taken. Freedom might be worth dying for. Except she wouldn’t be dying for it—she’d be committing suicide.
Max sat up, slid himself to the wall, and leaned his back against it. She had no concept of hell’s fury on this planet. “Say by some miracle you do manage to escape. You’ll never make it out of the frozen region by yourself. Where will your food come from? Where will you find shelter when there’s ten hours of bitter darkness? How will you protect yourself from hungry carnivores? Do you think you can survive in a world you know nothing about?
“Then there’s the baby, every day slowing you down until you can’t take another step. Can you see yourself giving birth alone in an icy wilderness? If you don’t freeze to death first, a saber-toothed smilodon will sense your blood and devour you both.”
“That’s why I need your guidance. Teach me about Hyborea. Tell me how to get to the equator. I am a strong woman, Max. I can make it. I know I can.”
A painful ache shot through his bad leg as he stood. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t bear. He limped over to her, and her head tilted up so their gazes met. “It’s easy to act brave when you know you’re safe. But what if safety’s just an illusion? What if danger lurks straight ahead?” He slapped the button on the wall next to him and the cell bars sublimated.
Addy jumped back as he stepped through the white vapor. Her pupils grew as big as the apples she’d thrown at him. “I see by your expression you thought I was caged. The bars aren’t there to keep me in, woman, they’re there to keep you out.”
She had that same frightened look as in the breeding box, only this time she appeared even more vulnerable with the bruise on her cheek and the tattered shirt. He refused to let it get to him. He was teaching her a lesson. “You still feel brave?”
Her body trembled. Her chest rose and fell as she gulped in air. Her hands tightened into fists, though she must have known she’d never be able to fend him off. “Don’t come any closer.”
Challenge accepted. He stepped forward, invading her personal space, intimidating her with his towering gladiator height and fierce glower. “You afraid to die?”
“Terrified,” she whispered. He had to hand it to her for not retreating. “But I ask you what’s worth more in the end: a long life being raped by barbarians or a life of freedom, no matter how short-lived?”
Suddenly tired, he turned and limped back inside his box. Using the wall as a support guide, he slid his back against it as he lowered himself to the floor. “You remind me of a kid I knew a long time ago. Eager to escape. Willing to die trying.” He scooped a pink chunk out of his food bowl and popped it into his mouth.
“Who is he?”
He took his time chewing the sweet fruit before swallowing. “He was me.”
Addy entered his cage and knelt across from him. “Does that mean you’ll help?”
“What makes you think I’d risk what little I have to help you?”
“Because you escaped once. Because in the breeding box you declared your freedom. Because after everything you did”—she placed a hand on her belly—“you owe me.”
“Woman, if I sent you out there in your condition, you’d be dead within days.”
“My condition?” Anger flashed in her eyes. “You mean you won’t help me because I’m pregnant?”
“Exactly.”
“Are you freaking kidding me? You did this to me. It’s all your fault I’m pregnant.”
It wasn’t all his fault, but that ordeal wasn’t something he wished to think about. Ever again.
“And now you’re telling me you won’t help me escape because of it?”
“Yup.” It was as good an excuse as any.
“Unbelievable! We’re two for two today. Because you knocked me up, I can’t escape, and a gladiator with a pregnancy fetish wants me. As far as I’m concerned, Max, it’s partly your fault Regan assaulted me.”
>
“Regan did this to you?” He should have known. It didn’t take much to provoke Regan into smacking anyone. And Addy’s defiant spirit was definitely provoke-worthy.
She nodded. “What kind of sexual deviant jumps a pregnant lady?”
That alpha bastard had put his paws on Addy’s body? He’d forced himself on her? The idea bothered him more than he would have thought. After all, many gladiators forced themselves on the broodmares. Max was just as much of a beast as Regan or any other gladiator. So why did the thought of Regan with Addy make him want to hit something?
It must be his damn animal possessiveness again.
“How the hell do you think you’ll survive out there when you don’t even have a clue how the system works in here?” He couldn’t help but to redirect his anger toward her.
“System?”
“This is a breeding facility. Breeding costs money. Unscheduled pregnancies waste time and dough, which piss off the Hyboreans. Remember rule number one? So if a guy wants to avoid punishment, he’s gonna take care of business himself or find a pregnant female—which, as you know, is in no short supply.”
“This place is a freaking zoo. I have to get out of here. Please, Max, I’m begging you to help me.”
“Hell, woman, you must be down-and-out desperate to beg for my help.”
Chapter Seventeen
The two waning crescent moons cast their silvery light through the wooded path as Max limped with the assistance of a branch for a cane. If he’d spent another minute cooped up in that infirmary, he’d have bloodied his knuckles against the wall.
There’d been nothing to do in there but think.
What the hell was in store for him now that he’d lost the Survival Race Championship? How long would they shelter him in HuBReC’s kennel? He had no owner. No future.
Instead of healing him from his ex-master’s torture, Ferly Mor should have euthanized his worthless ass.
His broken leg screamed with pain. If he’d headed back to the infirmary fifteen minutes ago when it was merely aching, he could’ve been resting it right now, but he hadn’t wanted to return to the loneliness. At least out here he was in the noisy company of crickets.
He hobbled off the path in search of a good place to rest and came upon a log, which he pushed with his good foot until it rolled close enough to a tree. He sat on the ground, leaned back against the trunk, and elevated his bad leg on the log, sighing in relief when the pressure ebbed.
Fresh night air filled his lungs.
Fake night air was more like it. If only he could breathe fresh air again. Feel the arctic wind smacking his face. Or, better yet, taste the equator’s tropical breeze.
What if he could?
Maybe he could break out. He had escaped once. He could do it again. Who would come after him this time?
He was an idiot for entertaining thoughts of freedom. Damn woman. Filling his head with unrealistic dreams.
In the distance, a lightstick beam bobbed along the path, disappearing and reappearing between the trees. He checked his watch. It was just after twenty-four o’clock. Who the hell would be heading to the training field this time of night? Not the gladiators. They all lived on the other side of the field at Xanthrag’s place.
It wasn’t long before he saw who held the lightstick. Speak of the devil.
The woman didn’t appear to see him in the shadows, but he clearly saw her thanks to his genetically enhanced eyesight. It was probably the only good thing the Hyboreans ever did to him.
The hair on his neck prickled in warning. There was something peculiar about the way she moved. She wasn’t as relaxed as she’d been last night, strolling in the rain with her apple basket swinging on her arm. Tonight, she was gripping a basket to her body as if trying to keep whatever was inside quiet. Her footfalls were silent, too. Deliberately silent. She was walking toe to heel. Creeping. Sneaking.
What the hell was she up to?
Not that he cared. It was none of his business. With a history of picking fruit at night, she might have been on her way to the orange grove.
But why was she being so covert about it? And why was she wearing long sleeves, long pants, and gloves in this hot weather? She couldn’t possibly have found a way to escape, could she? Those clothes would never keep her warm in arctic temperatures.
She disappeared down the path.
Max stood and followed her at a distance, damning his curiosity with each throbbing step.
“Flowers,” he muttered ten minutes later. He’d been stalking her all this time only to find she’d come out here to dig up a bunch of blue-purple flowers. He was an idiot for following her. An idiot in a lot of pain.
If his leg didn’t hurt so badly, he would have turned around. Instead, he sat down to rest it and watch the crazy lady dig up flowers in the middle of the night.
She worked at it for an awfully long time.
Since she’d been crouched with her back to him, he couldn’t see exactly what she’d been doing for the past half hour. Obviously, it had been more than mere flower picking. He would have thought she was weaving them into a basket or something, if it weren’t for her constant watch checking and glancing around. Her suspicious nervous behavior made his heart drum faster.
When she finally finished whatever the hell she’d been doing, she stripped off her shirt and pants to reveal a tank top and shorts beneath them. She checked her watch again, then ran off with a whisky bottle in one hand and a lightstick in the other.
He limped over to see what she’d been making. The remains of helmet shaped flowers were scattered on the ground along with long stalks stripped of leaves and petals. Its roots had been cut into little pieces. A mesh strainer held a glob of wet, plant pulp. Her gloves lay atop of the stripped-off clothing in the basket.
He inhaled the scent of alcohol.
Damn. She poisoned her whisky with wolfsbane.
A twinge of sorrow and guilt stabbed his heart. He hated to see her fiery, passionate spirit this easily broken. But what had he expected? Really, how long could any woman last after being raped, abused, and denied help?
He just wished he could explain suicide wasn’t the way out.
Ferly Mor would only reawaken her.
Ah hell, maybe he should tell her. It would save her a pounding headache in the morning.
He tracked her easily, and after a few minutes spotted her up ahead under a big tree checking her watch again. He checked his. It was twenty-five o’clock.
Midnight.
She glanced about as if waiting for someone.
Regan, no doubt. Who else would demand a meeting in the middle of the night?
“Hell, woman,” he whispered to himself. “You’re not committing suicide. You’re committing murder. At a girl.”
Too bad killing Regan would only piss the guy off.
He’d better inform her she was about to make a huge mistake. As he stepped forward to make himself known, Regan appeared through the woods. Max closed his mouth and stepped back into the shadows of the trees. Shit. If Regan caught him, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself with his bum leg.
There was nothing he could do but watch and see how things played out. Maybe if she were lucky she’d actually get him to drink the poison. If he could then somehow mutilate Regan’s dead body past reawakening, he could send him to his final death. His ultimortem.
Sure, that meant he’d risk being put to his own ultimortem, but at least Regan wouldn’t be around to bother her anymore. Of course, another gladiator would only step into the alpha role.
“Hello, pet.” The bastard strutted too close to her, showing dominance and ownership.
She seemed to shrink next to him but didn’t back away. She handed him the bottle. “I’m sorry about this morning, Regan. Can you forgive me?”
He grabbed the bottle out of her hand and held it up to the moonslight. Liquid sloshed about a fourth of the way up the container.
The smack from Regan’s backhand across her face
sounded as if happened next to him, not thirty yards away. She cried out, but didn’t fall. If Regan hadn’t put the bottle to his lips, Max would have been over there in an instant, bum leg or not. He didn’t move, though, he just watched Regan chug wolfsbane-laced alcohol.
Who would have thought a broodmare could poison an alpha gladiator so easily?
Regan wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Next time you bring me a bottle, it better be full.”
She looked away and nodded her head. He had to hand it to her. If he hadn’t seen the wolsbane pulp himself, he never would have suspected a thing. Sure she was terrified, her body language practically screamed it, but Regan would naturally assume she feared his power and suspect nothing else.
“Take off your clothes.”
As she slowly unbuttoned her shorts and slid them off, Regan took another swig. How long before the poison took effect?
She pulled off her shirt and shifted from foot to foot in obvious discomfort. Max’s gut twisted. He hated the way Regan ogled her body. He should put a stop to this. If the poison didn’t work, Regan would rape her again. No way in hell would he stand here and watch that happen.
Regan rubbed his eyes. He blinked. He shook his head and then took another sip. “Take it all off.” His words were mumbled. It was as if he spoke them with a fat lip.
Was the poison working?
She reached around her back, unclasped her bra, and let it fall to the ground.
Regan scratched at his lips, his face. He examined the bottle in his hand and then dropped it. “What did you do to me?” His breaths came faster. Clutching his chest, he stumbled forward.
He’d be damned. The poison was working.
“You fucking bitch.” Regan’s sucker punch to the temple dropped her instantly.
Exploding out of the shadows, Max weaved between thickets and trees in gladiator mode. In the seconds it took to reach them, Regan had repeatedly kicked her in the belly and face while she lay helpless on the ground.
Max tackled him. Pinned his back to the ground and punched him in the throat, the face, and the chest until the poison that had him gasping for air finally stopped his heart. He wiped his brow and got off Regan’s abdomen to check on the woman.
Captive (The Survival Race) Page 11