The sun beat down upon Carrie's shoulders. Her hair was piled on top of her head, her tunic low cut and skimpy, letting the crowd see for themselves what glories awaited the victors. This was the third battle Jardan had been in and it wasn't getting any easier for Carrie to take. Every time a weapon swung or prodded or fired at him, she would wince and want to duck away, but she wouldn't. She believed in him, he would win. He has to.
His first match had been fast. He got the upper hand on his opponent after the younger man tripped on one of the metal spikes protruding around them and twisted his ankle. His second match was more difficult, and there was a few minutes where the outcome was in doubt. But he won, managing to drag his foe to the ground and choke him from behind until he felt secure enough to pull the dagger from his boot and finish it off. But the match he was currently involved with was nerve-wracking for Carrie. This was the big one. The winner would go to the finals tomorrow afternoon, the headline act in a daylong spectacle of blood, song, and ceremony.
His opponent was a big man, a warrior called Hernan whom Jardan had expressed concern about while still back on the ship. Those concerns were ringing true as Carrie watched from her seat in the stands. Jardan barely got his sword up in time to block the man's second swing, a quick hack at his legs. The third swing came in a sweeping downward arc. Jardan leapt to the side and the blade threw up pebbles and dust as it slammed into the ground.
Jardan spun and kicked, catching Hernan in his sword elbow. Hernan growled, pain shooting up his arm, but he held on to his sword. He sprang forward and crashed into Jardan, driving a thick shoulder deep into his gut.
Carrie screamed as Jardan went down underneath the larger, hairier, opponent. She couldn't see him for a moment, the cloud of dust they kicked up bellowed out in a spreading crowd. She stood, looking down at the melee in horror.
On the ground, Jardan tried to scramble back from under Hernan, at the same time clawing at his mouth and eyes, trying to hurt him, to stop him once and for all.
Jardan brought his knee up, ramming it into Hernan's side. Another knee, harder this time. This one caught his opponent square in the gut. Hernan grunted and loosened his grip. Jardan took advantage of the split second of freedom by ramming his hand up under Hernan's chin and pushing. With his adversary's face exposed, Jardan balled his other hand into a fist and punched. Once. Twice. Three times. The fourth punch broke Hernan's nose, blood gushed from his nostrils and he let out an involuntary shout.
Jardan shoved Hernan off of him, grabbed his sword out of the dirt and scrambled to his feet. He turned quickly, raising his weapon. Broken nose or not, Hernan was ready. He was already getting up, wiping the blood off of his face with his forearm as he pulled a dagger out a sheath on his hip.
"I'll remember that," Hernan growled, spitting blood in the dirt, "when I'm carving your throat out."
Jardan said nothing, stepping back, getting himself into position.
From the stands, Carrie saw them yelling at one another, but she couldn't understand what they were saying. Please be careful. Please be safe.
Around her, the crowds were going wild, screaming and chanting. Over the course of the tournament weekend, she had learned that Jardan was once a beloved and respected gladiator, a three time champion in the regional games, destined for greatness before deciding to give up entertainment for duty and join the military as a guard for the remote scouting troops. His last minute addition to the tournament was greeted with enthusiastic responses from the fans and this far he had lived up to their expectations.
Carrie watched the two men circle one another, Jardan with his sword, Hernan with his dagger. He's got the sword, the extra reach, she thought, but that doesn't mean much. Not here. Not now. This was the eighth match she had watched and the one thing she learned was no one was safe until their opponent was completely, unquestionably, dead. Even then...
Hernan was fast for a big man. He sprang into an attack, startling Carrie from her thoughts. As fast as Hernan was, Jardan was faster. The dagger came at him from the side; Jardan parried it with his sword and drove the hilt into Hernan's chest. Hernan stumbled back and Jardan pressed, thinking he had the advantage.
He was wrong. He came forward, raising his sword. Hernan suddenly spun, not winded or hurt, it was simply a ploy. He went low, swinging the dagger low and catching Jardan across the front of his thigh.
Jardan back peddled, blood running down his bare leg. Hernan laughed and attacked, coming up under Jardan's sword arm and stabbing. Jardan twisted, the dagger scratched his side. With Hernan shoving him forward, knocking the sword from his hand, trying to tackle him to the ground, Jardan hammered down with his elbows. Again and again, driving his elbow into Hernan's spine and shoulders and skull.
Jardan finally fell, Hernan landing on top of him and driving the air from his lungs. Gasping for breath, locked in struggle, Jardan saw a glint of light on his side. The dagger. Hernan was bringing it up behind him, trying to drive it into the back of his skull. Barely getting his arm up in time, Jardan blocked the thrust.
He grabbed Hernan's wrist and twisted. The two men locked their arms together, struggling for control of the weapon.
Carrie wanted to cry, to scream, to rush down to the field and help. She wanted to do anything except sit impotently by and watch. She couldn't tell who had the advantage, who might emerge victorious. The dust and the confusion of the wrestling bodies blocked her view. All she could see was that the dagger was twisting out of her sight, the two men rolling over in combat.
Then she saw it. Her heart skipped a beat, the breath froze in her lungs.
Jardan stood, blood dripping from his cut leg and side.
At his feet on the ground, Hernan lay still, the dagger protruding from his throat, hilt up towards the sky.
Jardan raised his hands in triumph and the crowds went wild.
Carrie wiped a tear from her eye. One more, she thought, trying her best not to think of it but failing miserably. One more fight tomorrow and it's over.
7
The trophies were not allowed to speak with anyone during the tournament. They were kept sequestered in cages underneath the arena. Carrie was surprised when she heard footsteps, when she looked up and saw Jardan approaching.
"I..." she stammered, standing and walking to the bars of her cage. "What are you doing here?"
"I had to see you," he said. "I'm sorry I could not come before. The rules are strict."
"I know," she said, reaching through the bars to touch his face. "I'm just glad you're here now."
They gazed silently at one another a moment, soaking one another into their eyes, hearts, and souls.
"When you win," Carrie finally said, allowing a smile to grace her lips, "the first thing we need to do is take a long bath." Jardan smiled, chuckled. Carrie tried to pretend she was serious. "I mean it, I'm not joking. A hot bath. Two days long."
"It will be so," he said, taking her hand in his and kissing it. "But for now," he added, giving her one more kiss on the back of her hand, "first things first."
She nodded. Yes, first things first.
The trumpets were sounding above. The crowd roared in excitement. Behind them, ten guards entered the room, ready to escort the trophies to their place in the stands to watch the final matches.
Her gaze lingered on Jardan as long as it could. He turned to leave and she stopped him. He turned to her and she tried to smile again, finding it difficult to do through the tears. "Win," she said. "Take me home."
He said nothing. He just gave her wink that said it all.
The arena was packed full for the last day of fighting. There would be eight matches throughout the day, one final fight for each of the eight classes, ending with the grand team combat that always proved the highlight of the tournament. But today everyone was excited for the day's first match. The return of one of their all-time favorites: Jardan.
The crowds went into a frenzy when his name was announced and he stepped onto the field. Hi
s opponent was Gravan, a young warrior who had already achieved a lifetime of glory in only six years on the gladiator circuit. Jardan had watched his career closely, admiring the brutal efficiency with which he consistently eliminated his opponents.
He's big. Jardan cracked his knuckles, stretched his back from side to side. Bigger than he looks in the videos.
Their battle today would be hand-to-hand. No weapons. Guaranteed to be a brutal, hard-fought victory.
The massive gong was struck, its low rumbling tone vibrated over the arena.
The match had begun.
Carrie scooted to the edge of her seat, watching the two men circle one another. Wow, she thought, sizing up the scene, that guy's big.
Jardan struck first, pouncing forward and swinging a quick fist at Gravan's face. Gravan juked to the side, avoiding Jardan's punch. In a fluid movement, Gravan followed through with the motion of his dodge and spun, whipping his arm out in a graceful backhand, catching Jardan on the side of the face.
Jardan's face bloomed in pain and Gravan attacked again. He was on Jardan before the tingling sting of the first punch left his cheek. He felt strong, heavy hands close around his neck. He reached up, forcing his hands between Gravan's arms, trying to pry his grip loose.
As they struggled, they stumbled, pushing against one another. Unable to break free from Gravan's vice grip, Jardan kicked, catching his opponent square on the side of the knee. Gravan's knee buckled and he fell, dragging Jardan down with him. They landed hard in a cloud of dust.
Carrie stood, she screamed Jardan's name. The guard nearest to her walked over and told her to sit. She ignored him, focused solely on the combat raging below.
Jardan wriggled free of Gravan's hands and rolled away. Scrambling to his knees, he looked over and saw Graven just as quickly regaining his footing. Like a panther, Jardan leapt, tackling his adversary around the waist and driving him backwards and down.
Gravan hit hard, his head slamming into the packed dirt. Jardan climbed on top of him and let loose with a flurry of punches. Gravan blocked most of them with a steady defense but enough got through. Gravan's lips bled, his cheek bleeding from a small cut.
Gravan pushed forward, catching Jardan in the chest and lifting him up, shoving him back. Jardan raised his hands to deflect Gravan's fists as the gladiator rushed forward and dove on top of him.
Jardan may have been faster, but Gravan was stronger. Every fist that landed sent shockwaves ripping through Jardan's senses. His eye swelled, his lips bled, his cheeks split open. The storm of pummeling fists raged. Jardan was having trouble breathing, he couldn't think, he could only blindly flail as pain swept over him.
Jardan grabbed Gravan's face, found a hold on his mouth, grabbing his lower jaw by the teeth and pulling down. Gravan bit, cracking one of Jardan's fingers. Jardan yanked his hand free and, in the split second opening provided by Gravan spitting out blood, Jardan lashed out, burying his finger in Gravan's eye.
His finger sunk in deep, he felt warm liquid pulsing out, running down the back of his hand and trickle down his arm. Gravan howled in pain, rearing back and falling on the ground, one hand covering his punctured eye.
Jardan stood on shaking legs. His face was a mess of blood and bruises and swollen welts. He could barely see and all he could taste was blood and dust.
It's a good day, he thought, puffing out his chest and bellowing a furious roar.
The crowd went crazy, erupting in a deafening cheer.
Carrie looked around, watching the excitement on the faces of the gathered spectators. This is animalistic. It's not entertainment, it’s a travesty. Home on the couch, ice cream, Star Trek reruns—that's entertainment.
Below on the field, Jardan stepped forward. Gravan managed to climb to his knees, still holding a hand over what remained of his bleeding eye. He raised his head, glaring at Jardan with his good eye.
"You'll pay for that," he said with a growl. "I'll kill you slow."
Jardan wiped the blood from his lips. "Come then," he said, "Let us finish this."
Gravan stood. The two warriors faced one another. Both swollen and bleeding, wobbling on weary legs.
Gravan charged but Jardan stepped to the side, avoiding another tackle. With a burst of speed, Jardan grabbed Gravan by the back of the neck, pulling back with all his might.
Gravan swung his arms wildly, trying to get at Jardan's face. Jardan worked his way behind Gravan, keeping a firm grasp around his neck. His hands slipped up under Gravan's chin and he continued pulling, choking the life from his competitor.
Giving up his high attack, Gravan went low, reaching down and finding the dagger cut on Jardan's thigh. He dug his fingernails into the wound, ripping and scratching.
Pain crashed down on Jardan. He closed his eyes, letting it flow through him. His grip did not weaken, it increased with an adrenaline surge.
With a shout, Jardan yanked backwards and a sickening snap sounded crisp in his ears. Gravan's body tensed and then went slack. Jardan released him and he fell limply to the ground, slamming face first into the dirt, his neck broken.
The crowd let up a deafening cheer as Jardan raised his arms in victory.
Carrie jumped to her feet, tears coming to her eyes.
He did it. He won.
A warm wave of relief coursed through her. She felt lightheaded. But she remained standing, applauding now, screaming his name with the Morkori. "Jardan, Jardan, Jardan..."
On the field below, she saw him turn, searching the stands until he found her. Though his face was swollen, covered in blood and dust, she saw him smile.
She smiled back, her heart pounding in her chest.
It might not be what I expected, she thought, feeling the sun beat down upon her, hearing the roar of the crowd filling the air around her, but it might be enough. It could be a good life. A special life. A life worth living.
And it was.
THE END
BONUS
Thank you for supporting this book. Here is a selection of romance books to extend your reading pleasure. I think you will enjoy them.
The bonus stories are written by Linda Mathers and other Fiery Desires authors.
Scifi Romances
I
Saved by the Alien
Scifi Romance
1
For Grace McGill, it was a miserable day in a frustrating week in the middle of a disappointing year.
She had moved to the Moon Colonies ten months ago, hoping things would change for her there. New life, new beginnings. She’d quit her job in Seattle, gave up her apartment, went out with her best friends night after night, drinking and eating, drowning her sorrows and uncertainties in the same manner she always had: with food, drink and distraction.
At least that's what her mom always told her in that condescending tone she used when doling out her 'sound advice.' The night before Grace was to hop on her high-speed lunar shuttle, it was the same as always.
"Grace, you know what you need to do," her mother said, looking her daughter up and down with just enough disapproval to leave Grace squirming with the thought of staying any longer.
"I know what you think I need to do," Grace said, standing her ground as much as she was able. "But, no, I don't know what I really need to do."
"You need to lose weight," her mother continued, oblivious to Grace's discomfort. "And you need to find a better paying job. No man wants a chubby girl who can't take care of herself."
Chubby girl. That's what her mother always called her. Ever since she was a child, Grace had had weight problems. She was never obese, but then again, she had never been a slim girl either. Chubby, her mother called her again and again. She was, always had been, and might always be chubby, and in her mother's narrow, high-class eyes, it was the root of all of her ongoing problems. Skipped over for promotion? Because she was chubby. Divorced after five years of marriage? Because she was chubby. Now in her early thirties with no romantic prospects, working an entry level position as a sec
retary for the largest exporter of lunar zinc in western Tranquility Colony, already three years divorced and spending far too much time at Chow Fu's bar and deli? Because once again, she was a lonely, overlooked, introspective chubby girl.
A few dozen insults and curses came to Grace's mind as she sat at her mother's table, no longer enjoying her grilled chicken and carbohydrate paste. Instead of uttering a piercing rebuttal, she quietly placed her fork across her plate and stood.
"I have to get home and finish packing," she told her mother, unable to meet eyes. "My shuttle leaves early tomorrow."
Her mother looked shocked at first, then sadness crept into her eyes. "Grace, I..." Sometimes her mother understood when she had pushed too far at the wrong time. Unfortunately, the woman was too selfish to dwell on her shortcomings long. "Take mostly warm clothes," her mother continued. "I hear it gets nothing but cold where you're heading."
None of this mattered at the time, however, not when her hands were tied and her eyes blindfolded. She wanted to scream but her mouth was tightly gagged with a leather strap.
Grace struggled the first hour or so, but by this point she had grown tired and uninspired from her impotent attempts at freedom. What did he say? Grace asked herself. She held her breath and tuned her ears towards the voice coming from somewhere in front of her.
"Tell him I'll be there in two days." The voice was baritone and gruff, the hint of a growl lurking in its depths. It's a B'hauf, Grace thought, we're allies, what the hell is he doing kidnapping an Earth girl?
She was right, of course, it was not logical. The B'haufs had come to Earth twenty-five years before when their ship, holding fifteen thousand civilians and a few hundred military personnel, crashed on the less-populated far side of the Moon. From those chaotic beginnings grew a strong and evolving alliance between the two species. It was only ten years later when the news leaked concerning the eons-old B'hauvian war against the imperialistic Grodoro war clan, that the Earthly powers that be realized they might have gotten in over their heads in their first attempt at galactic ambassadorship.
Taken by the Alien Warrior: Scifi Romance Page 3
