by Alana Khan
“Did my administrator not make it perfectly clear that I am looking for Mythrians and only Mythrians?” Drayke lifts his chin and looks down his nose at the Anterion. Ooh, Drayke can be a haughty asshole when he wants.
“Why yes,” Oblet stammers, “yes sir. But we have only one slave who fits that description and he is not worth buying. He’s in poor shape. Uh, he came to us that way. Of course, we’ve spared no expense trying to improve his health, to no avail.”
He approaches to hand his computer pad to Drayke. Steele forcefully steps between them, but not before Drayke growls.
“Now you’ve done it, you thick-headed Anterion. Are you feeble-minded? Did I not tell you the doctor does not want your filthy carcass within ten paces of him?” Steel’s tone is demanding, condescending. “Do you not see how elegantly he’s dressed? How rich his garments? Point us in the direction of the Mythrian and leave us.”
Well done, Steele. Catastrophe averted. At least for the moment.
Dr. Drayke sun Omrun
Luckily I have an ornamental handkerchief in my pocket. I want to place it over my own nose and mouth so I don’t have to breathe the fetid odors of the slave pens. I hand it to Nova, who’s practically tripping over her feet to keep up with me as we race to get this over with. I put no pressure on the leash, I don’t want to chafe her, or pull on her delicate throat.
When Steele finds the proper pen, I can’t believe the sight before my eyes. Axxios is well-bred. Of all the gladiators on board the ship, he most clearly came from high-born circumstances before he was enslaved. To see his silver-skinned twin, a nobleman in his own right, lying on that noxious pile of foul hishra, is bad enough. But as I move closer, I can see his health is in poor condition.
He probably weighs thirty percent less than his twin. He’s in a fetal position on his side; every bone in his spine clearly visible under his damaged skin. There are patches on his hips and buttocks that have been rubbed raw from lying in his own urine.
I have to look closely to see if he’s sleeping, comatose, or dead. I sink to my knees in the filth to minister to him. Upon further inspection, even in his despicable condition, the resemblance to his brother is striking. Though he is silver and his brother is gold, there is no doubt this is Axxios’s twin.
“Braxxus. Braxxus.” I call gently. I don’t want to scare him. If he wakes to see myself and Steele leaning over him, I don’t want his self-protective instincts to kick in. He doesn’t look like he has the strength to move, much less make a misguided attempt to struggle with us.
His eyes open to slits, as if the fading sunlight is too much for his retinas to bear.
“I’m Dr. Drayke sun Omrun. I’ve come at Axxios’s request. We’re here to buy you and bring you on board our vessel. Your brother awaits you there.”
“Drack you,” he whispers. “Axxios is dead.” He’s panting. The effort of those five words winded him.
I anticipated this reaction. Why would a male who’s been treated so badly believe one thing anyone tells him?
“I know Axxios. I’ve tended to him when he’s been injured sparring. He’s spoken of you often. He calls you his gem.”
He seems nonplussed, still panting, now through clenched teeth.
“He has a short thick scar above his right nipple,” I tell him to prove I know his brother. “I’m a friend. We’ve come to take you off this planet and reunite you with your gem.”
Still no response.
“Even if we’re lying, what have you got to lose? If we’re enemies and kill you, it would be putting you out of your misery. If we’re friends, we’ll save your life.” I don’t expect a response.
He answers by putting up no resistance as I begin my examination. I’ve brought my medical bag and put on a pair of protective gloves. Who knows what kind of communicable diseases could be running rampant in this disgusting drackhole?
I palpate his head, behind his ears, his jaw, and downward. He’s in such rough shape, I have no intention of dealing with any but the most urgent issues. There will be plenty of time when we return to the Slacker to address small issues like vermin, bedsores, and the scars in various stages of healing I see all over his malnourished body.
I push the filthy hishra to the side to get a better look at him. Both Steele and I stifle gasps as we see the deplorable state of his flesh. There are dozens of huge, gaping wounds, many in various stages of putrefaction. The smell of his rotting flesh assails us. I’m thankful Nova is backed into the corner and can’t see this. I’ve been through medical school, I’ve dissected cadavers; I’ve rarely seen, or smelled, anything this disgusting.
I use the medpad to examine his internal organs. One of the necrotizing wounds on his back appears to be a deep puncture from a sword. There’s severe internal injury. Braxxus's general external condition is nothing compared to the state of this internal wound. It isn’t worth wasting another moment in this repugnant place. The faster we get him to an antiseptic room in medbay, the sooner I can begin healing him.
I take a modicum to glance at his genitals to insure he hasn’t already been castrated. Luckily he is still intact. He might not wish to live if his manhood was taken.
“Steele, call Zar. We need three males and a hover stretcher. Tell them to hurry. Tell that odious Anterion we’re buying this one. I want this male on our vessel in less than ten minimas if possible.”
I’ve been so consumed with Braxxus's condition, I’ve been able to overcome the bonding sickness, with no preoccupation with Nova. Now that I have a moment’s time on my hands, my obsession kicks in with a vengeance.
“Steele, mind your distance from the female,” the warning tone in my voice is fierce. I try to focus my attention back to my patient.
“Braxxus, we’re bringing you on board our ship. I’ll begin treating your wounds as soon as we arrive.”
Oblet arrives with his pad and barges into the cell. This puts him within ten fiertos of Nova; I rise and give him a full-throated growl; my nostrils flare, my eyes narrow.
“It’s amazing you grew to be an adult,” Steele snarls at the reptilian. “You don’t have the brains of a small child.” He grabs Oblet’s pad and hands it to me to look at. Steele was raised a slave, I don’t believe he knows how to read.
“30,000 credits for a male as sick as this?” I’m incredulous. I don’t want to bargain with the Anterion, but I have to let him know I don’t approve of his price gouging.
“Take it or leave it.” He’s mighty impertinent for a male of his stature who’s standing in the presence of a huge, well-trained warrior such as Steele.
I reach out to hand him my card for him to take the credits. He ignores the card and, his voice unctuous, offers, “I’ll take her in trade and give you an extra 10,000.” I’m already in action when his hand touches Nova’s cheek.
My vision immediately turns red. All higher thought ceases in a heartbeat.
Kill. Kill. Death. Blood. Kill.
Nova
Holy shit. Drayke was sane and in control one minute and like a crazed, feral animal the next. His face is a tight rictus of rage. His movements are so swift I can barely track them. Luckily, he didn’t reach for his gun, or that sleazy reptile would be lying dead in a heap of hay and feces.
Steele was bending down to ready Braxxus for transport. With him in that position, Drayke had easy access to the lethal three-foot-long sword Steele carried sheathed on his back.
In one easy movement, Drayke slipped the sword out of its wide scabbard and swung it at Oblet’s neck. The asshole might be out of shape, but he has a strong self-preservation instinct, because he ducked, turned on his heel and ran from the cell.
“Kill,” is the only word Drayke can utter. He keeps repeating it in a flat, deadly chant. His eyes are hollow and unseeing. Steele is forcefully holding Drayke back from running after the reptilian. Drayke must retain some ability for rational thought; he allows Steele to grab his sword, heft it over his own head, and sheath it behind him in one practice
d movement.
We’re on high alert now. I assume Oblet will return with reinforcements. What if he refuses to sell Braxxus to us?
Drayke stalks toward me, his blue irises almost black; the word “kill” repeating over and over from his usually-composed mouth. I glance at Steele and notice every muscle in his body tense as he leans forward, poised perhaps to intervene between Drayke and me if I’m attacked.
I shake my head at Steele and open my arms to Drayke. I know he’s in there. I know the kind, loving, protective doctor is somewhere inside the deranged murderous male who just came within an inch of beheading that repulsive reptilian. Drayke falls to his knees at my feet, his arms around my waist as he pulls me toward him.
My smell. I realize my personal smell might calm him, even in his current state. I take his head in my hands and press his nose into the vee between my legs. He takes huge gulps of air through the fabric of my dress. It doesn’t seem like the time for modesty, and he’s too out of it to even remember that Steele is right behind him, standing sentinel over both of us.
I pull my attention to our predicament. I’m certain either Oblet and his sadistic cadre of guards or our own crew of gladiators are going to come running toward us any second. I’m hoping breathing in my scent will calm Drayke enough that he can walk out of here on his own steam without another homicide attempt.
I hear pounding footsteps and decide whether it’s friend or foe I can’t bear for any of them to see either Drayke or me in this position. I step back, extricate myself from his grasp, and smooth the dress over my thighs. Steele pulls him to a standing position.
“Keep breathing, Drayke. Take deep breaths. We’ll be back in our room soon. Our room on our safe vessel, in a short time. I’ll be all yours then. All yours. No one else’s.”
His eyes widen as he looks at me. It’s as if he’s asking me a question he can’t articulate.
“Yes.” I nod. “All yours. Just you and me. In our bed.” He seems to calm, nodding in sync with me. His eyes, still black, are focusing on my mouth.
Stryker, Dax, and Doctore run in with two hover stretchers. I realize Steele must have commed them and asked for a second one—for Drayke. It’s so sad things have come to this, but perhaps Steele was right to request another.
Braxxus’s transfer onto his stretcher elicits a soft moan, but he's so still I think he's comatose and feeling no pain. All the gladiators are looking at Drayke, assessing him. We’re all wondering if we can get him to walk with us, or if he should just be tied to a stretcher and swiftly transported to the safety of the ship.
His body tenses again and a loud growl escapes him. He puts his weight on the balls of his feet and lifts his tightened fists. He’s not in fight or flight mode, he’s incapable of flight. He’s ready to attack all four humongous, muscled gladiators.
Stryker presses a button on the stretcher and recessed legs snap down so it now rests on the ground. All four gladiators surround Drayke. He always seems so tall and potent to me, but now, surrounded by a thousand pounds of gladiator muscle he’s clearly overpowered.
I have to give them credit, they talk among themselves and organize a takedown designed for maximum effectiveness and minimum aggression. They have him strapped to the stretcher almost before he knows what hit him.
We maneuver down the walkway at a run. Stryker veers off at the main office while we wait for him to complete the paperwork. When that’s finished, we jog toward the docks, hoping to leave atmo ASAP.
I hear Steele comming Zar, “If Shadow and Petra aren’t back, have them meet us at the vessel immediately. We may have trouble with law enforcement. Let’s get the drack out of here.”
It’s perfect timing; as we approach the Slacker’s ramp we see Shadow and Petra running toward us from the other direction.
“I hope you got a lot of credits,” Stryker tells them as we board the ship. “That dracking Anterion drained our account. Had the balls to tell me to call the local badges if I wanted to dispute it.”
~.~
I’m in one of the private rooms in medbay sitting at Drayke’s bedside. It’s a small space, maybe eight by ten, stark and utilitarian. Two robotic medbot arms are folded against the metal wall. There’s a window in the door, so we have no privacy whatsoever.
Drayke’s wrists are tied in soft restraints to the arms of the bed. I begged Steele to figure out how to give him enough drugs to knock him out after Drayke screamed obscenities for fifteen minutes straight. He’s resting quietly now, thank goodness.
I've scooted my chair as close to him as possible and I’m combing my fingers through his lovely blue-black hair. I know my presence calms him, because when I went to the adjoining restroom for just a moment he began tossing his head and pulling heavily against the restraints.
Axxios knocks at the door, “May I come in?”
“Sure.”
Axxios pulls up the only other chair in the little room and sits a few feet from me even as he glances over to make sure Drayke is completely out of it. If he were to wake up and see me so near another male we’d be in for another round of complete mayhem.
“Steele told the medbot to sedate him. He seems to be out,” I inform Axxios.
I take this opportunity to take a good look at this male. Axxios is humanoid. His skin is an exquisite color, like pure gold. He is the most heavily-muscled male I’ve seen on any planet in this galaxy. His neck is thick and densely-corded with muscles. I’ve watched him around the ship, he moves with an elegance and grace that signifies highborn breeding.
“May I speak freely?” He waits patiently for my answer, his eyes never wavering from mine.
I’m debating whether I want to ask him to leave. I’m certain Axxios is going to ask me to do whatever it takes to make Drayke better so he can treat Braxxus, who is clearly dying in the next room.
He’s still waiting. It would be rude to say no. “Yes,” I say curtly although I really don’t want to have this talk.
“I obviously have an ulterior motive. Of course I want you to let the doctor bond with you. I’d love it if you would share intercourse with the male so his insanity would lift and he could stroll into my brother’s room and attend to him. But I won’t ask you to do that, Nova.
“We’ve all been slaves. We’ve all been forced to do things against our will. The time for that is behind us. Free will. We all deserve it.”
Okay, those are wonderful words, but he wouldn’t have waltzed in here and started this conversation if there wasn’t a very big request about to come out of his mouth.
“Braxxus isn’t just a brother, Nova. He’s my twin. Most Mythrian males are born as twins. We have psychic bonds, connections that are deeper than genetics. We...share thoughts, and emotions. If he dies, a part of me dies, too. There are...things in life I will never be able to have if my twin dies. I don’t tell you this to pressure you to say yes, but to explain why I have to ask.
“I’ve researched Drayke’s race, the Dacians. I’ve read a great deal about their bonding physiology and customs.” He hands me a computer pad. “I understand you barely know the doctor, and the idea of a bonding ceremony is too quick for you. But I’ve watched you with him, from afar, of course, and you seem to genuinely enjoy his company.
“I believe I’ve found a possible workaround in the literature. Something you might feel comfortable with that wouldn’t entail fully bonding with him, but might allow him to regain his sanity long enough to save my brother.” He pauses for a long breath. This is obviously uncomfortable for him; he knows he’s pressuring me. “This is a completely selfish request, believe me, I thought long and hard about asking this. I probably shouldn’t, but I have to.”
He hands me the pad. “I’ve pulled several articles from the Intergalactic Computer Database. There are some informative ones about his physiology and the bonding chemistry, but I think the one that is most helpful is written from an anthropological viewpoint. I’ve indexed it and you’ll find it first. It’s translated into your langu
age.
“Tyree’s at the helm, I’ll be in Braxxus's room next door. When you’re finished reading, could you talk to me?”
“I have no idea what you’re asking, Axxios.” I’m sure he noticed I didn’t reach out to take the proffered pad.
“Brianna tells me the conversation will embarrass you. She recommended I let you read about it instead. I may not have much time left with my brother, I’ll be in his room.”
Oh, that last comment was a little heavy-handed, but I won’t hold it against him. It’s obvious how close he is with Braxxus; of course he wants me to do whatever it takes to keep him alive. I take the pad and he leaves.
I stand up to lean over the raised sidebar of the bed. I kiss Drayke’s forehead and smooth his hair back. I’ve only known him a short while, but we’ve gotten close. I’m not only attracted to him physically, but he’s such a kind and thoughtful male. No man in my life has ever tried to make me comfortable or protect me.
My brothers were rowdy and took pleasure in overpowering me. My father was distracted and overwhelmed with nine kids. He was an authoritarian when he tried to maintain control. He really didn’t know how to tend to his only daughter. Drayke’s kindness has softened my heart and enlightened me in many ways. But I still can’t imagine eternity with anyone. Ever. Certainly I can’t commit to someone I’ve known for such a short span of time.
I start reading the first article that pops up. “Dacian Bonding Rituals and their Effects on the Socio-Spiritual Fabric of Society” in the Intergalactic Journal of Anthropological Research. Let’s see if I can stay awake through the first page.
Considering the male I’m falling for has asked me to bond with him, I find this article fascinating—and it scares the pants off me. It reiterates that physically Dacian males will go insane if they don’t bond with their mates within days or weeks. A few lucky ones last a few months before they go totally bonkers. But the part labeled “Culture and Mores of the Anterosian Religion” is where my stomach clenches in fear.
“Followers of Lord Anteros complete their bonding ceremony in what they call the ‘Opening of the Three Gates.’ The Three Gates are opened one each on three successive nights. Each evening begins with the male and female engaging in ritual bath and prayer. On the first night, the First Gate is opened when the female engages in…”
