Baited (Gladiators of the Gryn #2)

Izzy

IZZY

T he dome has a very particular smell, somewhere between many bodies in close quarters with a hint of rot. I keep close to Blayn, allowing the scent of his feathers to invade my nostrils instead. The spicy cinnamon drives most of the sourness out.

Surrounded by guards in a way which is most definitely overkill for a single gladiator, we’re marched through passages which are bleakly functional, walls covered in scratches and dents, until the decor changes, becoming more luxurious, with color changing walls and carpet underfoot. The wider corridor ends in a set of double doors, behind which I can hear many voices.

The muscle in Blayn’s jaw jumps, and his wings are set hard with not even a feather moving.

“The female stays here, Blayn,” the head guard says. “I’m going to undo your restraints and take off your tracker. One wrong move, and you won’t be able to protect her anymore.”

I can hear the snarl deep in his chest, but he holds out his wrists in a show of compliance.

“I warn you, Zarvu. Should my mate come to harm, I will come for you, and I will not stop until you are in pieces,” Blayn says evenly, as if he’s discussing what to have for breakfast.

Ahead, the doors open, and the voices get significantly louder. Blayn ignores his guard, and all of his being is concentrated on me as he sets his wings. He cups my face, dark eyes studying me as if he wants to burn me into his mind. I place my hands over his.

“I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere. You can do this.” I daren’t look at what he’s going to step into because I know he has to be here, with me, and centered. “When you’re done, you can make me a new nest.”

It’s the right thing to say. Blayn instantly relaxes, his eyes shining with delight.

“I can, can’t I?” he says with a hint of a smile.

“Time to move, gladiator,” the guard growls.

Blayn ignores him and brushes his lips over mine before shouldering his way past the guards, wings slamming into as many as he can manage before he steps through the doorway to gasps and cheers.

I shove my way through the big Zarvu in order to see what’s happening. The hall is large and full of species from everywhere in the galaxy, all dressed up in their finery.

“What’s happening today?”

“It’s the procurator’s cup games. The winner will receive two hundred thousand credits,” one of the Zarvu says. “Champions have come from everywhere.”

No wonder the captain wanted Blayn back in the dome!

I watch as Blayn makes his way down a section which is cut off from the rest of the hall by means of a holo projected barrier, towards a raised area where the other Gryn gladiators I met are already situated.

Blayn’s dark wings are stiff as he moves past the crowd and mounts the low stage. He scowls out at the crowd as Maxym shoves a sword into his hand. As one, they lift the weapons above their heads.

“Before these witnesses and my fellow gladiators, I swear I will give my body to the dome. I will be flogged, burned, beaten or slain, whatever the procurator orders. This is my oath and my bond.”

All four Gryn bellow out this blood chilling chant as one. It causes the room to erupt with yells, burbles, and other noises. The swords shimmer and disappear, as holographic as the supposed barrier, and the crowd surges forward.

The other gladiators take a step back, but Blayn stands his ground. Hands, or things which pass for hands, grasp at him. He lifts a lip in an impressive snarl but doesn’t move a muscle. The Zarvu stood in the doorway next to me rush out and perform crowd control, shoving back those clamoring to get closer to the Gryn.

Relief floods through me. Blayn is stood with his fellow gladiators, holding his wings high. I can still see the tension in his face, but he isn’t about to exact any sort of violence on those pushing to get closer or on anyone else. Instead he glances over to where I’m stood in the doorway, and for a brief second, there is his little smile.

The smile he has for me.