by Smith, S. E.
The last few of Vark’s guards spun. One moved forward, lifting his spear, and found himself facing a swinging sword.
Two quick slashes, and the guard collapsed.
Bren’s arms tightened on Mersi, and she looked up into the stony face of a gladiator. He had a black eye patch over one eye, a hard, tattooed chest crossed by a leather harness, and a black cloak falling behind him.
“Galen,” Mersi whispered.
It was the Imperator of the House of Galen. Suddenly, Vark went flying past them, his body shuddering with electricity.
Another tall man stepped into view. This one had an implant circling his neon-blue eye, and one of his arms was made entirely of metal.
Mersi knew him, too. Magnus Rone—Imperator of the House of Rone.
She looked past the imperators and watched a woman in fighting leathers, with gold-streaked brown hair, bringing down the last of Vark’s surviving guards with the help of several cyborgs.
Mersi recognized Samantha Santos, Galen’s woman from Earth, and former Champion of the desert arena of Zaabha.
Galen crouched in front of Mersi. “We were meeting an informant out in the desert, and Corsair got word to us that you might need assistance.”
“Thank you,” she said.
She felt Bren’s body start to shrink, the darkness disappearing from his skin.
Then she saw his beloved, rugged face again. She stroked his cheek. “Hey.”
But when she looked down, the ragged wound remained in his gut. Drak. It looked like this time, his self-healing abilities weren’t working. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t covered in blood.
She leaned down and kissed him. “Bren.”
“Love…you.” His voice was so weak.
“Please don’t leave me.” She pressed her forehead to his. “Don’t die.”
“Never.” He pulled her closer. “Already healing. You’re…mine, Mersi. Stuck with me.”
“He’s Tainted,” Galen said.
Mersi shifted protectively to cover Bren. “He’s Bren and you know him, Galen.”
The imperator’s lips quirked. “Easy, Mersi. We aren’t going to hurt him.”
She relaxed a fraction.
“You have a fierce protector there, Bren,” Galen said.
“Allow my medics to help him,” Magnus said.
Bren made a sound, his body tensing. “I’ll be fine.”
Her arms tightened on him. “Let them help you.” She leaned in closer. “Please.”
He sighed. “Okay.”
She looked up. “Galen, there’s a young girl up in the ruins. She’s sick and needs help, too. Fiend will show you.”
Galen raised a brow. “Fiend?”
The canine trotted forward and licked Bren’s arm.
“Fiend, don’t lick the blood.” Mersi tapped him on the nose.
The imperator eyed the shaggy canine. “Very well.”
The dog bounded off toward the ruins, Galen following him.
Bren pulled Mersi closer and she held on, absorbing his warmth. A House of Rone cyborg with two metal arms knelt down beside them.
“Please help him,” she said.
The cyborg glanced at her with an impassive face and nodded. He lifted a pressure injector.
Bren grabbed her hand. “Stay with me.”
She let out a laugh. “You’re always such a big baby when it comes to getting meds.” She pressed against him. “But you couldn’t shake me if you tried, big guy.”
* * *
“Drak, Mersi.” Bren clamped his hands down on her hips.
She was riding him, taking his cock deep inside her body.
Pleasure was storming through Bren, and he couldn’t take his gaze off her. Off her skin that was slicked with sweat, or the way her breasts jiggled as she rode him.
“Oh, Bren.” She tossed her head back.
“Come, Mersi.”
She moaned, her orgasm hitting her. It triggered his own release. He slammed her down, grinding into her as he spilled himself inside.
She collapsed forward onto his chest and tucked her face into his neck.
Bren stroked her back. She was his. He loved this woman inside and out, and, most amazingly, she loved him back.
She knew all his dark secrets, all the ugliness of his past, and she still loved him.
The tent roof gently fluttered overhead in the breeze. But outside wasn’t the blessed silence of the desert, instead, Bren heard the noises of the city—excited voices and the hum of transports.
After they’d left the Creator ruins, they’d traveled with Galen and Magnus back to Kor Magna. They’d rendezvoused with the caravan just outside the city, and were now camped on the outskirts, near the stables of a former gladiator called Varus.
Bren heard giggles near the doorway. He quickly jerked the sheet over his and Mersi’s naked bodies, just before two heads peeked in.
“Corsair said you two need to come up for air sometime,” Aura called out with a smile. She glanced at her brother. “There’s air in here, so I’m not sure what he means.”
Danan grinned at his sister. “I’ll tell you one day, sister mine.” The boy looked at Bren and Mersi. “Corsair says you’ve been in here long enough. It’s time to join the party, especially since it’s to celebrate your joining.”
Under his breath, Bren muttered about bossy caravan masters and interfering friends. Mersi laughed softly.
Aura bobbed her head. “Yes, and there’s all kinds of food. And dancing. Don’t miss out!”
As Bren scowled at them, the pair left with more of Aura’s giggles. Mersi laughed out loud now.
“I guess we’d better get dressed,” she said.
Bren slid a hand into her dark hair. His Mersi. That afternoon, they’d been joined by Corsair, standing on a dune outside the city, on the desert sands they loved.
Mersi had worn a vibrant, aquamarine dress that left her shoulders bare and matched her eyes. And now she was officially his.
“I should be able to spend some time alone with my woman,” Bren complained.
She leaned down and nipped at his jaw. “Later, big guy.” She shot him a secret smile. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Promise?”
She smiled. “Absolutely.”
Together, they dressed, although it took longer than normal. Bren couldn’t help but touch her. Stroke the smooth skin of her belly, kiss the sweet curve of her neck, play with those pretty pink nipples before she’d smacked his hand away. Holding her hand, they joined the party outside.
Before he knew it, Bren found himself standing with an ale, watching Mersi talking with the rescued Earth women from the House of Galen. They were talking about the Creator ruins. Apparently, Galen had authorized a trip back to examine them and the Earth women were all planning to go.
Bren sipped his drink, wondering where the hell all the people at the party had come from. He barely knew any of them. There were people from other caravans, as well as gladiators, and other travelers.
Everyone was having a good time.
“Have you confirmed the rumor yet?” Corsair asked from beside Bren.
He was talking to Galen. The imperator stood across from them with his woman, Sam, tucked under his powerful arm.
Galen shook his head. “No. We’ve been busy chasing leads, but nothing solid, yet.”
Sam turned. “Magnus’ cyborgs are heading the investigation. If there are more abducted humans out there, we will find them.”
Bren didn’t doubt it for a second. The glint in Sam’s eye said she wouldn’t give up. Ever. He’d seen what these people from Earth were capable of, and he knew if there were more of their brethren out there, somewhere, they’d find them.
He looked over and spotted Fiend stealing food off one of the tables. He shook his head and gave a soft chuckle. Mersi had bathed the dog a few times, but no matter how much she washed him, Fiend remained a dirty, brown color.
At the same time, Bren spotted the
tiny girl pressed into the dog’s side.
They’d learned that her name was Saskia, and Vark had killed her family. The healers had treated her, and she’d survived her transition. She still had some ways to go to get full control of the Taint, but Bren was helping her. She was getting stronger with every hour, and was now a member of the Corsair Caravan.
Mersi rarely let the girl out of her sight, and if she did, it was because Saskia was with Bren. He wasn’t afraid to admit he had a soft spot for the sweet girl. He and Mersi hoped to adopt her and officially make her theirs.
A teenaged girl was standing beside Saskia. Duna was one of Varus’ desert guides. The teen crouched down and spoke to the little girl. Whatever she said, it made Saskia give one of her rare smiles. Then she looked up and when she saw Bren, her smile widened.
Bren waved. He knew in his heart that the girl would be okay. One day, she’d find happiness. Just as Bren had found it. He and Mersi would make sure of it.
Mersi appeared and caught where he was looking. She smiled and leaned into him. “She’s having fun.”
He nodded.
“But you aren’t.” Mersi shook her head and lowered her voice. “A few more minutes, then I think we can sneak away.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I am a skilled desert hunter. I can get us out of here without anyone noticing right now.”
Her smile widened, and she brushed against him. His cock stirred.
“You are a very skilled hunter,” she agreed. “I don’t doubt your abilities for a second.”
Bren cupped her face. “But you are the better hunter of the two of us.”
Confusion creased her brow.
“You didn’t give up on me,” he said. “You hunted me down until you caught me.”
Her face softened. “Because I love you, big guy.”
“And I love you, too. I’m never letting you go.”
“Good.”
All of a sudden, Fiend slammed into Mersi’s legs. The canine knocked her into Bren’s arms. He scooped her up against his chest.
Mersi grinned. “I think that’s Fiend’s way of claiming some credit for us being together.”
Bren smiled. “I’ll feed the drakking furball fresh meat for the rest of his life.”
She threw her head back and laughed. And there it was. The most beautiful sound Bren had ever heard.
A sound he wanted to hear every day for the rest of his life.
Also by Anna Hackett
I hope you enjoyed Mersi and Bren’s story!
If you’re new to Galactic Gladiators, you can read more about Carthago and the House of Galen gladiators starting with the book GLADIATOR.
Galactic Gladiators continues with the HOUSE OF RONE series coming in 2019.
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Galactic Gladiators
Gladiator
Warrior
Hero
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About Anna Hackett
I’m Anna and I'm a USA Today bestselling author who's passionate about action romance. I love stories that combine the thrill of falling in love with the excitement of action, danger and adventure. I write about people overcoming unbeatable odds and achieving seemingly impossible goals. I like to believe it’s possible for all of us to do the same.
Quashi: (a Mandrake Company story)
"If she’d had a hand free, she would have scratched her head. Lab rats didn’t trill, did they?”
When Chanda decided to finagle her way into a job she wasn’t qualified for, she didn’t expect to end up on a ship full of hulking mercenaries. They’re rude, crude, and so covered with scars and tattoos that she can’t imagine any woman being interested in them. Except perhaps for the soft-spoken doctor with the haunted eyes.
She would love to know more about him, especially since he stares at the game logo on her T-shirt rather than her breasts, but a little problem comes aboard the ship at the same time she does. Quashi. Furry alien fluff balls with stubby legs and very expressive antennae. Are they harmless – or a danger to the ship? And why were they in a box labeled lab rats?
When some of the creatures go missing and systems start malfunctioning, Chanda is assigned the task of quashi wrangler. Though she’s worried she isn’t qualified, the intriguing doctor is also sent to help, and she’s determined not to fail in front of him. Maybe this is her chance to find out what network games he plays and why his past troubles him. But as the lights flicker and the ship’s life support systems are threatened, Chanda realizes there might not be time for romance. If they can’t round up the missing quashi before it’s too late, she may never see home again.
1
Chanda tripped and almost fell flat on her face when Airlock 73 came into view. She had expected a couple of women in lab coats. Instead, it looked like a prison yard.
She stumbled to a stop, barely noticing the travelers hustling down the space-station concourse all around her, many jostling her. Her gaze was riveted to the airlock loading area. Chanda had never seen so many hulking men together in one place. Hulking rough men. Scars marked their faces, daggers and guns hung on their utility belts, and tattoos sheathed the bare muscled arms hefting crates to carry into the airlock tube leading to a docked ship.
They all looked like they could be the thuggish henchmen of Lord Blood Scythe in Demon Crushers, ready to slay adventurers foolish enough to challenge the boss without stardust weapons. Chanda had already been nervous about her planned deception. Now, she wiped her hands on her skirt and contemplated a hasty retreat.
But no. She’d traveled a week to get here. She couldn’t turn back now.
Besides, she might be worrying for nothing. Maybe she had the wrong airlock.
She dug her pocket tablet out and flicked on the holographic display, a map and an address floating within. Airlock 73. This was the right place.
Could these brutish men all work for Ankari Markovich, the CEO and owner of Microbacteriotherapy, Inc.? And if so, doing what? Were they security? Longshoremen?
A man with muscled arms the size of Grenavinian Oaks hefted a massive crate.
She quirked an eyebrow. Sex workers?
Chanda snorted, hardly able to imagine inviting any of the brutes into her bedroom. Not that men with arms like that usually stampeded over each other in their eagerness to ask her on dates. Besides, Microbacteriotherapy, Inc. was a medical research and procedures company, not a brothel-management outfit. A medical procedures company that had grown from nothing in an amazingly swift time and was reputed to have reached astronomical profits in mere months.
She sighed longingly and whispered, “Please teach me the ways, Lady Ankari.”
Another passerby jostled Chanda again, nearly knocking her float-case from her hand. She stepped away from the moving sidewalks and walkway. She had to find Ankari before she could ask the woman for a favor. And technically, she wasn’t here to ask for a favor. Not at first. She was here to ask for a job.
“If only they expected me,” she muttered and moved warily toward the airlock.
Chanda looked past the big men and toward the porthole behind them, wondering anew if she had somehow gotten the wrong airlock number. Recorded it incorrectly, perhaps? The employee she’d been in contact with, the scientist who’d hired her—sort of—had mentioned a pink spacecraft full of medical equipment, not a gray falcon-shaped warship full of… whatever these people were.
Chanda’s father had been a GalCon fleet officer when she’d been young, and she remembered loud-talking muscular soldiers occasionally coming to their apartment, but they’d been clean-cut, tidily dressed, and polite to her and her mother. These men didn’t look like soldiers, at least not fleet soldiers. And that definitely wasn’t a fleet spaceship
outside the porthole. The dark vessel bristled weapons like a Hankrovan Porcupine bristled quills.
As Chanda approached, she searched for women in white lab coats. She soon had to halt and jerk back to get out of the path of a man hurrying toward the others, carrying a crate too large to see over. What were the odds of reaching the airlock without being trampled?
Her shoulders bumped into something so hard and solid that she thought it a support post. Until she turned and stared up into the chiseled face of one of the men, this one carrying a pack over his shoulder instead of a crate.
He stood almost a foot taller than she, his bare arms covered with vine and thorn tattoos. Not the daggers, crossed swords, and skulls that some of the men favored for their arm decorations, but he still appeared about as friendly as a sniper rifle. When he looked down at her with cool green eyes that stood out in his bronze-skinned face, she skittered back, feeling like she had strolled into a minefield. Or maybe he had. At the least, his nose had been broken numerous times, and a scar had gouged a chunk out of his jaw. He could have been anywhere from thirty to forty, but somehow, his eyes seemed even older. Tireder.
“Looking for someone?” he asked, his voice deep and gruff.
“Yes, uhm, sir.” Chanda had never spent a day in the military herself, but it seemed wise to tack on the word when talking to someone who could crush her with one of those muscled arms. “I’m supposed to meet Ankari Markovich.”
“Over there.” He grunted and pointed his chin toward a stack of crates that stood taller than a person.
Chanda hadn’t expected an affirmative response. Was Ms. Markovich—not truly Lady Markovich, not yet—with these people? It seemed so unlikely.
“What’s this, Doc?” another hulking man asked, coming up to stand beside the one with the vine tattoos.
Broken Nose was a doctor? That seemed unlikely. He looked about as doctorly as a bridge troll from Castle Quest, and Chanda couldn’t imagine wanting him to give her an exam. She imagined he broke far more bones than he repaired.