by Dixon, Ruby
I’m not sure I like his description of us girls, but he does have a point. The beast guy hasn’t shown himself to be super friendly as of yet and what if I’m wrong about him? Even the most docile dog will snap when cornered, and he’s likely feeling pretty cornered at the moment. I sigh heavily, realizing that I’ve lost this round. “Yeah, I guess I don’t know what I’m thinking. I want to give him my blanket, though.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s polite? It’s the least we can do, don’t you think?”
“It is not the least,” Hassen admits. “We can do much, much less than that.”
Obviously this figure of speech is not one he grasps. All right, then. When Hassen just shrugs, I decide I’m not going to keep asking and I’ll just do as I please. I shrug the blanket off my shoulders and move carefully towards the beast man. He hisses again, and Hassen puts a warning hand on my arm, reminding me that he’s close nearby.
“It’s all right, sugar,” I murmur, my voice low and sweet as I can make it. I give him a closed-mouth smile because teeth might be a sign of aggression. And I slowly, carefully reach a hand out to him, palm up.
He hisses again, but that’s all he does. The narrowed red eyes watch me, but he doesn’t seem to be bristling like when the others held him down. Then, he was barely leashed fury. This just seems…like he’s tired. Defeated. And that makes me sad.
So I put my hand slowly to my chest and indicate to myself. “Hi, I’m Willa. Do you speak English? Most of these other guys do.” When there are no response, I try for simpler. I tap my chest. “Willa. Willa.” Then I gesture at him, keeping my movements slow and soft.
“You waste your time, female,” Hassen begins. “He is not—”
“Gren,” comes the low, growling word, so deep I almost think I’ve imagined it.
Hassen shuts up.
I smile. “Hi Gren. I’m going to be your friend, okay? I think we could both use one.” And I very carefully ease forward and put the blanket around his shoulders. This time, he doesn’t even hiss at me. It’s a small win, but I’ll take it. There’s a person under all that fur and snarling, and I mean to make everyone realize it.
GREN
The sweet-smelling female puts her blanket on my shoulders and keeps talking. Her voice is soft and sweet, and she looks fragile, all curves and very little muscle. She is not a fighter. The others that keep me tied down, they are fighters. I see other gladiators here, kept separate from the cluster of females, but I am confused as to why this one approaches me. I do not understand her kindness. All I know is that the fur I now wear on my shoulders carries her scent, and it confuses me. I hiss again, and this time, the big blue male pulls her away from me.
Reluctantly, she goes, giving me sad looks even as she moves away.
Her name is Willa. I gave her my name, and I will memorize hers. I taste it on my tongue, over and over again. When the big blue guard comes to stand by me again, I bare my teeth at him, but I’m barely aware of him. I’m still breathing in Willa’s scent, remembering the quick brush of her small, soft hands against my shoulders as she put the blanket on me. She knew I was not clothed and must be cold. She has a good, kind heart.
I wonder if all these females are intended to be prizes for the gladiators. If so, I will fight harder than I ever have before, so I can take my prize.
I want Willa.
I have never wanted a female in the past. My cock rises the same as any other’s, but I knew such things would never be offered to me. The only females I have ever encountered came with shock-sticks and cruel smiles, and I would never touch my cock to one of their faces.
But Willa…
She is different.
Even now, I search through the shadowed forms huddled on the floor. I see her settling in next to another female, moving close to share warmth. She has fewer blankets than the others…because she shared with me.
I breathe deep of her scent, imprinting it into my memory.
If they want me to fight, I now have something to fight for.
3
GREN
My extremities tingle with pain in the morning, and I silently twist my hands in the ropes, trying to loosen my bonds without anyone noticing. Most of the others have abandoned this area, heading deeper into the ship, likely to eat and drink and relieve themselves. I need to do all of these things, but somehow I suspect I will not be released for this. I will have to make do. I eye my current guard—a different one than last night—and wonder how he will react if I piss on his boots. Will he break out the shock sticks? A collar? Something stronger? It might be worth it for that moment.
I forget all about pissing on anyone’s boots when the door opens and Willa returns to the cargo bay. She has a big bowl in one hand and a waterskin in the other, watching her feet as she moves down the three narrow steps and then lands on the floor. She calls a bright greeting to the male next to me, her gaze flicking to my face.
She is a clever one, this female. She knows she must charm my captors if she is to say anything to me. I am impressed by her quick mind. As she chats with him, it gives me time to study her.
I have never been around humans. They are a fragile breed and not normally chosen for the arena. I have seen them as pets at the feet of my masters on the rare occasions that I was called before one. Most of the time, I was ignored or despised. Now I wish I had studied those females more closely when I did see them, so I could determine if this one is like the others or if she is as different as I imagine her.
Her skin is pale compared to mine, with pinkish undertones to the white. She has flecks of a darker golden brown all over her skin, as if dotted with mud, but when she does not brush them away, I realize it is part of her pigment, like the shadowy deep gray of my own hide. Her mane is thick and curly, also a mud color, and her eyes seem bright and intelligent. She is too fragile, though. Her arms are sticks compared to my own, and the only places she looks to be fleshy and full are her buttocks and her teats, but I do not think those are muscle. If they are, she is built very, very oddly.
Willa's scent is incredible, though. I breathe it deep, inhaling the purity of her body's musk. All of the humans have a particular scent to them, but there is something about hers that I find greatly appealing. Even if our new masters separate us all into cages in the next few hours, I will remember her scent, and her kindness.
She says something to the guard, her words gentle and sweet, and then she laughs. The sound is soft and throaty and appealing, and I growl to myself, because I do not want her to laugh with him. I want her laughter for myself. But then she gestures at the bowl in her hands and drops to her knees, crouching.
And then her attention is focused on me.
Willa.
I taste her name even if I do not speak aloud. I want to greet her in Praxiian, to tell her that I am not an ignorant animal. That I know words even if no one has taught me how to read or write like they do other slaves. I do not speak human tongues, but I am sure that if we had a chance, we could talk to one another. But the blue male hovers nearby, frowning, and I do not want him to know of my intelligence.
A clever slave is one with few freedoms. I learned that early on.
So I say nothing, and when Willa approaches, scooting closer to me, she offers the bowl and then gestures at my tied hands, talking to the guard.
I go very still. She wants them to free me. She mimes eating, indicating the bowl and looking at me as if to say You just want to eat, right? I give her a quick, curt nod, though I do not like lying to her. If the male frees my hands, I will attack him and fight my way to freedom, no matter how brief that freedom might be.
The male shakes his head and indicates she should feed me. I watch as her pink mouth flattens in an angry line, and she says something. "Blssurhart." Her tone is sweet, but only I can see her expression, and I think she calls him stupid.
Oh, I like this female.
With a long-suffering sigh and a pointed look at the male, she picks up a woo
As I watch, the female—Willa—blows gently on the spoon, curls of heat wafting up. Then, she holds it out to my mouth and indicates I should take it from her.
She…feeds me?
I snatch at the mouthful, my teeth clamping around the spoon quickly before she can change her mind. Flavor bursts on my tongue, and searing heat. I ignore it, chewing quickly even as Willa pulls the spoon back. She's clearly startled by my actions, her gaze on my teeth, and the blue owner says something smug. He probably warns her of the beast. See? Look at how vicious he is.
I hate him. I hate all of the blue ones.
Willa says nothing. She scoops another spoonful and carefully blows on it again, this time for longer. I realize she is cooling it for me with her mouth. She does not wish for me to burn myself.
It…is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. How many times have I been offered little more than a trough of scraps as if I were a herdbeast of some kind? Yet she takes careful spoons and cools them with her breath so I can enjoy the meal. This time, when she holds the spoon out to me, I notice the tremble of her hand and I carefully take it from her, trying not to snap my jaws.
I do not want her to think of me as a beast.
I want her to think of me as Gren.
WILLA
I don't know what to do. I sit by the fire with the others, absently rubbing my chest and wondering if I'll ever feel the cootie that's now lodged inside it. The locals call it a khui, and I know it's a parasite that will keep me alive. Feels kinda weird to have a worm inside me, but I suppose if it's all quiet, I reckon I can live with it. Veronica's is noisier than a cat on a tin roof—she resonated to the big golden guy and now both of them buzz and hum like a pair of kazoos. She blushes like crazy, too, but he just looks pleased.
Mine is quiet, like everyone else's. Some girls are disappointed, I think, but me, I'm fine with it. I'm not quite ready to settle down and start chucking out babies, not when I'm still trying to figure out what my plans are.
They're nice enough, but the longer Gren is kept a captive, the more I worry about him. I remember my mama raising pit bulls. I remember how sweet the puppies were, their little paws and their liquid eyes and their happy little tails…until Uncle Dick got ahold of them. Within weeks, he'd end up making them meaner than badgers, and they were no longer nice dogs. They were awful, feral creatures who snapped and snarled and fought for scraps, who lunged at every hand thinking they were going to be struck. That was how Uncle Dick wanted them. He wanted them fierce so the moment they were in the ring, they'd tear the throat out of their opponents and win him some money.
I hated Uncle Dick. I'm glad his ass is in prison now. Mama, too. They can't be mean to any more dogs.
And me, I can't stop thinking about those poor dogs, because I wonder who's been mean to Gren in the past. Who's taught him to snarl over scraps. Even today, they had to hold him down while he howled and fought against them. All they wanted was to give him a cootie, and yet you'd have thought they were killing him. He doesn't trust them. Never will as long as the ropes are on him. I can't blame him for that.
But…he can't exactly stay here, either. I know the others are right, too. That I might feel sorry for him, but I don't know how he'll act around young Tia, or pregnant Angie. I don't know that he won't attack Marisol when she quivers in fear.
So I don't know what to do.
"You feeling okay?" Angie nudges me with her leg, watching me carefully. "You look…odd."
I sit upright, beaming at her as if I'm having a great day. "Peachy keen. Just thinkin'."
"About?"
"Oh, this n' that." I rub my chest. "Mostly about this." It's as good a distraction as any.
Angie chuckles, a hand moving over the mountain of her belly. "We've had a lot to adjust to over the last few days, haven't we?"
"Just a few things," I tell her brightly. "I imagine stuff'll settle down soon enough and then we can figure out what we're gonna do with ourselves."
“We get to the beach tomorrow," Liz says, overhearing us. She moves through the group, checking on people. "There are caves there, and sheltered areas for tents. We'll set up a temporary home for a few days before we figure out what the plan is.”
I nod absently. I know part of the plan is for us to join the other tribe, which is apparently several days’ travel from here, but I also think there’s some reluctance to do that. We’re an unknown element and they want to keep us away from their wives and children, which I get. I look over at Gren, who sits away from the group, someone guarding him as usual. And as usual, he’s struggling with his ropes, even though his arms are all tore up. The man just doesn’t know when to quit, and I can see why Vektal—the chief of the blue guys—is reluctant to bring us all home to mama.
That suits me just fine for now. I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do.
Angie offers me a pat on the shoulder and then a cup of tea. The stuff on the ship itself is all space-age and crazy, much like the mug she just handed me with its enormous handle and weirdly curved bottom. It feels weird to drink from it sitting in front of a fire in the snow, and knowing that the weird little leaves floating in my tea are because someone just picked ’em. It’s a mix of old and new, but I’ve been told to get used to the “old” because the ship’s going away after we hit the shore.
“I’m worried,” Angie admits softly to me as I take a sip of my tea.
“’Bout what?” I glance over at her. She’s a quiet one. Lauren’s busy helping everyone out where she can, moving between all the girls and checking on them, Marisol clinging to her side. Veronica’s blushing and trying to ignore the big gold guy. A few of the others look disoriented or unhappy, but Angie isn’t usually one of the “problem” people. “The baby?”
The look she gives me is rueful. “I’m trying not to think about it too much, honestly. If I do, I’m going to freak out.” She swallows hard and her cheeks go pale, and I immediately feel like a jackass for bringing it up. It’s obvious that Angie wasn’t pregnant when she was taken, so this is a real shock to her. I try to picture myself in her place and I can’t even imagine. Was she raped? Is she missing a huge part of her memory that she should have? Is the baby human? Alien? What? “The ship,” she murmurs. “I wish we didn’t have to get rid of it.”
“Why? They said we can’t fly back to Earth anyhow.” It’s one of the things that was drilled into our brains the moment we woke up. This is our home now. No more Earth. I’m okay with it, really. I might miss Hot Springs in the fall when all the leaves are turning real pretty-like, but I won’t miss the uglier sides of things like my mama callin’ from prison because she needs money in her commissary, or hearing news stories of another one of Uncle Dick’s old dogs that attacked a child, or working long hours at the diner only to have my entire check gobbled up by the credit cards my mama opened in my name. The only thing I’ll really miss is being able to visit Isaiah’s grave.
Tears prick my eyes, as they do every time I think of my brother, even though he’s been gone for fifteen years now. He’d want me to have a fresh start, wouldn’t he? He’d want me to pick myself up off the snow and smile at this new world, to welcome it with open arms. You have a life without Mama and her problems, he’d tell me. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.
Maybe it’s Isaiah that draws me to Gren. I glance back at him, where he’s desperately shifting in the snow, still trying to get out of his ropes. Isaiah knows what it’s like to be trapped. I do too, even though I try not to think about it.
He would want Gren to be free.
I think about Gren a lot. He can’t stay here with the rest of us, but he can’t go off alone, either. Everyone needs someone to trust. I think he needs someone more than anyone I’ve ever met.
“Oh. Just because.” She sighs, and for a moment, she seems very, very distant.
“Because of the baby? Because the ship has a medical bay?”
“No. Maybe I should be thinking of the baby, but it’s actually for me. For the last few days, it’s been one thing after another, and I keep telling myself that we’re still on hold while the ship’s here. That someone will wake me up and this will all be a bad dream. If it’s gone, then I have to start living my new reality, you know?” She cups her mug in her hands and shakes her head. “Right now, I’d rather be stuck in between worlds.”
“In between worlds?” I watch her, perplexed. That’s a real odd thing to say.
Angie gazes out at the snow, past the girls huddled near fires, past the blue guys that are our protectors, and I wonder if she’s looking at the distant mountains (which are kinda pretty) or if she’s just staring out into space. “None of this feels real. I keep waiting for someone to wake me up. That this isn’t my body. This isn’t my fate. I just wait…” She shrugs and focuses on her mug. “I keep waiting to wake up.”
She has me worried. This isn’t like Lauren’s practical approach to things or even the tearful approach of some of the others. I can understand why Marisol wants to hide. I don’t understand this. Angie’s so…blank. So out of it. I can’t blame her, because I can’t imagine how she feels. She went to bed one night and woke up on an alien planet pregnant with an alien baby. That’s a lot to take in, but she’s not hysterical at all. I don’t even know if she’s there. She goes through the motions, but it’s like something isn’t clicking inside. Maybe I should say something to someone.
I look around the groups of people worriedly. Who do I trust out of all of them? Lauren, sure, but right now she’s busy comforting a shivering Marisol, and a few others are looking to her as if she has all the answers. I don’t need to burden her with anything else. Devi’s looking our way with sympathy from another fire, but…Devi talks. And talks. And talks. I don’t know if a delicate matter is something she can keep under wraps. I look out and see the two bright red men gazing in our direction, their eyes intent on Angie as they slurp down food without looking at it.
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