by Alana Khan
I see Stryker on the stone floor, Dax standing next to him as if he’s the male’s owner. They don't approach us or act as if they know us. It would call more attention to us, which we certainly don’t need right now.
Shadow leads us down a hallway, and it suddenly strikes me that all the males with me have probably been in this facility during their careers. They’ve sat where Stryker’s sitting right this minute, possibly about to enter a deathmatch, wondering if they would be alive or dead by sundown.
I’m so glad we’ve all found our freedom.
WarDog is in the lead now. His more acute sense of smell is pulling him toward the other Skylosians. We pass several rooms, actually more like cubbies, where perhaps the premier acts are allowed to wait before their bouts. Negrid, still in canine form, is in one, not only being verbally eviscerated by his master, but receiving some abusive kicks as well.
I clamp my teeth together, hard, when Shadow spears me with a quelling look. “Don’t say anything,” he whispers. “Your words will change nothing, and it will call too much attention.”
Earth was no picnic, but I have to admit the galaxy is a harsh place.
We find Montem in the next cubby. He’s a tall, muscular humanoid with canine aspects to his face—sharp cheekbones, high pointed ears, a swath of fur across his shoulders, and rounded brown eyes. His hands are pressed to the small of his back as he leans backward, moaning in pleasure. I wonder how long he was in his canine form. It must feel odd to walk on two legs again.
Both his and his handler’s attention is riveted on WarDog.
“What?” the handler asks roughly. “Want to sell your fighting stock? Highly unusual to approach a handler, especially at a match. Lucky for you I just won and I’m in a good mood.”
He didn’t just win anything. But I don’t say that. Nor do I mention that if this is his good mood I don’t want to catch him on a bad day.
I don’t let Shadow or any of the males speak for me. Ignoring the owner and stepping toward Montem, I ask, “He’s one of you, right?”
He nods, his eyes darting toward his handler. He may be in humanoid form, but he’s not a free male.
“Don’t be an idiot,” the handler scolds. “Of course he is.”
“He came to me this way. How do I get him into his humanoid form?”
The handler’s eyes narrow to slits. “If you don’t know the answer to such a basic question, you can’t be his owner,” he says.
“He’s mine!”
“Got his papers?”
“He’s a free agent.”
“So, what is he? He’s yours? Or he’s free? You can’t have it both ways,” the handler jeers.
Shit.
“I think I’ll take him off your hands,” he says as his jaw clenches.
“You and who else?” Shadow steps up and practically bumps him with his muscular chest. Steele and Aries step closer also. I have no doubt the three gladiators could overpower the handler in a heartbeat.
WarDog chooses this moment to step closer and put a soft mouth around the male’s thigh. Out of anyone on the planet, my guess is that this male knows what could happen if WarDog peels back his lips and grips his thigh with those long, white teeth.
“Tell me, male. How do we change the canine into his upright form?” Shadow’s tone is harsh.
“Try my controller. Most of the Skylosians were owned by the cartel at one time. They were all chipped with the same hardware.”
Shadow grabs the controller and asks, “Which button shocks and which allows the change?”
“Top button shifts, bottom shocks,” the male says, spearing him with an angry look.
Shadow presses the bottom button, obviously not trusting the handler to tell the truth. His hunch was right because WarDog shifts before my eyes. The handler roughly snatches the controller back.
WarDog doesn’t stand like Montem did, but lies on his side on the stone floor. It’s shocking to have a front-row seat to this metamorphosis. The fur covering most of his body disappears, replaced by tanned skin. Brindle fur, the color of WarDog, remains across his shoulders to the top of his pecs on his chest and tapers to a ‘V’ in the middle of his back.
He curls into a tight ball and groans for a moment. I’m used to every sound WarDog can make, but the male on the floor sounds different somehow, more . . . humanoid.
He’s in pain. Montem didn’t shift like this. He leapt to his feet before his change was complete. WarDog’s metamorphosis is slower and definitely more painful.
He rolls onto his back and slowly unfolds, allowing his spine and hips to fully straighten for the first time since I met him, and who knows how long before that?
His eyes are closed, facial muscles tight, but I can see his humanoid features and totally naked humanoid body for the first time. Perfect rose-colored lips that can’t hide the tips of his sharp canines. High, angular cheekbones that hint at what he looks like in his non-human form. And pointed ears much higher on his head than mine. I command myself not to look lower than his chest and have to struggle to obey.
He makes a sound. It’s an unintelligible growl. Is he more beast than man? Can he speak? Is he even fully sentient in this form? Montem is capable of thought and speech, but perhaps WarDog isn’t.
He growls again, then says, “Willa,” as clear as if he’d spoken English his entire life. “Willa,” he repeats, his golden eyes never leaving mine. I guess his speech was just a bit rusty.
“WarDog are you okay?” Stupid question, I know, but what do you say at a moment like this?
“Bayne,” he croaks in a manner that hints at just how long it’s been since he’s used his mouth for speech.
“Pain? You’re in pain.”
He nods, his head barely moving, then points to his chest and repeats, “Bayne.”
That’s his name. Of course, he has a name other than WarDog.
“How do we get a controller?” I ask the handler, not wanting anything other than to get the fuck out of here before someone detains us or discovers Bayne has no owner and appropriates him.
“The controller is for an owner,” Montem offers. By the way his handler’s gaze pierces him with lighting bolts, he’s risking his safety by telling us this. But he continues, “If he’s free, all you need to do is . . .” he moves swiftly and bends to touch the back of Bayne’s neck “remove—.” He can’t finish his sentence. His handler has pushed the button and both Skylosians shift back to their canine forms.
“Bolt!” Shadow shouts as soon as Bayne has fully changed back to WarDog.
Poor WarDog is moving slowly as we try to hustle him out of the underground area. His spine and hip joints must be screaming in pain having been stretched in different directions in such a short span of time.
Shadow reaches down, lifts the huge animal into his arms as if he was carrying a baby, and the four of us race into the sunlight. The rest of our contingent see us fleeing through the arched entryway, and most run to meet us as we leave the grounds.
A few stay to protect Stryker, who still has to compete in his match.
We’re running to the Fool’s Errand, which is parked maybe four city blocks away. At some point, Shadow hands WarDog off to Steele and we all keep hurrying.
Someone must have comm’d ahead, because Dr. Drayke has a stretcher at the top of the ramp as we board.
“I wish I would have known,” Dr. Drayke says an hour later after he’s removed a small metal device the size of a grain of rice that had been lodged near the top of Bayne’s spine. “I would have removed it the same time we removed the spiked collar the day he boarded. I think he’ll be fine. Let me go to my lab to examine the controller more closely. I’ll leave you two alone.”
Bayne is on a bed in his humanoid form. I’ve been in the room for the entire procedure and when the controller was removed from his spine, I had the opportunity to watch him shift from canine to humanoid again. Now I have the time to inventory him more closely.
He has brown hair with a
uburn streaks, the same brindle he had in canine form. His ears are closer to the top of his head than at the sides like a human. They’re triangular, like a German Shepherd.
He has the same ruff on his shoulders he had in canine form. It’s the most obvious characteristic of his dual nature.
Otherwise, his lips are fully human although the long canines peeking out between his lips belie his true origins. The nails on his hands and feet are humanoid, not resembling claws in the least.
His lids pop open and our gazes immediately lock. His eyes are beautiful. Mesmerizing. They’re golden. A warm, almost blazing gold that’s so rich and so deep you could dive into them. They are just like WarDog’s—this both shocks and reassures me at the same time.
“Willa,” he says, the look on his face shows rapidly changing emotions I can’t identify. “How long?”
“How long since what?”
“Have I been . . .”
“I’ve known you three months . . . lunars. Before that, I have no idea.”
He closes his eyes and blows a long stream of air through his lips.
“I think it was a long time. Long time. I was in my shifted form maybe . . . annums. My thoughts are cloudy.” He glances around the room as if he’s only just noticing it. “Medical?”
“Medbay, yes.”
“Did we used to . . . share a room?”
“Yes.”
“Can we go back there?”
“Sure,” I say before I give much thought to the fact that we shared it when he was WarDog. Now he’s Bayne. Very handsome, very masculine Bayne.
For a moment, the way he looks at me isn’t humanoid. He’s more like a wolf. The wolf in Little Red Riding Hood who wanted to eat her up.
He’s looking me up and down with undisguised interest. The blanket covering him tents at his hips.
His nose wrinkles as he pointedly looks at the sterile cabinets. “Can we leave this room?”
“Sure.”
I don’t know why I’m saying ‘sure’ when I’m not at all sure this is a good idea. I stand near the bed and let him rest his hand on my shoulder as he rises. He grunts deep in the back of his throat as his feet hit the floor.
“You’re in pain?”
“My spine, hips, and shoulders are screaming. I was in my shifted form too long.”
Dr. Drayke hears him and comes out from his office with a hypo-gun in his hand. “Can I give you something for your pain?” he asks as he motions with the gun.
When Bayne nods, the doc puts it against his shoulder and there is a hiss as he depresses the trigger. “This will help with the pain and stiffness. Take a hot shower. You’ll feel better in about half an hoara. Rest today then slowly increase your activity.” Bayne nods his thanks and Dr. Drayke returns to his office.
Bayne’s naked hip grazes mine with every step as we slowly walk the hallways to my cabin. When I slide my arm around his waist to steady him, I realize how tall he is.
My arm, rather than circling his waist, is beneath it. His skin is hot, warmer than a human’s. I’m trying not to stare, but I catch glimpses of him from my peripheral vision. He’s tall and tan and perfectly built. His shoulders are wide, his waist narrow, and his hip bones are visible beneath his skin.
It’s not his hip bones, though, that fascinate me. It’s his cock that has captured my attention. It’s bobbing at his hips, semi-hard and huge, jutting from an inviting thatch of brown hair.
Forcing my attention away, I try to find something in the hallway that’s half as interesting. Fat chance. I look up to notice we’re at our destination.
“Here we are.” I palm the entry plate and help him onto the bed.
“Piss,” he says, pointedly looking at the bathroom door.
I help him there and leave him at the doorway.
“Gods.” I hear a few minutes later. “It’s been annums, perhaps a decade.”
He must have gotten a good look at himself in the mirror.
“I don’t know how, can you turn the shower on?” he calls.
My mind is still reeling from this new turn of events. At first, I was consumed with escaping the arena and evading the authorities in case they came to confiscate the male. Then I was fearful as I watched the medbot remove the hardware lodged near his delicate spinal nerves. I never allowed the impact of what happened to actually hit me.
I slip into the bathroom and turn on the shower, then return to plop on the bed. My mind spins until he returns to the room. During the entire time I should have been deciding what to do about the humanoid who’s expecting to share my bed, all I could think about was what he might be doing to his cock in the shower, or what I might do to that cock when he returns.
The huntsman! The huntsman from this morning bore a shocking resemblance to Bayne.
How could I have dreamed of Bayne this morning? My mind searches for answers, but I haven’t a clue. What I do know is that this Earth girl is on a spaceship a million miles from home. And I know there are dozens, perhaps hundreds of alien species out there whose appearance and powers are things I couldn’t have dreamed of.
What I do know is that all the knowledge I possess doesn’t fill a thimble. What I do know is that as sure as I’m sitting here, I dreamed about Bayne this morning. And I wanted him. And I orgasmed thinking about him.
The bathroom door opens and Bayne’s wide shoulders practically fill the doorway. He’s nude. He hasn’t even slung a towel around his hips. I guess I shouldn't make too much of that, he hasn’t worn clothes for a decade by his reckoning.
“Want a nap? You’ve been through a lot,” I say as I leap off the bed toward the far wall, keeping the bed between Bayne and me.
“Bed. Yes.”
He slides between the sheets and gazes at me in silent invitation. There’s something about the way he swivels his head that’s vaguely canine. I imagine I’ll notice a lot of things like that as I get to know him.
“I don’t remember much,” he says as he pats the mattress, beckoning me. “But I remember some things. I know you petted me all the time. Your touch was soft and gentle. Things in shifted form get fuzzy when I return as Bayne. But I . . . remember this morning.”
This morning. This morning’s little masturbation session. He watched. As I recall, when I was done pleasuring myself his nose was inches from mine. Great. He remembers that.
Chapter Three
Bayne
I ache. Deep in my bones. The ache is warm and tight and unrelenting. Nothing feels right. My teeth don’t seem to fit in my mouth correctly, my fingers feel too long, and all the vivid colors hurt my eyes.
My thoughts are swirling. I vaguely remember people I think were my parents, but my childhood is like a swirling black hole with more questions than answers.
There were so many years in my canine form. By the male’s face who looked at me in the mirror, it’s been more than a decade. I remember the spiked collar I wore on my neck and the smell of metal that was never far from my nose.
There were fights. I remember those. Perhaps I’m remembering all of them, because there were many. So many. If what I remember is only a portion, I fought a lot. So much blood. Thankfully most of it was my opponents’. I can taste the metallic tang in my mouth. I remember some respite, some moments or days in two-legged form, but so much time was spent on all-fours.
You’re back! My inner dog says with joy and excitement. So much pain. Fight. Kill. Pain. He is practically howling. Then Willa came. She saved us. She stroked us and hugged us.
It’s been so long since I could talk to my inner beast I am practically vibrating with joy.
Yes. We’re finally free.
This bed is blissfully soft, especially compared to sleeping on the cold stone of cells and cages for the duration of my captivity.
And then there’s Willa. Willa of soft hands and softer voice. After so many years in my shifted form, I couldn’t think properly, couldn’t understand many of her words, but I knew her. I knew she wouldn't hurt me. I felt h
er caring, her concern.
I know the scent of her arousal. It was strong on her this morning. I remember that. There are things that become fuzzier when I’m in canine form and things that grow sharper. The aroma of excitement is sharp. I can smell emotions.
Since I met her, Willa has reeked of longing and sadness. Her love for me, though, has never wavered.
I sniff in and get a big gust of her scent. It’s not full of her love now. It’s fearful . . . and aroused.
I’m under the covers but can see the flag of my desire stating the obvious. By the look in her flared brown eyes, she sees it too.
