by Anna Hackett
“Let’s head to the Sword and Shield. I need an ale and a game of bach.”
“You’re terrible at bach. You always lose everything.”
As the group continued to tease their friend for not playing the game of bach very well, Regan followed them. They were going to a bar. That was good. She could blend in, and maybe they’d relax and talk about what was going on inside the House of Thrax.
They moved to a busier part of the tunnels. Regan saw people with small tables selling various trinkets and small goods. A few enterprising children in grubby clothes were running a shell game with small cups and colored stones.
The workers moved through an arched doorway. Above it, was a stone carved with the image of a rectangular shield with a sword crossing it. From inside, Regan could hear music and talking. She followed them inside.
When she got a good look at the bar, she hesitated. The place was…rough. There was a long, carved-stone bar at the rear of the large room, with a grizzled bartender filling glasses with brown liquid. Off to the left were tables and chairs filled with lots of different species, and on the right-hand side were what appeared to be various gaming tables. The place smelled of unwashed bodies and alcohol.
She moved toward the bar, waiting to see where the House of Thrax workers would sit. She let her gaze drift over the crowd. She saw some men scuffling in a corner, landing hard punches. She winced. She heard some women laughing out loud, as they played a game with a holographic tower in the center of their table.
When she saw the workers sit at a round table, she moved over and found a free chair not far away. She turned her back to them, but listened intently.
As she predicted, they got drinks and started to relax. They also started to moan about working for the House of Thrax.
“Always orders,” one woman grumbled. “Never a kind word.”
“They’re Thraxian,” a man said. “If you wanted kind, you should have gone elsewhere. As long as they pay, I don’t care about their manners.”
“Just be happy you’re not on the other side of their cages,” another man said darkly.
Regan pressed her hands to her table. Come on. Talk about Rory.
Someone stopped by her table. “You sit here, you buy a drink.”
She looked up. It was the rough bartender. “Ah…okay. I’ll have whatever’s good.” She had one tiny coin that Harper had given her.
The bartender’s yellow-brown gaze narrowed. “Nothing’s good.” He stomped off.
Regan blew out a breath, and tuned back in to the workers’ conversation behind her. Comments about the Thraxians’ latest auction caught her ear.
“Heard they got a pretty penny for their latest pet. Finally sold her off.”
“Maybe she’s better off somewhere else.”
“I heard the Thraxian imperator was glad to get rid of this one. She was trouble. A fighter.”
Regan strained to hear more.
“I think they just wanted to avoid any more confrontation with the House of Galen.”
Suddenly, a glass was slammed down on the table, spilling some frothy ale over the side.
“Ale,” the bartender growled at her. She pulled out her coin and handed it to him. He stomped away.
Regan lifted the drink and took a sip. Then she spluttered. It wasn’t like any beer she’d ever had. She tried not to cough, her eyes watering. The damn stuff nearly took her head off. Jeez.
The workers behind her were now talking about something else, gossiping about some man and woman who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
Regan tapped the table. They had to have been talking about Rory. Okay, she’d been sold and she wasn’t with the Thraxians. At least she had something to work with, now.
Suddenly, another big body stopped by her table and Rory looked up again. Way up. The alien towered over her. He had dark, iridescent skin that gleamed under the lights, making her think of sunlight on a black pearl. “We want you to come and play bach with us.”
She smiled. “No, thank you. I’m waiting for a friend.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
Regan barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. What was it with the males on this planet? One look at her, and they just thought they could boss her around. She lifted her drink and stood. “I said no, thank you—”
That’s when her foot collided with the edge of the table and she tipped forward. Her drink splashed over the alien’s chest.
Uh, oh. “I’m so sorry—”
The alien spluttered, tugging at his wet shirt. “That was a grave insult.”
It was? “I said I was sorry. I didn’t intend to—”
“Baront, this female disgraced you by throwing her drink at you.” Another alien appeared, staring at his friend’s wet chest in horror. “A grave insult.”
“It was an accident.” She threw her hand out and accidentally smacked someone walking past. She turned and saw another alien. This one was covered in a long, shaggy fur.
“Watch yourself,” the alien barked.
Regan stepped back and knocked into another scaled alien. This one stumbled into the one she’d splashed with her drink.
Before she could say anything else, Baront shoved the scaled alien who’d bumped him. The scaled alien let out an angry hiss and shoved back.
In a blink, a fight broke out.
As fists flew, Regan ducked. Someone bumped into her, and as she stumbled, she saw a table sail past her head.
Oh, God. She dropped to her hands and knees. As she scrambled toward another table, she heard the thud of kicks and punches, and saw bodies hitting the floor.
Chairs scraped, and it looked like everyone was joining the fight.
Oh, hell. Regan scooted under another table. What now, Regan?
***
Thorin pushed himself harder, running through the obstacle course set up in the training arena.
He pumped his arms and leaped over some stacked stones. He raced across some logs, then jumped into the air, swinging his axe over his head.
The axe slammed into the target—a sack filled with sand.
He stopped, his lungs heaving, and rested the head of his axe on the ground.
“That’s the twentieth time you’ve been through the course.” Raiden appeared beside him. “You’re pushing yourself pretty hard today.”
Thorin grunted and swung his axe up over his shoulder.
“Why?” Raiden set his hands on his hips, the tattoos on his arms flexing with his muscles.
“No reason.”
His friend didn’t look convinced. Thorin wasn’t going to admit that he was trying to get the feel of Regan out of his head. If he was tired enough and sore enough, maybe he’d stop thinking about her.
“We still on for the mission for tonight?” Thorin asked. He sure hoped they were. He needed the action to keep him busy.
Raiden nodded. “A worker in the House of Gorm’lah will smuggle the two underage slaves out. We’ll meet them and transport them to the spaceport. Galen’s arranged berths for them on a freighter.”
Thorin felt a flood of satisfaction. This was the true work he and the other gladiators did. They fought in the arena, seemingly for the glory and prestige, but underneath it all, they helped smuggle the abducted, the injured, the slaves, and the smaller, weaker gladiators out of the arena.
It was then he spotted a young kid hovering in the first row of seats of the training arena. The boy looked antsy. Thorin frowned. It was Dash. He was an arena rat—orphan kids that lived and worked around the arena—who had helped get a message to Harper once about Regan. Now, they paid the boy to run errands.
“What’s Dash doing here?” Thorin said.
Raiden frowned. “He looks twitchy.”
Together, they walked over to the boy. “Dash,” Thorin greeted him.
The young boy wiped a hand across his mouth. “Your female’s in trouble. The Earth woman.”
Thorin glanced over his shoulder, looking at where Harper w
as training on the other side of the arena. She was working with some new recruits.
Raiden shook his head. “Harper’s right here.”
Dash shook his head, his dark hair flying. “No, not your woman. Thorin’s.”
Thorin straightened. “Regan?” Some unfamiliar emotion rushed through him, leaving his chest tight. “What’s happened to her? Where is she?”
“Heard from a bartender at a dive bar in the lower levels where the arena workers go. The Shield and Sword.”
Thorin resisted the urge to grab the boy. “I’ve heard of it.”
“He said she’s there. She started a fight.”
Thorin cursed. He spun, striding toward the tunnels. What the hell was Regan doing out of the House of Galen alone? Drak, what was she doing in a bar, starting a fight?
“Lore? Nero? Need you,” Raiden called out. “Bring a weapon.”
As the two big gladiators headed over, Harper spotted them.
She jogged across the arena. “What’s wrong?”
Thorin forced himself to pause. His hands flexed. He needed to get to Regan.
“Regan went out for a wander.” Raiden reached up, sliding his short sword into the scabbard on his back.
“I’m coming,” Harper said grimly.
Raiden gripped her shoulder. “You have recruits to train. Take care of them, and we’ll bring her back safely.”
Harper’s jaw tightened, and she looked like she wanted to argue. Then she looked at Thorin.
He nodded at her. “I’ll find her.”
“Go,” Harper said.
Thorin stepped into the tunnel, the cooler air swirling around him. Anger was rising. If anyone hurt her…
“Can you keep your cool, or do I have to lock you down?”
Thorin didn’t even look at Raiden. “I’m cool.”
“What’s she doing out of the House of Galen?” Lore asked.
Thorin growled. “I plan to find out.”
It didn’t take long for them to reach the Shield and Sword. Before they reached the doorway, Thorin heard the sounds of brawling. A body came flying out of the door. The alien man hit the stone floor and skidded, letting out a loud groan.
Thorin stepped over the body and entered the bar. Raiden, Lore, and Nero were right behind him.
He searched the gloom, but he couldn’t see her. There were bodies everywhere—people fighting, others cowering behind tables and chairs. A chair flew over the bar, smashing bottles on a shelf.
The bartender, a grizzled looking man, barely reacted. He was polishing glasses at the end of the bar.
Thorin hefted his axe. Those bar patrons closest to the door noticed the four of them had entered. A few stopped fighting, shifting away. Slowly, most of the room stilled. They sensed that there were bigger predators in the room.
Another sweep of the room, and Thorin spotted Regan. She was huddled under a table in the center of the room, wrapped in a sand-colored cloak.
There were still two aliens fighting beside her. One shoved the other and they crashed into Regan’s table, tipping it over.
When a giant Taazon spotted her, he grabbed her ankle and yanked her out into the open.
A muscle in Thorin’s jaw ticked. He strode forward.
“Thorin, don’t kill anyone,” Raiden said dryly.
Thorin watched as Regan kicked the Taazon. The man laughed.
After two more strides, Thorin lifted his axe and brought it down.
The axe skimmed the Taazon’s body and embedded into the edge of his boot, pinning him to the floor. Thorin had missed the man’s body parts by a whisper.
“The woman is mine,” Thorin said darkly.
The Taazon stared up at Thorin, his face a mask of terror. Thorin smelled the stench of urine as the man wet himself.
All around them, the bar had gone silent. He saw that Raiden and the others had fanned out, their weapons drawn.
Thorin met as many gazes as he could. “This woman has my protection. If anyone touches her, you take on me.”
“You take on the House of Galen,” Raiden added.
Regan pushed to her feet, dusting off her skirts. “I’m yours?” She stepped up and poked Thorin in the chest. “I’m not a thing, Thorin.”
He couldn’t believe she was doing this right now. “It’s best you don’t say anything, Regan.” He was so angry right now he was afraid of what he’d do to her.
“Or what?” She poked his chest again. “I was treated like a thing for months. No more.”
“I’m protecting you. It was foolish of you to come here.” He grabbed her arm. He looked around and saw that everyone was watching them, wide-eyed. People were always wary of gladiators, especially Raiden and Thorin. No one had ever dared to talk to him the way that Regan was.
Even before he’d come to the arena, he’d been feared by his own people. After years of fighting in the arena, he had a fearsome reputation.
Regan wasn’t afraid of him, and that was stupid of her.
“You started a fight,” he said to her.
“It wasn’t my fault.” She pulled a face. “Mostly. It was a misunderstanding.”
Tired of the argument and seeing her in this dive, he leaned down and picked her up. He tossed her over his shoulder.
She was still for a second, then she started wriggling. He anchored her there with one big hand over her curvy butt.
Then he turned, nodded at Raiden, and strode out.
Chapter Five
Regan was mad. Madder than she’d ever been in her entire life.
She was usually a calm, sensible woman, but being tossed over Thorin’s broad shoulder and carted off like a wayward child had ignited something inside her. As they strode through the tunnels, she noticed the big gladiator, Nero, grinning at her. Asshole.
Soon, they were back in the House of Galen, and, upside down, she saw Harper coming closer.
Her friend cleared her throat. “Thorin—”
“I’ll deal with her.” Thorin’s tone was unyielding.
Harper stepped forward, about to intervene, but Raiden wrapped his arms around her and yanked her away.
Thorin kept going, striding through the living area for the high-level gladiators, and through a door. Her chest hitched. They were in his bedroom. When he slammed the door behind them, it made a loud bang.
The room was messy, his enormous bed unmade and clothes tossed on the floor. The room smelled like him—something masculine and dark. He strode over to a couch and dumped her on it. As she landed, all the air left her lungs.
“You should never have left the House of Galen.” Thorin stood in front of her and crossed his big arms over his chest.
She lifted her chin. “Am I a prisoner?”
Something flickered over his face. “No. But you shouldn’t have left without an escort.”
She moved up onto her knees on the cushions. “You would have said no.”
“Absolutely.”
“I won’t be held captive again.”
He leaned down, big and intimidating, but she wasn’t afraid. Not of Thorin.
“I am protecting you.”
She looked at him, really looked at him. That’s when she realized his muscles were tense, his chest heaving, and his face set in stark lines.
He’d been worried about her.
The fight went out of her. She reached up and touched his chest. “I know. You’ve made me feel safe. The Thraxians kept me locked up, Thorin—” her breath hitched “—I can’t live like that again.”
He made a sound and grabbed her, pulling her up to his chest. “Why did you go out? Don’t you like it here? Do you want to leave?”
“No.” She pulled back. “I needed to do something to find Rory. I followed some House of Thrax workers, hoping to overhear information.”
He stared at her for a second, then, with a shake of his head, he sat down on the couch beside her. “Did you hear anything?”
She nodded. “I overheard them talking about the Thraxians selli
ng a woman. A fighter. I’m pretty sure they were talking about Rory.”
Thorin’s jaw tightened. “Sold to whom?”
“They didn’t say,” she whispered. “I have to find her.” Regan pressed her hands to his chest. “Please.”
His big hands wrapped around hers. “I promise we’ll find her. But you have to trust me. No more running off and risking yourself.”
“I didn’t mean to start that bar fight—”
“I didn’t think you did. But you’re small, not as strong as the other people here. You don’t know how to protect yourself.”
She straightened. “Then you need to teach me.”
“What?”
“Can you teach me how to fight and defend myself?”
For a second, Thorin looked horrified.
“It makes sense, Thorin. I’m halfway across the galaxy, on an unfamiliar, dangerous world, with no way home. I know I’ll never be a gladiator, but I need to know how to protect myself.”
He let out a long breath, and she could see he was caving.
“Please, Thorin.”
Finally, he gave her a small nod.
She relaxed against him. “Thank you for helping me.” The warmth of his big body seeped into her. He must have been training before he came to her rescue, as he was still wearing his fighting harness, and all those hard muscles of his were on display. She knew she shouldn’t touch him, but her hands were itching. She reached out and stroked her fingers across his chest.
That’s when she saw scales flicker on his skin, appearing in a dark blush of color.
She gasped. “Thorin.”
He made a tight sound and the scales disappeared.
“Your species has scales?” she asked.
“The Sirrush do not have scales.”
She frowned. “Then why—?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
There was an edge to his voice, and she swallowed. She snatched her hand back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He grabbed her arm. “You didn’t hurt me.”
She shifted beside him. The scales had been beautiful. She found all of him fascinating. She stared at his large hand against her paler skin. Scars crossed his knuckles, no doubt earned in the arena. She was so attracted to him, and not just his looks, but to his strength and his urge to protect others.
