“Shit!” I backed up on instinct.
Xavier intercepted him and shoved him hard, sending him back several steps. “Cool it.”
Jurak growled and shook his head, chest heaving.
What was wrong with him? This wasn’t the Trad that had come to see me yesterday to remind me that we were a team.
Anton joined Xavier in blocking me from the Trad. But Jurak was already calming down, because the scales on his biceps had sunk back into his skin. His shoulders rose and fell as he breathed deep.
“Save it for the arena,” Anton said evenly.
“I’m trying.” His tone was deeper and rougher. “Fuck, I just need to …” I caught the flash of red in his eyes through a gap between the guys’ biceps. “Rogue, you need to stop.”
Stop? “I’m not doing anything.”
Xavier shot me an arched look over his shoulder, and his words from the other day came to mind. He’d intimated that he could smell my arousal, that the Trads would also be affected. Was this what was happening now? No, the trio had been around me for weeks, and aside from my first week here, they hadn’t acted this way toward me. This was something else.
I pushed past the guys, and Jurak made a lunge for me. Xavier shoved him back. I took a moment while my pulse recovered from the almost attack, and then anger reared its head.
“Hey! Enough.” My voice was a whiplash. “What the fuck happened to we’re a team? I’ve got enough on my plate being a target for the Pack, I don’t need to worry about you taking a swipe too. Save the fucking aggression for the arena. Save it for Zantar.”
He blinked slowly and then the ridge of scales that had appeared on his forehead melted away, and his horns retreated into his forehead. He closed his eyes and exhaled.
“A team,” he said gruffly.
“Yeah, a team.”
He nodded slowly. “I’m good.”
The scales were gone, and he’d taken on his human form again. He was okay. “Get oiled up.”
I backed up some more, and then the guys let him pass, but I kept my eyes on him as he made his way to the other side of the changing room to get ready and oiled. Only a fool would turn their back on a volatile Trad.
Jurak stripped, showcasing his lithe, toned form. He pulled on the minuscule outfit that molded to him like a second skin and then, with his back to us, began to oil up.
I held the goop jar up to Anton, and then jerked my head in the Trad’s direction. He rolled his eyes, but took the jar of goop and wandered over.
“Hey, you need help with your back?” Anton asked.
Jurak grunted in response, and Anton set to work.
Xavier let out a low whistle. “Is it always this tense?”
I picked up another jar of goop, making sure to keep my eyes above his pectorals. “Turn around.”
“You going to oil me up?” There was mischief in his tone, and annoyance sparked in my chest.
“This isn’t some game, new boy. This is life and death, so cut the flippancy and turn the fuck around.”
He snapped his mouth closed. “Right.” He turned away, and I set to work.
His back was broad, his skin so dark blue it was almost indigo, and as the oil spread across it, it began to gleam. Anton had great skin, velvet and taut, but Xavier’s skin had the texture of a peach and the solidity of a rock face. My fingers glided over muscle, and I tamped down on the urge to linger on the task.
“You have good hands,” he said. “Massage hands.”
“Don’t get any ideas.”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
I wiped my hands on the rough towel provided for this purpose. “Done.”
“Shame.”
He turned to face me with a grin. “I may need a moment.” He glanced down.
My gaze dropped to his groin, and my cheeks heated. He was hard, and he was huge, and shit, I needed to look away. My face was on fire, but I kept my expression neutral when I raised my gaze to meet his.
He arched a brow. “Impressed?” His clever mouth quirked.
“No, but you certainly seem to be.”
He let out a bark of laughter. “Hey, it’s been a while since I felt the touch of a woman.”
Anton joined us. “We should get to our cells. It’s almost time.”
Slicked up and barely covered, we made our way out of the changing room and back to our cells, ready for whatever fate wanted to throw at us.
5
Guards walked either side of me as I stepped out of the corridor and into the tunnel beyond. I’d made this journey several times, but each time they let me out of the cell block, excitement fizzed in my veins because every step away from the prison was a step closer to possible freedom. Today, the excitement was muted by the challenge ahead, and a steady fire burned inside me, ready for whatever was to come.
Anton had allowed me the moment I’d needed to acknowledge the fear, and now there was only cold hard focus. Anton, Jurak, and Xavier strode behind me. Single file so that armed guards could walk beside us. Our wrists were shackled too. They weren’t taking any risks of us bolting, they never did. But even if we did get away, this place was a maze, and all we’d ever known was the cell block. We’d probably run around in circles until we were caught. The odds of escape were minimal, but still, that darned seed of hope refused to die.
The tunnel echoed around us as we made our way toward the arena. A set of metal steps appeared, and then we were being herded up and onto a dark corridor, more stone and rock than plaster. This was a part of the mining station that hadn’t been upgraded. It was a section that not many occupants visited, and it linked the cell blocks to the main station.
The rumble and whirr of machinery were louder here, pressing in on us, drowning out my thoughts. Irideal and Obrium, fossil fuels that the Trads relied on to power their planet, were found here on this asteroid, and there were others too, roids like this one that were being mined by the Trads.
A metal door cut us off from the main station, but the guards used their access cards to get us through, and then the noise really hit. So loud it made my teeth ache. We picked up the pace and stumbled into an entranceway with several locked exits. The one we needed was up a metallic flight of steps and through a set of double doors. The guards ushered us through the gray tube, more of a metal pipe than anything else, and I grit my teeth against the echo and rumble of the grumble of machinery overhead. The lights flickered periodically, as if threatening to go out, but they never did, and then we were through to the holding chamber where the fighters’ cages attached to the arena were lined. The buzz of the crowd was already audible, competing with the machines that continued to drill and dig and gather the essential ore.
The guards shoved us into one of the cages that looked out onto the arena. Across the sand, the viewing cages were visible. I searched for Marlon’s face and found it. His brows were low in a frown, and Killion was beside him. Bodies jostled them as they struggled to remain at the front of the crowd. But the other fighters not in play had the same idea, all eager to watch and learn their potential opponents’ strengths and weaknesses, because winning meant life, even if it was a caged one.
“Here they come,” Anton said.
I kept my eyes on the sand, but tension rippled up my back as the cage beside us opened with a clang, and the distinctive musky scent of testosterone filled the air. The Pack had arrived.
Don’t look at them. Don’t.
But I couldn’t help it. My head turned as if of its own volition, and my gaze swept over the four hulking forms trapped in a cage that seemed much too tiny to hold them. Three were sporting wickedly barbed tails and horns, and scales covered their beautiful faces, giving them a dangerous air and muting the natural charisma they’d employed to enslave human females. The one with the red scales was renowned for the sting in his barbed tail, which he used to impale his opponents. The one with the darker scales and curved horns was a powerhouse when it came to knock-out punches, and the smallest of the
m, the one with the shimmering emerald scales and sharp pointed features, was the one they called the Ripper. He liked to tear and bite, and he had the teeth and claws to do it. He was the fastest of the quad. I’d seen him take down Trads larger and stronger than him on several occasions. He snapped at me now, and then grinned maniacally. I looked away and focused on the largest one, the one who hadn’t bothered to reveal his true form. He was in human form, golden hair pulled back off his face and amethyst eyes locked onto me. That was Vex, the alpha of the Pack. While the others snarled and growled and grabbed the bars to shake them, he simply stood and stared at me. His shoulders were slightly hunched, his thighs bunched, ready to leap into the arena, but his face, all planes and angles, was unemotional. The impassivity sent a shiver down my spine and flooded my veins with ice. This was a predator that would kill with neat efficiency and without any qualms. The tiny outfit they put us in hid nothing on this man. He may as well have been naked, and he didn’t look like he gave a shit.
“Don’t,” Anton said, stepping forward to block me from view.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and inhaled and exhaled to ground myself. I had to fight, I had to let go and unleash. There was no room for doubt or fear or any thought but survival. My body tingled as the ice melted, and heat infused my limbs.
I focused on the roar of the crowd seated in ascending rings that rose up to frame the arena. The spectators—workers, officials, and visitors. These fights were a way for them to blow off steam. While the houses made the big bargains, the peons placed minor bets.
A bell tolled, the cage flipped open, and we stepped onto the sand. The Pack bounded into the arena, spreading out, getting into whatever formation they’d agreed on. Anton and Xavier flanked me, and Jurak took up the rear as we stepped out. I rolled my neck, shook my hands, and bounced on the balls of my feet. The warmth spread through me, ready to be expelled in a flurry of punches and kicks. Vex stood a few meters in front of me, his body a mass of tense muscle, his gaze fixed on my face. And then he mouthed one word.
Run.
The Trad to my left sprinted at me, and I bolted, running full pelt for the edge of the ring. The world erupted in yells and grunts, but the sound of blood rushing in my ears acted as a buffer to the knowledge that the Ripper was behind me, his breath hot on the nape of my neck. I reached the wall and ran up it, feet slapping brick, and then flew into a back flip that carried me backward over the Ripper to land behind him. I didn’t stop to check his reaction—the rise in the crowd volume told me the move had been appreciated. No, I launched straight into an attack, grabbing him in a headlock and bringing him down with a neat pivot and a blow to the back of his knees. His claws ripped at my arms, but the pain was nothing, it was negligible, because all that mattered was taking him out. He bucked and tore at my skin, but my grip was tight, cutting off his airway, and his movements grew weaker. I had him. He was almost—
“Rogue, watch out!” Anton’s warning came a moment before a fist slammed into my head.
The world tilted and went black. Sand scraped against my skin as I hit the ground, and then a steel band was wrapped around my throat. The world came back online just before my forehead slammed into the ground and stars erupted in my vision. The band on my neck tightened, cutting off my air supply and blurring my vision. There was a weight on my back, pinning me, holding me down, and then it was gone.
“What you gonna fuck if you kill her?” a rumbling voice spat. “Focus on the others and leave her intact for fun.”
I was hauled to my feet and amethyst eyes locked onto mine. “Stay out of the way, and you won’t get hurt.” He shoved me away and ran into the fray behind me. Anton, Jurak, and Xavier were going one on one with the others. Ripper was back on his feet, it seemed.
Anton was bleeding heavily, Jurak was limping but refusing to go down, and Xavier moved like a fucking tornado. But Vex was about to jump in, and my team would be outnumbered.
I broke into a sprint after the Trad and leapt onto his back, intent on grabbing his head and taking out his eyes, but he threw me off before I could get a grip. I rolled and barreled toward the main fight. Vex beat me to it, entering on an uppercut to Jurak. The Trad went flying, and then I was in the fray, surrounded by sand and blood and snarls. A fist hurtled toward my face, but I dodged and punched my attacker in the ribs. A crack was followed by a grunt, but I wasn’t done. I took out a kneecap and then slammed a fist into the side of his head. He buckled and went down. Someone snagged me around the waist and whipped me back just as talons sliced through the air inches from my face.
“Now that was too close,” Xavier said in my ear. He sounded unaffected, unwinded. He sounded like he was enjoying himself.
The mood was infectious, and when he released me, I attacked with renewed gusto. A kick to the head prevented the Trad I’d just taken down from getting back up and reduced their team to three against four. Okay, with Jurak’s limp and Anton’s wounds, it was more like three and a half, but still.
Vex and Jurak were going head to head, and Xavier had cornered the Ripper. But sting tail was on Anton, and my friend was looking worse for wear. His movements were slower than usual. I ran toward him, eager to get in between and take tail guy down a peg or two. I was almost there, just a hairbreadth away, when something slammed into me, taking me down.
I flipped onto my back, arms coming up in a cross to connect with Ripper’s neck as he tried to get in a bite.
“Rogue!” Xavier was coming, but he sounded far away. I brought my knee up but missed the man parts.
Shit.
And then Anton was hauling Ripper off me. He slammed a fist into the Trad’s face, and Ripper went down hard. Anton held out a hand to help me up.
I grinned up at him. “My hero.”
“Always,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
I grabbed his hand and was halfway off the ground when Anton’s body jerked and his eyes flared wide. His hand tightened around mine for a moment before releasing me. I fell back just as something burst through his chest.
My gaze focused on Anton’s chest as my brain struggled to comprehend what I was seeing.
A tail.
He had the tip of a tail embedded in his torso. And then it was ripped out, and Anton dropped to his knees. His beautiful brown eyes were on me, his mouth struggled to form words, and then the light in his eyes winked out.
The world slowed to a crawl, my scream elongated in my ears, and the blood rushed to my head, turning my vision crimson. My body was no longer my own, it was rage and vengeance and blood, so much blood. Someone was screaming, so much screaming.
Screams were good, the slick feeling on my palms was good, the warm wetness spattering my face was good. The bone crunching was good.
A siren sliced through my brain.
“Rogue. Rogue!” Arms around me, warm breath on my cheek.
No. Not lime and zest. Not the arms I wanted.
Xavier.
Xavier was holding me, wrapping me in a lavender fragrance that forced my blood to slow and my vision to clear. I bucked and twisted, but he held me tight.
“Stunning display … Victory, House Ryzer,” a voice boomed across the arena. The voice of the “man,” of the bastards who ran this show.
A show.
It was just a show to them.
My vision blurred, and a scream bubbled up my throat to shatter the air. My knees hit the ground, and Xavier came with me, holding me, cradling me against his chest while my vision sharpened and took in my surroundings. Jurak’s twisted body lay to my left, Ripper was sprawled right in front of me, and another Trad lay dead to my left. Where, where was he?
There … Anton’s empty, glassy gaze was turned my way, his mouth parted as if on a sigh.
Dead. He was dead. He was …
Xavier lifted me off the ground, his arm still holding me steady. “We need to go. Hold it together. We need to go.”
I let my feet carry me toward the exit cage, let the cheers wash over
me, let the pain fill me, let the grief swell.
Dead; he was dead.
6
“Hush, hush.” Marlon wrapped me in his huge body, rocking me back and forth, rocking me just like Anton had done a few hours ago. A few hours ago when he’d been alive.
His glassy-eyed stare filled my mind.
Dead.
“Hush, Rogue baby, hush.”
Someone was sobbing.
Me.
Was that me?
“Here, I got her some water,” Killion said.
“Drink,” Marlon ordered.
The lip of a cup was pressed to my mouth, and I drank obediently and was suddenly way too thirsty. The water was gone too quick.
“We need to get her washed up,” Killion said.
Marlon stood with me in his arms, and I curled into him, blocking out the world. Wanting only to melt away, to sleep. Yes, sleep was good. Maybe sleep would stop the ache in my heart.
Warm water lapped at my skin. Wait, when had we gotten here? It felt nice. Hands rubbed at my skin and massaged my hair, and all the while I clung to Marlon, my face pressed to his shoulder.
“Okay, I think that’s good,” Killion said. “Fuck, she’s healing already.”
“Let’s get her back to her cell.” Marlon’s chest vibrated with his words, and his arms tightened around me.
The water slipped away, and then my body began to tremble.
“Fuck, she’s going into shock.”
The rough scrape of a towel was followed by the warmth of a blanket.
“We can’t leave her,” Marlon said.
“We can’t stay,” Killion reminded him.
“I have to.” Marlon hugged me tighter.
Stay … in my cell with me? Marick would go nuts, he’d hurt them just to hurt me. No. “No.” I opened my eyes and clenched my teeth to stop them from chattering. “I’m fine. I will be fine. You need to go. Now, before lockdown.”
Rogue: Survivor’s Heart book 1: Planet Athion Page 4
