WarDog: Book Twelve in the Galaxy Gladiators Alien Abduction Romance Series

by Alana Khan

  I sent him away. If I’m honest with myself, I’ll admit I assumed he’d still want me and would be ready when I got over my little snit and asked to spend time with him. Well, the joke’s on me.

  His eyes don’t shine brighter when I’m around, nor do they follow me around the room. He seems more interested in joking with his buddies or talking to the other women than in being with me.

  He acts like a sponge, wanting to learn everything, making up for lost time. It still makes me sad that he has so much lost time to make up for.

  He’s learning a few cooking skills from Maddie who treats him like a brother. Grace has taught him the basics of playing a stringed instrument, although they both decided he’ll never have musical talent. Dax’s mate Dahlia is teaching him to read because he either doesn’t remember, or his people were too primitive to have written language. He’s already tearing up the Intergalactic Database learning more about his home planet.

  My brief investigation of Skylose revealed it was decimated by war shortly after he was abducted and permanently forced into his canine form. The history of his race is sad and I decided I knew enough after only a few minutes of research. The fact that everyone he ever knew is probably dead and gone might explain the somber look I see on his face from time to time.

  I barged into the ludus a few days ago, searching for Dax because I wanted him to teach me how to make a new pair of shoes. He’s handy with everything he touches, including wood and leatherwork.

  I thought I could just make an appointment for us to meet later and then leave. Of course, he just happened to be sparring with Bayne. I stood near the doorway and watched until Dax stopped to ask me what I needed.

  I can replay every second of their match. By heart. In fact, I have. Many, many times. Males in space just don’t seem to care about clothing. They consider it optional most of the time. The females put their foot down about the dining room, thank goodness, but other than that it’s considered perfectly normal to waltz around naked. In the ludus? It’s expected.

  I’ll admit, it scandalized me at first, but I thought I’d gotten used to it. Used to it, that is, until a certain someone shifted into humanoid form.

  I watched his huge, powerful body fighting with all his might. His muscles strained, sometimes he grunted with effort. There were times he put both hands on the hilt of his sword and swung up and over his head, his muscles flexing under warm tan skin. My mouth was dry as I watched. It’s only in the privacy of my own mind that I admit to myself why. Lust. I wanted Bayne in a way I’ve never wanted another living soul.

  His skin was covered in a glistening sheen of sweat. His face was tight, muscles rigid, as he displayed laser focus on the match. It was as if winning that fight was the most important thing in his life.

  He thrust and parried. Even when Dax was on the offensive and Bayne had to step backward, he seemed in control of the situation, as if he was simply biding his time, waiting to aggress toward his partner again.

  Then Dax spoke to me and Bayne faltered, his concentration obviously derailed. The grace he fought with became awkward, slowed, and then he stopped altogether, setting the tip of his sword on the floor.

  Dax stopped his attack, and both males stood stock still, looking at me.

  I apologized for interrupting them, set a time to meet with Dax, and hurried out of the ludus, my emotions in an turmoil.

  For the last month, I’d been in a delusional state, having convinced myself I wasn’t interested in Bayne, but as soon as I left the ludus and scurried toward my cabin I quit lying to myself. I’m interested. More than interested, I’m obsessed.

  I glance into the mirror and look at myself the way I did when I was an adolescent. I remember inspecting myself years ago as my body was changing. Noticing my budding breasts and the subtle changes to the shape of my face. It’s with that level of intensity I examine myself now, only this time I’m noticing myself the way Bayne sees me.

  An average twenty-five-year-old Earth woman looks back at me. I’d like to believe I’m beautiful. Barring that, I’d like to believe I’m pretty. But I’m just an average woman who wouldn’t turn any heads on the street. My eyes are an ordinary shade of brown. My brown hair trails to the middle of my back. I learned to style it well in high school and have always thought it’s one of my better features.

  The women on the ship have been in space longer than me and have found some decent tools for doing hair and makeup. I’ve curled the ends of my hair and styled it to frame my face. My makeup is on and my eyes look pretty.

  I sway in front of the mirror, making the dress Savannah loaned me float around my thighs. If I’d gone to the best stores in Houston I couldn’t have found a dress more flattering than this. She called it a scarf dress. The fabric is a rainbow of colors and the hem has varying lengths. It moves gracefully, pulling the observer’s eye to the nip at my waist and the tempting swell of my hips.

  I read a book about setting your intentions for something. It was a New Agey thing that proposed that if you set an intention you were more likely to get what you want. It makes sense. You can’t get anything if you don’t acknowledge your desires and then go after them.

  I drop onto the edge of the bed and consider what it is I want, but I don’t have to think for long. I want Bayne. It’s not just that he’s handsome, which is certainly true. He’s not just gorgeous, he’s sexy. I’ve brought myself pleasure thinking about him several times since I watched him spar in the ludus and realized denying my attraction was futile.

  I also admire him. He’s taken a shitty situation, worse even than mine, and has swiftly come to terms with it. He’s trying to learn everything he can and make a new life for himself.

  I don’t know if I’m ready to have sex with him, but I’m definitely ready to get to know him.

  So my intention for tonight? I want to talk to him, and dance with him. I want to express my interest. I nod my head at myself, still looking into the mirror. I won’t let tonight end without Bayne knowing I don’t want him banished from my life anymore. I want him to know I’d like . . . more.

  When I leave my room and enter the hallway, I realize Bayne might not even be there tonight. What will I do if that happens? Well, I’ve clearly set my intentions, so I guess I’ll just have to knock on his door.

  Bayne

  As I stride to my room I’m full of purpose. I’m a Skylosian, a warrior—a strong male who knows what he wants. I just need to make it happen. I’ll no longer be content to watch Willa from afar. I’m going to woo her.

  When I arrive in my room and remove the broadsword from my back scabbard, I happen to see a flash of my movement out of the corner of my eye. I catch a glimpse of myself—huge, muscled adult male, arms bent in the act of pulling the weapon above his head, a serious, almost fierce look on his face.

  My world slows down and time stops spinning.

  I’ve been on the Intergalactic Database using my burgeoning reading skills to glean what I can about my homeworld, Skylose. Nothing important has come from all my attempts to trigger memories of my past. But this one glimpse of a ferocious male in the mirror has sliced through the darkness. My past tumbles back to me.

  My village was remote. Not all Skylosians were shifters. My pack didn’t flaunt our abilities because those who couldn’t shift would be envious or hate us. We kept to ourselves and moved farther into the wilderness each year to avoid confrontation.

  Now that I’ve seen other planets and ridden on spaceships, I realize how primitive my planet was. We were warring factions—tribes, really.

  I hadn’t reached my twentieth birthday the day the marauders came. I had been in the forest with my bow and arrow, hunting little mammals for food. I heard the thunder of hooves as our enemies came, riding six-leggeds.

  My tribe, my pack, numbered in the hundreds, including females and younglings. The males on steeds were at least that many, and they had metal swords and the element of surprise, having killed our sentries before the frontal attack.


  They surrounded the village, tossed flaming torches at our huts and longhouses, and killed many of our males.

  Clutching my weapon, I ran toward the melee to fight. I considered shifting into my canine form but feared they’d kill us all if I revealed the tribe’s secret.

  I killed a few with my bow and arrows until my quiver was empty, then ran screaming into the fight with nothing but my young fists. By this time, the village was in flames, most of our adult males were dead or dying on the ground, and many of the marauders were taking their fill of our females.

  The few males who were left alive were rounded up and held at the point of a sword. I’ll never forget the sound their derisive laughter made when they grabbed me and forced me into the shrunken group of my tribesmen.

  I remember the bitter taste of my anger which changed to horror as I helplessly watched them violate my mother. My canine growled in unbridled fury, straining to be released. I kept him tightly leashed inside me, believing that if our secret was revealed we would all be killed. My uncle and another male held me back as I screamed in impotent rage.

  “Hush,” Uncle Tresor said, trying to calm my canine and me. “The only thing you can do now is stay alive. Stay alive by any means possible and live to exact revenge. It’s what you’ve been saved for.”

  No matter how tightly I squeeze my eyes closed, I can’t erase the picture that bombards me. I hear the screams, see the village burning and six-leggeds pawing at the ground. The acrid smell of fire and the tang of the blood is as caustic this moment as it was all those annums ago.

  All the movement seemed to stop as a contingent of our enemies entered from the rear. Only these weren’t Skylosians, I now know these were offworlders, another species who had obviously come from afar. At the time all I could do was gape in speechless shock at these strange beings.

  Purple-skinned males approached as the sea of our enemies parted for them. They drove a vehicle the likes of which I’d never seen. It was completely enclosed and hovered off the ground. It was a silent machine.

  Five purple males emerged from the fantastical vehicle. Their clothing was made of fabric, not the animal skins Skylosians wore. They surveyed the carnage as if they were looking at a garden filled with beautiful blooms. The sight of my people dead, dying, bleeding, and crying seemed to please them.

  I hadn’t known of other planets then. Now I understand these were invaders who had chosen to align with Skylose’s strongest tribe in order to harvest their enemy and steal males to fight for them. Somehow the offworlders had found out our secret and knew we could shift. Perhaps our enemies had discovered our closely guarded secret and told them in order to spare their own lives. We had been betrayed by our own people. It crushes my soul to this day.

  They strode to our group of hearty males and yanked us out of our cluster one by one. They pulled my friend Grennal out first and demanded he open his mouth to inspect his teeth. When he refused, they pointed a weapon at him and a ray of light beamed from the end of it. Somehow the powerful light killed him.

  The purple male in charge barely gave Grennal a glance as he lay charred and unmoving at his feet. “I trust the rest of you will be more cooperative,” he ground out.

  Uncle Tresor whispered, “Revenge.” I followed his guidance and knew it was my duty to live. Knew that one day I would avenge my people. It was a good cause. I could think of none other.

  They inspected us one by one, testing our strength and fitness for battle.

  Even after being beaten and ravaged, my mother still fought them. While the purple males examined us, the carnage in the village continued.

  My heart almost stops beating in my chest as I recall the sight of the marauding chieftain dragging my mother off the ground by her hair and forcing her to stand with several other females in front of the purple males’ leader.

  When she refused his order to kneel, the chieftain pulled his sword from the scabbard on his back. The purple male accepted the sword, swung it across his body to one shoulder, and then with such swift force I heard it whistle, he sliced through the air, lopping my mother’s head from her shoulders as if he was slaughtering livestock.

  Every muscle in my body clenches as the scene plays in my mind so slowly I can see every moment. My mother's face, her eyes wide, her scream of terror, the heartbreaking howl of my inner beast filling my head, and my uncle, her brother, placing his hand on my upper arm, biting into it so hard it’s as if he’s squeezing me this very minima.

  I can see the exact moment her head was separated from her neck, and then I see no more because my younger self was smart enough to squeeze his eyes closed as the howl in his head was given voice.

  The rest of the memory is mostly a blur. My grief was so intense, it was a blessing when I was forced to shift into my canine form and was injected with something that controlled my ability to shift back. Perhaps the decade of darkness was a good thing. It kept me from remembering any of this.

  Chapter Five

  Bayne

  I stood still as a statue for I don’t know how long, maybe minimas, maybe hoaras. When I came to my senses, my broadsword was still in my hand. I hadn’t moved.

  I let it clatter to the floor, wanting to never hold the abominable thing again. I imagine it will always remind me of that day, of my mother.

  I pull off my loincloth and enter the shower, washing my pelt and scrubbing my skin until it feels raw. It’s as if I’m trying to wash the blood and smell of fire off my fur and skin, as if it will erase the memory itself. It won’t, I know. Nothing will ever make the pictures of what happened that day go away. They’re imprinted on my brain.

  Although I’ve pushed those memories out of my mind for a decade, now I sift through them, searching for pictures of those five purple males. I vowed revenge as a young male, then spent a long time in canine form.

  Yes, hunt them, kill them. A deep growl reverberates through my body.

  I agree, I assure WarDog,

  Now I have the means to track them down and kill them. Try as I might, I can’t see any of their faces. Perhaps my mind is doing me a kindness by hiding this from me.

  The water has long since turned cold, but I keep scrubbing, keep abusing my body with the frigid water, trying to make the horrendous memory recede to where it has hidden all these annums. It won’t.

  At last, I turn off the shower and dry myself, then stand in front of the mirror. I inspect myself. I’m a grown male. I’m strong, powerful. I’ve fought in the arena, albeit in my shifted form. I vow to find my enemies. Not the males of my homeworld which the Intergalactic Database tells me was almost destroyed by offworlders shortly after I was taken.

  No. I vow to myself and to my canine, we will find and destroy those purple males who came in on hovers, provided advanced arms to a neighboring tribe, and incited them to destroy us so the five of them could swoop in and get what they came for—rare fighting stock.

  I need to remember who my enemies are—and find them.

  In the meantime, I’ve lost so much. Don’t I deserve a female? Don’t I deserve the comfort of soft arms? Don’t I deserve to sheathe myself in her warm channel and find pleasure there?

  Don’t I deserve to connect on a deep level with one other being in this galaxy? A female who showed me her compassion many times, albeit only to my canine.

  Yes, replies WarDog, take her, mate her, bite her, make her ours.

  My decision of a few hoaras ago still stands. Patience, I admonish my enthusiastic beast. I’m going to pursue the female who has invaded my dreams and consumed every waking thought since I was freed from the prison of my canine form. I have to gain her trust and hopefully her affections will follow. I hear a chuff of agreement at this plan.

  Willa

  When I arrive at the dining room, most of the furniture is pushed against the walls. A small spread of party food, as well as ruby-colored punch, is on one of the long tables. I see Bayne talking to Stryker along the back wall. He’s in profile, perhap
s so he can see everyone who enters.

  He doesn't look directly at me, but I know he saw me enter. The corners of my lips lift in a tiny smile because his ear flicked toward me, then he stood a little taller and threw his shoulders back when he sensed my presence.

  One thing is certain, that male is handsome. His broad chest is naked except for the black leather sash stretching from one shoulder to the opposite side of his waist. It’s sexier than if he was completely bare because it calls attention to every muscle and ripple.

  If anything, he’s stronger and more muscular than the first time I saw him in his humanoid form. He’s wearing a black leather kilt like many of the males on board. It doesn’t reach his knees, and accentuates his strong calves.

  At first, I thought the pelt on his shoulders was a little Cro-Magnon, but over the last month, watching him at meals and stalking through the halls, I’ve come to think it accentuates his masculinity, and also his differences.