Page 81 of Caged
The door closes behind us and a familiar scent rises up. Haxrix huffs, her furry tail almost twice its usual size.
“Males,” she hisses.
And she’s absolutely right. This stench can only be males, or at least mostly males kept in close quarters, and it’s one I recognize from the last time I was here.
I wish I could detect the spicy sweetness of Sylas amongst it all.
“Yep, that’s male alright,” I say with a wrinkle of my nose, moving past her and down the passage farther into the depths of the dome until we reach the central corridor I recall from my earlier trips.
“The admin section is up there.” I point to my left. “Through the doors and on your right.” We both step back into the shadows as a set of Habosu, along with a Xnosson bull, march past, fortunately paying us little attention. “I need to go the other way. That’s where the Gryn are kept.”
Haxrix pulls me in for an unexpected furry hug, rubbing her cheek against mine.
“Take care, Alex. The transport will be waiting for you both once you get out. And keep in touch.” She levels her gaze at me. “I want to know everything.”
Warmth spreads through me. The warmth which comes from knowing you are no longer alone. A warmth which emboldens me. I won’t be without my Sylas for much longer.
“Go.” Haxrix gives me a shove away. “Find your gladiator. If what Gytha thinks the resistance can obtain is true, he could be free by the time you escape.”
“Sylas is already free,” I say with a smile. “But every bit helps.”
I turn away from her, and as the corridor is empty, I race down it, doing my best to remember the way to the gladiator quarters.
The walls get increasingly dirty and damaged as I go deeper into the dome’s undercroft, so I know I’m getting closer.
“And what do we have here?”
An Oykig, much larger than I’ve encountered before, slithers out of an alcove. His scaled chest is criss-crossed with weaponry, and he looks like he’s a contestant in the games with his cocky attitude.
Behind him, a purple warrior emerges. He’s bulbous in all the wrong places, his bald head shining in the dim light, his tiny eyes glittering with menace.
“The dome was supposed to provide food,” he says in a voice like rocks smashing together. “I wasn’t expecting it to still be alive.”
“Don’t mind me.” I attempt to sidle past. “I’m passing through…I didn’t mean to bother you.” I attempt to duck but the Oykig grabs hold of me by my neck and presses me against the rough wall.
“I don’t think this little creature is supposed to be here.”
“I’m not,” I say, voice strangled as I grip at his hand. “I got lost, took a wrong turn. I was wanting to place a bet.”
“And where exactly do you keep your credits in an outfit like that?” the big purple warrior says, his eyes raking over my body with undisguised lust.
How have I managed to find the only other species which considers me attractive in this place?
“I have a credit implant in my wrist,” I choke out. “Please, let me go, and I’ll pay you what I was going to bet.”
The Oykig looks interested for a fleeting second, but then his face hardens along with his grip.
“You’re going to have to offer more than credits,” he snarls. I see the fangs filled with poison.
“Are you touchingmy mate?” A growl reverberates around the walls and ceilings.
A growl which could strip flesh from bone. A growl I’d recognize anywhere.
“Sylas!” I rasp.
My massive gladiator leans against the wall, his powerful hand resting on the pommel of a sword propped in front of him. Blood runs from a few cuts on his torso, and he’s streaked with dirt which gathers around his muscles like shadows, emphasizing his enormous, powerful form.
One of his huge wings seems lopsided, but it makes no difference to how incredibly imposing he is, especially when his dark eyes are fixed on the Oykig who has hold of me.