9
Marika’s sister was a pain in the ass. A complete and utter pain in the ass and he still didn’t know her name.
Beauty growled to himself as he stalked down the corridor, the hard-packed sand beneath his feet. It didn’t matter, though. As long as he got the draanthing female out of here in one piece, that was all that mattered. He didn’t have to like her, nor did he have to spend any more time than was necessary with her.
Although… if he couldn’t see with his own eyes their resemblance to each other, he’d never have believed they were related. Marika was delicate and sweet, and despite the fact she’d been brought up by one of the worst crime lords in her society, she was sweet and nurturing.
Her sister was the complete opposite. She was all hard edges and jaded suspicion. He recognized the look. She’d been brought up, probably dragged up, just like he had, in the darker places in the galaxy. It didn’t make for an easy personality, but lady, she should be able to see he was trying to help her. And if she didn’t, she was an idiot.
At least he hadn’t reacted to her the same way he had to Marika. He’d been half afraid of that. That when he met her, her scent would be the right one… the one he’d been looking for all his life, and he’d be trapped. Because he knew as soon as he found that elusive scent, that would be it for him. He’d be trapped, just as surely as he was trapped in the pits until he won his way free again.
No, he admitted to himself as he took a left turn. He hadn’t been worried about that before he’d met her. Before he’d met her, he’d felt a mixture of apprehension and excitement, wondering if she was the one… then he’d realized how antagonistic she was and breathed a sigh of relief that her scent hadn’t roused him at all.
In fact, he frowned, he couldn’t remember what her scent had been like. He hadn’t caught much, if any of it, over the smell of sweat and blood from the other fighters. Not that it mattered, if it hadn’t called to him, she wasn’t the one for him. And, knowing that Rish had bribed the guards to her cell, he could put her out of his mind for now. None of those females would be picked by any T1s unless it was Rish, and he was only interested in the Krynassis anyway.
Which meant that Beauty could relax. And what better way than with a willing female in his bed. Putting the memory of dark eyes flashing fire at him to the back of his mind, he headed down to the T3 cells. He needed a female. That was all. A soft, curvy body to share his bed for the night. It had been a long time since the Sprite had put in any place that boasted a half-decent pleasure house, even though T’Raal kept promising.
Yes, a night of lust and sex would do a lot to clear his head.
The T3 cells were exactly how he remembered them. The T2s were bad enough, with three or four women in one stone room with nothing more than a sand floor and a bucket in the corner, but at least they were allowed a blanket screen to protect their dignity.
The T3s had no such protection. Considered little more than cannon fodder, they were crammed in like cattle. Some were injured, but he knew from experience that they would have been given the minimal level of medical care, nor would they have been given painkillers. Why waste expensive meds on stock that would just be killed in the next weekend’s bouts?
“What can we do for you, boss?”
The nearest guard clocked his arrival and straightened up a little. Unusually he wasn’t a Jentar, but a Karthician. Bipedal, they were near indistinguishable from the Lathar, apart from their all-black eyes and blade-like barbs that ran down the backs of their forearms. It was whispered that they might be a cousin species to the Lathar, but that’s all it was… whispers and rumors. A savage species in their own right, they normally kept to themselves and, fortunately for them, weren’t genetically compatible with the Lathar.
“I need a female,” Beauty grunted, looking over the offerings in the first cell. A few, obviously used to the system here, crowded to the front, posing and trying to catch his attention. They knew he could pluck them from misery, and sharing his bed would probably come with access to a bath… he took a breath in, make that definitely access to a bath… food, and a soft place to rest for the night.
They’d sell their souls for that. He felt a twinge in the middle of his chest but ignored it. It was a simple transaction. That was all. He couldn’t do anything for them other than offer a night. He wasn’t the one who’d put them in here, and he couldn’t get them out. He was a champion, yes, but he didn’t run the system. He was caught as much by it as they were.
“Do you have any hu—” he cut himself off. The Karthician wouldn’t know what a human was. “Anything like a Lathar? Small, soft and delicate.”
The other guy’s face split into a knowing smile. “Oh, I got just the thing.”
He turned and headed for another cell, further down. Beauty trailed after him, ignoring the pleas and calls behind him.
“Now this little lady I’ve been keeping separate in case one of you guys came down,” the guard said in a low voice, leaning in. “But, only my favorites, you ken? The ones I know wouldn’t hurt her. She’s something. Isn’t she?”
This cell was smaller and held only one occupant. A delicate, petite redhead turned around, her hair a cloud of flame around her head. Bright blue eyes speared Beauty to the core.
It was the human who’d been with Marika’s sister in the testing fight. He sucked a breath in, and she was terrified.
“Just like a Lathar. Ain’t she?” The Karthician grinned. “Like their women used to be. Amazing. I’ve no idea what she is and…” he leaned in to whisper. “I ain’t taking her to the doc to get her checked genetically. Just in case. Can you imagine what she’d go through if…”
“Yeah.” Beauty’s growl was low and dangerous, making the woman in the cell jump. Instantly, he cut the sound off.
“Open it,” he ordered. “This one will do.”
The Karthician jumped forward to do his bidding and the cell door squeaked as it swung open.
Looking at her, he beckoned. “Come here.”
Her gaze darted between the two of them, fear still showing on her face. Swallowing, she crept forward until she stood in front of him. The burn marks on her clothing and bruises on her arms said she’d already learned to obey orders.
“Do as you’re told and you won’t be harmed,” he told her in a low voice, stepping closer to bury his nose into her hair. A soft growl rumbled from his throat as her scent wrapped around him. Not perfect, but there were enough pleasing notes he could get the job done.
“She’ll do,” he nodded to the Karthician and, wrapping his hand around the female's wrist like a manacle, stalked off back to his own cell.
An hour later, he realized there weren’t enough pleasing notes in her scent for him to get the job done. In fact, by the time he’d actually gotten her back to his quarters, he’d realized he couldn’t. But he couldn’t send her back, not knowing what she was going back to. Not knowing another T1 could bring her to his quarters…
Sighing, he rolled onto his back on his couch, a small blanket over his lower body. The T3 was fast asleep on the bed. His bed. His comfortable bed.