Drayke

by Alana Khan

  She’s human. Living with human females on the ship, I can certainly identify a human when I see one. Her skin is tan, her face is heart-shaped, her brow is smooth. Her shoulder-length hair is shiny and brown. What is she doing here on Bellona? And a gladiator, no less.

  All fear for Dax evaporates as I realize he could literally kill her with one blow in the first minima of the match. What skills could she possibly possess that would make this an equitable contest?

  For a moment I want to complain to the administrator. This is nowhere near a fair fight. But I know Dax is guaranteed a win, which is what we need. I couldn’t stop the fight even if I tried, so I stand here, waiting for the inevitable.

  Since Cestus gladiators fight nude, both of them disrobe. Her body isn’t like the females on the ship; it’s hard and muscled. I can see numerous scars from surgeries where she’s previously been injured. This isn’t her first fight. Perhaps she has enough skill to emerge alive.

  I scrutinize her as we wait for the opening trumpets to sound. Her expression is dogged, determined. She looks as proud and unafraid as Dax, which is sheer madness. Even though her features appear smart, cunning, and confident, and every inch of her body is athletic and powerful, doesn’t she know she’s completely outmatched?

  It makes no sense that the deep recesses of my brain want to root for this female instead of Dax. Perhaps it’s because she’s the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen.

  Chapter Two

  Nova

  Okay, my adversary is big. Let’s face it, this guy is the tallest, strongest opponent I’ve ever encountered. That’s all right, I’ve fought and won against many muscular gladiators over the past two years. His forehead slopes back at an odd, almost Neanderthal, angle. I wonder if perhaps he’s all brawn and no brains.

  “Focus, Nova,” I scold myself. I have to maintain my concentration. For every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction, right? He’s huge; which means he’s slow—I’m probably quicker and more agile. That’s got to count for something.

  We thump our fists on our chests and nod to each other—pre-fight etiquette. In a normal arena we’d immediately square off, perhaps a few yards apart, and posture for the crowd. I already decided this would be like no other match I’ve ever seen.

  Within one second of the opening trumpet, I run at him, jump, and kick both feet into his chest. In the past, this maneuver usually drops any opponent, even the big bruisers. Vex, however, is so huge and sturdy, my kick doesn’t faze him. It does however, concuss my entire body. I manage to land on my feet

  My mind is working like the galaxy’s fastest computer searching for another move I can make that might make a dent in this gargantuan’s frame.

  I jump, plant my right foot on his solar plexus, and kick his chin upward with my left foot. On even the biggest males, this would have not only knocked the wind out of him, but come close to breaking his neck. All it resulted in with Vex was a loud grunt.

  I’m already panting with exertion, lucky to still be standing after those two failed maneuvers. I’m surprised it took him this long, but he’s now striding toward me, turning the tables from defender to aggressor.

  I switch gears from fighting to Plan B. In my imagination I’ve already routed my steps, all I have to do is follow the plan I devised. I run to my right, toward a foliage-heavy area halfway up the stony hill. I’ll be lighter on my feet than the goliath I’m fighting. I’ll pick my way up the stones like a gazelle, and he’ll be lead-footed and start a mini avalanche. At least that’s my hope.

  He’s heavy and less agile than I am, but he scrambles up the hill at breakneck speed behind me. I haven't gained the slightest advantage.

  My next planned maneuver is to speed toward the cliff edge in the hope he’ll follow so fast that he won’t be able to slow his forward momentum when I dart to the right at the last moment. Hopefully, he’ll fall onto the strategically-placed upward-pointing lances waiting at the bottom.

  I approach the edge, then zag right, but he turns on a dime and is now so close on my heels I hear his heavy breathing only a few steps behind me.

  The easy climb is over; now it's so steep every foothold is going to be hard-fought. I have to use my hands, grasping thorny bushes to pull myself up with every step. My palms are bleeding, stinging with pain. I can hear him gaining on me. His superior strength and longer reach give him an advantage over me.

  His big hand swipes at me, but I feint right then move left, narrowly avoiding his grasp. Suddenly I’m at the peak of the fabricated mountain. The rock cliff is a sheer drop down from the top; no handholds, no escape in this direction. I’ll have to turn around and try to avoid him on my descent. I’ve made a huge tactical error—I’ve underestimated my opponent.

  “No one can see us through the trees,” my opponent calls to me. “Let me win. Then I’ll own you and set you free. You don’t have to be injured. Just pretend to fight to keep up the show, but let me win. That way you won’t get hurt.”

  I have no idea what game he’s playing, but the big bastard is a damn liar. Why would he bargain with me? It appears Vex has all the advantages. There couldn’t be a person in the stands who thinks I have a chance—I’m beginning to lose hope.

  Why would he need to bargain with me? Is he angling to get my compliance so he can arrange an even more spectacular kill in full view of the spectators? Maybe garner extra rations from the blue-skinned aristocrat who controls his collar?

  “Fuck you!” I scream and scramble down the incline toward where I started, far enough to his right to escape his grasp. Back on level ground, I run toward the swinging swords. I realize I’m not faster than my opponent, not even more agile, but I still wonder if I can outsmart him.

  If I can draw him in, then change direction as swiftly as possible, I can trick him into pursuing me right into the deadly swords. If I time it perfectly, and I do mean perfectly, he might run directly into a lethal blade. Which would not only serve the lying bastard right, but it would deny Daneur Khour possession of an additional gladiator as part of the claiming prize.

  All plans go completely awry when the mechanism chooses this exact moment to change tempo. The dangerous blades speed up, and my perfectly-timed lunge becomes a deadly move for me instead of my opponent. I’m running so fast and so hard I can’t change directions in time. I realize I’m a moment from my own death.

  I try veering right, but can’t because I’ll get sliced by the adjoining blade. I decide to pull back instead of charging forward. My brain wants to comply, but my body can’t respond fast enough. I try to step backward and move to the left at the same time. I accomplish neither.

  Vex’s beefy hand reaches out and pulls me toward him, away from the deadly blade, but not quickly enough to avoid the sharp scimitar. I observe in horror as the blade slices up from below, catching my right arm just beneath the elbow and cutting through flesh and bone as though it was butter. The last thing I’m aware of is my arm dropping in the dirt with a wet thud.

  Dr. Drayke sun Omrun

  Dear Lord Anteros. What did I just witness? Dax already has Nova in his arms, running with her out of that dracking arena. I forget the prize credits until the administrator hands me the winnings.

  Dax is two steps toward the ship before I gather my wits and pluck her arm from the dirt. Running as fast as we can, I comm the Captain, “We have a severe injury. Meet us at the ramp with a gurney. Have the medbot prep for surgery.”

  I terminate the connection. I can’t run and explain at the same time. They’ll assume Dax has been injured, but I can’t correct that at the moment. We’re only halfway back to the ship when Stryker, Aries, and Steele meet us with the hover stretcher.

  Dax lays her on the stretcher and we all keep running toward our vessel. Fully armed and in protection mode, the males accompany us to the docking station and back on board the Lazy Slacker.

  I’m winded and distracted, but I have a terrible fear Nova’s owner may take exception to us carrying her off-w
orld. Although by the regulations of the claiming match she’s mine, I know enough about Daneur Khour to know he’s the most dangerous man in the galaxy and never plays by the rules. He could be mobilizing to reclaim her this very minima.

  “Are the repairs completed?” I demand.

  “They finished installing the new gasket a few moments ago,” Stryker informs me.

  “Leave atmosphere. Leave atmo fast. Comm Captain Zar. Can we get out of here right now? I’m afraid MarZan might follow us.” I don’t wait for an answer, I just race with the stretcher toward medbay.

  The temperature in the small, metal-walled operating room is already cold enough for surgery. We get Nova on the table and I shoo everyone out except Dax. I glance at him for the first time since we ran out of the arena. His shoulders are slumped, his face pinched, he must be blaming himself for the female’s injuries.

  “Dax, stay if you want to help. Leave if you’re going to be consumed with guilt. I saw you pull her out of the way of that blade. You saved her life.” He looks skeptical, remorseful. “I could use your help, but I need your full attention.”

  He squares his shoulders and stands straighter. “I’m fully present, doc. Tell me what to do.”

  I take plenty of med-vids from every possible angle, assessing the best way to reattach the arm. I have Dax hold up her stump so I can get shots at the best perspective. Luckily the blades were sharp as a brill’s talon; the laceration itself is clean.

  I type my instructions on the medpad and let the equipment get to work. Two of the three medbot arms detach from their wall holsters. They silently begin their painstaking task by cleaning both the stump and the detached arm of all dirt and debris.

  It’s only now I realize both Dax and Nova are nude. I’m surprised to hear a possessive growl escape the back of my throat. I hurriedly throw a blanket over her, covering her from shoulders to toes. I didn’t know I was capable of making that sound. It does not escape Dax’s notice.

  I decide I don’t need Dax’s help after all. I don’t want anyone in medbay but Nova and me.

  “Why don’t you go get dressed? I can handle this from here,” I tell Dax civilly. When he doesn’t comply instantly I feel the urge to punch him in the throat, initiating a fight I have zero chance of winning.

  Dax must pick up on my possessive behaviors because he doesn’t quarrel. He looks around, making certain everything is well in hand and steps out the door, a perplexed expression on his face.

  The medbot is cleaning and applying antiseptic to all exposed areas. It is far better equipped to do this microsurgery than my Dacian hand. There’s nothing I can do at the moment but watch the robotic arms do their job.

  My heart is still racing from fear and exertion, but that does not explain the emotional upheaval I’m experiencing.

  Am I bonding with this female?

  I review the signs of Dacian male bonding: extreme possessiveness, growling, unwillingness to have another male within five fiertos of the female (until the bond is fully consummated), and an almost continuous erection. I sigh in relief, at least that hasn’t happened yet.

  This couldn’t be bonding, she’s not even Dacian. It’s impossible. Perhaps this is the result of something in the air on Bellona—maybe a rare airborne spore, or an indigenous chemical compound.

  She’s beautiful, I’ll give her that. I’m allowed to appreciate her aesthetically—that doesn’t mean I’m bonding. Thinking of every soul at the exhibition watching her run naked for the entirety of the fight elicits another growl, even louder than the first. What is happening to me?

  I’m a physician, I learned my trade on Dacia. I’ve seen dozens, maybe hundreds, of young males in the first throes of bonding. I feel a modicum of relief—that is certainly not what’s happening here. I take a moment to assess myself. I don’t even know this female. I know nothing about her but her name and her ability to fight.

  And her body, the voice in the back of my head taunts me. I saw every ince of her body during her fight. I know the exact shade of her skin in the sunlight. I know the shape of her breasts and the way they sway when she runs. I know the brown of the hair at the apex of her thighs is a shade lighter than the sandy color on the top of her head.

  My eyes are drawn to her. She’s so beautiful, I can scarcely tear my gaze from her face. I’ve never had a woman. It’s against the decree of my God. It’s easy for Dacians to avoid sex. We have little to no sex drive until we bond. Now that I’m experiencing physical attraction for the first time, I have true compassion for the males of other species who struggle with this on a regular basis. It is very compelling. I’m certain this won’t get worse. This is just some attraction due to pity about her amputation. This isn’t Dacian bonding, if it was, I’d have an erection.

  I decide to move into medbay to watch her; it’s what I did when both Captain Zar and Tyree were medically compromised. It’s the most normal thing in the galaxy for me to sleep near Nova until she’s well. That’s all it is, I convince myself, I’m just a concerned physician doing his job.

  Chapter Three

  Nova

  I smell antiseptic. I’ve been in enough battles to know the feeling of waking up on a medic’s table being patched up after a difficult match. I’m aware of a rigid surface beneath me, the faint vibration of a moving starship, and the soul-sucking fatigue permeating every muscle in my body. I work to pull my thoughts together, trying to remember the match in question, the injury I sustained.

  It immediately floods back. Bellona, the whizzing scimitars...the amputation! This has to be a bad dream. I try to lift my right arm; it doesn’t move.

  My lids fly open and I frantically scan this room. Yes, I’m in a medbay of some sort. It’s sterile, barren, with metal walls, medical equipment, and monitors. I lift my head and see I’m tied down. My right arm is swaddled in a thick bandage and I can’t feel it at all. Something definitely happened to my arm.

  Perhaps I was just injured, not dismembered. My entire arm appears to still be there under the white gauze. But I know otherwise, I remember my arm falling to the dirty arena floor. Oh my God, forever maimed? Will I even be kept alive by my new owner, or will I be put down like a dog who’s outlived its usefulness? Panic arrows through me as my pulse skyrockets in fear. My chest is heaving, my eyes widen in terror.

  There’s the blue-skinned aristocrat, Vex’s owner. Looking at me with what? It couldn’t be compassion—it must be lust.

  Injury or no injury, if he tries to force sex on me I’ll choke him, just like I did Daneur Khour.

  “Don’t touch me!” I scream. “Back the fuck away!” When he doesn’t comply immediately, “Leave me alone. I’ll kill you if you touch me.”

  His eyes widen, he looks shocked and...guilty? Did this fucker molest me while I was unconscious? I’ll make certain there’s a special place in hell for him as soon as I’m untied from this bed.

  “Miss Nova, I’m Dr. Drayke sun Omrun. I’m your doctor.” He’s retreated, his back now pressed against the far wall. “I’ve been so concerned for you since your...accident. I’ve reattached your arm. Please calm yourself. You’re safe here.”

  He seems sincere, but I’ve met sincere-looking psychopaths many times before.

  “You’re Vex’s owner. You’re a slave owner, not a healer.”

  “Miss Nova, I can see how you would think that.” He leans back, crossing his arms behind his waist, trying to appear non-threatening. “Please, I will explain everything, but your state of excitement might affect the delicate reattachment. Please take a breath.”

  He remains across the room, perfectly still, just maintaining guileless eye contact. It’s like he’s willing me to breathe, inhaling in unison with me. He’s nodding, attempting to calm me down.

  “That’s right, thank you so much for working with me. I’ll be happy to tell you everything, but I want you to keep your arm still.” His voice is smooth, charming.

  He looks sinister. Humanoid, with human features, he has a type of blu
e skin I’ve seldom seen before in my galactic travels. But it’s his eyes that seem dangerous. They’re a beautiful cobalt blue, deep-set, looking out over high cheekbones. He looks like the handsome drug kingpin on any random TV police drama.

  I decide I don’t trust him. Right here, right now I make up my mind there is nothing he can do to earn my trust. There’s just something off about him. No one is this kind or genuine.

  “There you go, Miss Nova, I see you’re calming down. I regret to inform you that your right arm was amputated below the elbow on Bellona.”

  He waits for me to absorb this. My pulse resumes its pounding, a burst of perspiration blooms on my upper lip and under my arms. How in seven hells can I assimilate that information? As soon as he sees the light dawning in my eyes, he continues.

  “The medbot has completely reattached your arm. It’s very early, but so far your vitals look excellent. The surgical site looks perfect, and I’m willing to predict a full recovery. Of course, there will be pain and stiffness, as well as a period of therapy to regain full mobility. But the prognosis is optimistic.” He bestows a slight smile, but it doesn’t appear to reach those handsome blue eyes. He’s lying, I can tell.

  “You’re Vex’s owner. You entered him in a claiming match. Now you own me. How do you expect me to trust a thing you say?” Let’s face it, I haven’t received an ounce of good news in the last two freaking years. How in the galaxy could I trust this lying blue asshole? I’m not allowing myself the luxury of believing a word he says.

  “Yes, I completely understand your concerns. Let me start at the beginning. You’re on the vessel, Lazy Slacker. The excellent news is that there are no slaves aboard this ship. Everyone except me fought to overthrow their masters. Vex’s name is actually Dax. Both he and I used an alias on Bellona to avoid detection. Dax is a free male. He voluntarily fought in the arena to earn the purse to pay for necessary repairs. I was only there for appearances. You’re a free female, Miss Nova. Welcome aboard.”