Dax: Book Eight in the Galaxy Gladiators Alien Abduction Romance Series

by Alana Khan

  After leaving the dungeon, we climb two flights of stairs. Dear God, I hope we left all the water, vermin, and serpents behind. We enter a single room the size of the cell. It has walls —yay, no bars. There’s even an adjoining restroom which is great, using the bucket last night was gross. And it’s clean. No rats, no snakes, but also no windows.

  The moment the guards leave, Dax and I inspect for anything we can use as a weapon. The bed is a platform with no legs to use as a club. There’s nothing in the stark bathroom other than the built-in facilities.

  “Did you think I’d go to all the trouble to get you here and then give you the opportunity to escape?” Asher’s voice interrupts, “It would be unwise to underestimate me.”

  I want to tell him to fuck off, but I clamp my lips together and take a breath. A picture of Dax writhing in agony, his hands scrabbling at the collar on his throat, is at the front of my brain.

  “Clean up. I don’t want to smell you. Get dressed. I’ll provide clothes. You’ll be joining me for a morning repast in thirty minimas.”

  We both climb into the small shower and wash. If I didn’t think Asher would kill me, I’d stay in here an hour. There’s no way I’ll ever feel clean after what we just went through. I worry about rodent-transmitted diseases —there’s only so much soap can do.

  When my heart rate’s back to normal, I launch at Dax, throwing my arms around his neck. “Oh my God, Dax. We were so close to death.” My hands flutter as the truth of that statement hits me with full force.

  “I felt powerless. I couldn’t protect you,” he says, then cups my cheeks in his palms and dips his head to kiss me. “We need to get dressed. I don’t think he’ll take kindly to us being late.”

  When we emerge from the steamy bathroom I see a loincloth, a dress, and medical supplies lying on the bed.

  The antiseptic spray also has a powerful analgesic. The burning pain stops immediately wherever Dax sprays me. He has twice as many bites as me, but soon we’re both patched up as well as possible.

  “Take the shots,” Asher commands from the invisible comm. “They’ll protect you from diseases.”

  We do as we’re told. The fact that he’s watching everything we do barely provokes me. Dax and I got used to it on board the ship when we were still slaves.

  I’m wearing a dress that covers not one but two boobs; Dax has on a clean loincloth.

  The soldiers escort us to a sunny dining room filled with fancy wooden buffets displaying fine china. There’s a sideboard along one wall groaning with delicious-smelling food.

  I slip my hand into Dax’s as we stand in front of a long wooden table. It’s surreal that in the last two hours we’ve been attacked by rats and survived a flood, and now we’re in this opulent parlor being plied with fine food.

  I still wonder if we’re in Hell and Asher is the devil. Even if we are alive and this isn’t Hell, Asher is definitely a devil.

  He sniffs in through his nose and looks us up and down. “I wish I could say you clean up well, but adequate will have to do.”

  Seriously? He’s insulting what we look like? He just morphed from Mephistopheles to a junior high school girl.

  “But where are my manners? Fill up a plate and have a seat.”

  I wonder if it’s drugged or poisoned.

  Asher takes a dainty bite. “Do you think I would poison you? I’m offended. It’s all edible. I promise.”

  Alien food still baffles me, but it all looks good. Besides, almost dying made me ravenous. I take a smidgeon of everything and sit near the foot of the table next to Dax. Asher’s at the other end of the ten-foot-long burled wood table. Real gold fills the natural divots and crags in the wood to create a flat surface. I hate to admit it, but if he was trying to impress me with his wealth, he succeeded.

  We have real silverware, including serrated knives. I consider stabbing him for one moment, then realize I’d not only need the power of flight to get to the other end of the table, but I’d also need to overpower the two well-armed guards as well as disable our pain/kill collars.

  Did I think he looked on the high side of seventy yesterday? Today he looks barely old enough to qualify for AARP. I’d put him in his early 50s. He’s wearing a snow-white formal suit which highlights his pale chartreuse skin, and not in a good way. The jacket falls to mid-calf and accentuates broad shoulders and a trim waist. His brown eyes are sharp —and they’re staring right at me.

  “How’s the breen? I’ve shipped it in from planet Emirus. And the sardix soufflé? Is it to your liking?”

  “Mmf,” Dax grunts. I guess he doesn’t want his silence to totally piss off our host but doesn’t want to compliment the food, either.

  “Well, it seems the pleasantries are over, so I’ll get to the point.” He waves his henchmen out of the room.

  Dax and I both sit up straighter, sensing an opportunity to escape.

  “Don’t get too excited.” He points to his wrist. “I still control your collars. Let’s focus on our chat, shall we?

  “Have you ever wondered why some are born into poverty, some are born into slavery like you Dax, and some are born into privilege?”

  He doesn’t wait for a response; this is obviously a monologue.

  “I think most people on the bottom of the stack, like the two of you, imagine it’s luck or a quirk of fate that lands some people at the top and some at the bottom. But I’ll fill you in on a little secret —the system’s built this way on purpose.

  “Since time immemorial those of us at the top have conspired to keep as many people as possible in dire circumstances. We live in privilege, you live in squalor. We want for nothing, you worry about where your next meal will come from.

  He stops to enjoy a bite of a flakey, buttery pastry. “Delightful.” He smiles, then takes a deep breath.

  “We created slavery. How else could we get anyone to fight to the death in an arena for our amusement?

  “We later abolished slavery in many places because frankly, it’s more cost effective to use cheap labor and let people scrabble for their own food and shelter while we collect fantastic rents.

  “We eat our breen, and own our slaves, and build our factories and don’t pay our workers a living wage. We’ve engineered the system to keep everyone at the bottom fighting and hating each other so much they never look up to see whose foot is on their necks.”

  He makes a show of spooning a poached egg out of its shell and letting the yellow ooze onto a piece of toast.

  “Delicious. As I was saying, if you took a moment to think, you would have noticed all of this eons ago. But you’ve been so busy surviving you never had time to give it a great deal of thought.

  “How did this system evolve? Some of us created it. What you don’t know is that there is a cadre of individuals all over the galaxy who’ve been around a long time. I’m Asher the Ninth, before that I was Asher the Eighth, prior to that the Seventh, and so on. And before that I was many variations of Prosper, ending with Prosper the tenth.

  “Most humanoids were meant to live several hundred years, but you don’t. Guess why?” He doesn’t wait for us to say anything, not that we would. “We introduced deadly chemicals into delicious, cheap food to keep you addicted, kill you faster, and line our pockets at the same time. Brilliant, don’t you think? Why keep you around if you can no longer serve? Just soaking up resources. What a waste.

  “But I digress. The reason I require the two of you is that every eighty years or so I need to be replenished. There’s a tiny gland in my throat that converts terror into rejuvenating chemicals.

  “And then you two fell into my lap. I own many businesses, one of which are gladiator stables. I bought Dax to fight, but he escaped on his way to my premier ludus. When I discovered him on Aeon II and watched the vids of you two, you can imagine my excitement. A blind man could see how fond you were of each other. I knew you were just what I needed for my youth treatment.

  “Watching you two in my dungeon was the most fun I’ve ha
d in years. I forgot how much I enjoy this process. Usually, I kill my ‘donors’, but they say we get mellower as we age.” He shrugs and gives us a devilish smile.

  “I’m going to suck you two dry until I’m looking young and fit and my cock can drack for hoaras again. Then I’ll give Dax one more chance at a premier fight at the Septus games.

  “It will make great theater —that is if you live that long. Dax from Thrace resurrected from death to fight to the death. That’s a catchy slogan, don’t you think? It should make me millions.

  “So there you have it. A few more days of fun and games, maybe back to the dungeon, maybe some other horrors I can dream up. Then if you make it that far, a fight to the death. Winner takes all, so to speak. If Dax dies in the arena, so do you, Dahlia.

  “You’re dismissed.”

  He calls to his lackeys and we’re escorted back to our room.

  Chapter Nine

  Dahlia

  Dax catches me before I fall when the guards toss me into our room after that edifying little talk with Ashhole.

  “So, more of the same, huh? I —”

  “Dahlia, let me remind you he’s listening to every word. We wear pain/kill collars and live only because he allows it.”

  It’s the first time Dax has scolded me. I deserve it. “Right. You’re right.” I bite my lip from sarcastically mentioning what a prince of a guy Asher is. “We need a strategy for the next onslaught.”

  “He will do what he will do. He wants terror and he will produce it. Whatever happens, stick close to me unless I tell you otherwise. There are no strategies other than to live through whatever happens.”

  “On Earth, we have a couple sayings, one is ‘come Hell or high water.’ I’ve lived through both today. The other is ‘give the devil his due.’ I’m not exactly sure what that means, but I guess that’s the strategy.”

  “You told me you hadn’t discovered all the strength you had inside you. I think you’ll find it, Dahlia. We’ll get through this.”

  He sits on the bed, pulls me onto his lap, and strokes my hair. Leaning to whisper in my ear he says, “This has been such a difficult day, but if I live, I’ll remember it as the best day of my life.”

  “Really?” I snipe. And I don’t bother whispering, I don’t care if Asher hears what I have to say. I bite my tongue from reminding him of the litany of horrible things from death to going to Hell that have happened in the last twenty-four hours.

  “You told me you love me, Dahl. That makes my heart sing.” He pauses, his lips still warmly brushing my ear. “Or was that just… just because you thought you were dying?”

  Was it? Did I mean it? How could I know how I feel when I’ve lived through multiple plagues of biblical proportions today?

  “I…”

  He presses my head to his warm chest and says, “Your hesitation is answer enough. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. I understand.”

  Straddling his lap, I place my knees on the bed on either side of his hips. My eyes flare open as I realize how intimate this position is.

  “How could I possibly discern my true emotions at a time like this, Dax? What I do know is that what I told you the other day is still true. I want to get to know you better. It’s crazy to want to do this now, but in some ways, there couldn’t be a better time. Will you do something with me?”

  “Do something crazy with you in a cell with Asher watching? Why not?”

  There it is, Dax’s open, sweet smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief like we weren’t expecting to be tortured later in the day.

  “I like your style, Dax.”

  “I only wear loincloths —or nothing —you once told me I had no style,” he kids.

  “That’s true, you have no sartorial style. But your personality is one-of-a-kind.”

  “The devil is one of a kind, too. That’s not necessarily a good thing.”

  We’re teasing each other even while we’re on the precipice of death. I wouldn’t have guessed it was possible.

  “So, what’s this crazy thing I’ve agreed to do.”

  “It’s called eye gazing —”

  “I’m doing it right now, my eyes are gazing at your beautiful, messy red hair.” He touches the coils as if they’re the most precious things on the planet.

  “No, it’s called Tantric eye gazing. It’s a technique,” I scold, but I’m beaming a smile at him. “I don’t remember all the rules, but it’s supposed to be amazing to share it with your partner. It can be… intimate.”

  “We’ve already established that I like intimate.” He winks.

  I wait for a cheap stolen ass or boob grab, but he just gives me a smoldering look.

  “So this is a different kind of intimate that even watchful eyes can’t spy on. We can sit like this and we just gaze into each other’s eyes. Well, if I remember correctly, the left eye. And no talking. You simply get quiet and gaze. I’ve read it can be scary. Some people get nervous giggles or physically uncomfortable, but it helps you connect.”

  “Did it… did it feel good when you did it with Larry?”

  “I never did it with Larry,” I reassure him.

  “Why?”

  How do I explain that Larry was an accountant who only believed in what he could see? He added numbers for a living. He did nothing that couldn’t be proven, didn’t think outside the box, and didn’t take risks.

  “Larry wasn’t the type of guy I could ask. And if I had, the answer would have been no. You are that type of guy, Dax.”

  He can’t hide his wide smile. “Then let’s gaze.” He nods at me.

  I wiggle to be back farther toward his knees, then put two pillows under my bottom so I don’t get a crick in my neck from looking up at him.

  I have time to regret this when our eyes meet and my gaze skitters from his. It feels invasive —too personal. I settle myself down, take a few deep breaths, then look back into his leaf-green eyes. They’re the soft green of brand new leaves when they burst open in the spring.

  A pang of anxiety springs up out of nowhere, but it dissolves and I ease into tranquility. I have long moments without thoughts. My comfort of just being with him increases. Now I’m hallucinating —I hear him talking to me although his lips aren’t moving.

  He’s not exactly saying words. He’s...pushing love at me like he does everything —hard and fast. He’s bombarding me with caring. And then the brutal truth strikes me as harsh as a baseball bat that this is nothing new. I’ve felt this almost from the beginning.

  He’s never kept this from me. It’s barraged me in a steady stream. I just wasn’t ready to hear it —or feel it. Well, I’m hearing it now. He’s filling me with love. Dear God, I’m overflowing with it. And it’s so mellow and easy. He wants nothing in return. He just keeps lobbing it at me. Drenching me with it.

  I breathe deep into my abdomen and let his caring concern rush over me and fill me up. And then I realize I have enough —more than enough —and I send it back to him. It’s a circuit with no beginning and no end. Just endless love.

  Tears are streaming down my face. I let them flow. I don’t want to wrench my eyes from his, or lift my hands from where they rest on his forearms. How interesting that he’s crying, too. Big gladiator Dax is letting me see into his soul —cracks, weaknesses and all.

  I break the spell when I lean toward him and brush his warm lips with mine. My stomach feels funny, like I jumped off a building. But it’s wonderful —like I jumped off a building into the arms of someone I’m certain will catch me.

  I put my lips to his ear and cover my mouth. What I’m about to say is between two people and is not for the likes of eavesdropping dirty old men.

  “I love you, Dax from Thrace,” no sounds escape my lips, just breath. “I know you. I see who you are. What you look like in your skin is beautiful, but I love what’s underneath. I love you.”

  What the last twenty-four hours have taught me is that life is short. Way too short to worry about a voyeur, although I pull the bedsp
read over both our heads so we’re shrouded in privacy.

  “Will you let me make love to you Dax? We never really have. We’ve fucked on command. We’ve been friends with benefits. And the other night in the hotel you called what we did ‘play’. I want lovemaking, Dax. Can we do that even under the worst of circumstances?”

  “Yes.” He pauses, then, “This will be your first time, Dahl, but I’ve made love to you for months.” He’s not trying to guilt me, just stating the facts.