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He turned to me, his expression thunderous. “Why did they try to kidnap you?”

“Most newly freed gladiators had no money and no skills other than the ability to fight and kill,” I said matter-of-factly. “People felt sorry for us, but most wanted nothing to do with us and called us monsters. So it was common for former gladiators to find work as personal security or hired muscle, or even end up in fighting pits across the galaxy. Some took the jobs willingly. Most didn’t.”

Judging by his grim silence, he hadn’t known that. Few people outside Ganai did. As bad as the arenas were, sometimes even worse things had lain in wait for those who survived to adulthood.

“The second-most lucrative industry on Ganai after the arenas was kidnapping—either to fill the arena stables or to get former gladiators off-world where we could be bought and sold for premium prices.” My brittle smile made his tail lash like a whip. “I was one of the lucky ones who made it all the way to the port without ending up unconscious in a cage or stasis pod. And I still had to get past port security personnel, who’d all been bribed to search departing ships for freed gladiators they could turn over to brokers.”

“Where was the Alliance in all this?” Jarrix demanded. “How could this have gone on for so long?”

“The same way things usually do,” I said with a wry smile. “The right people get paid the right amounts, and the ones who don’t matter vanish into the void.”

I could still taste the fear and adrenaline of that long, desperate day of slipping through seemingly endless dirty alleys, tunnels, vents, and loading docks, clinging to hope that at the end of it all I’d find a ship captain corrupt enough to bribe to get me off-planet but not corrupt enough to hand me over to port security.

“I found a Wundi ship captain at the port,” I said finally. “He let me join his crew in return for a pallet on the floor of the cargo bay and two meals a day. Once he saw how quickly I learned to be useful fixing things and keeping the ship clean, he also paid me a salary. I saved enough credits that I had a tidy little bankroll when I eventually made it to Yavamir.”

Jarrix’s expression turned incredulous. “You were a sixteen-year-old human female when you arrived at the most lawless pirate stronghold in the Omega sector?”

“I was seventeen by then.” I shrugged and studied my nails. I kept them trimmed short. Better for fighting. “And I have fond memories of Yavamir. I learned nine new ways to stab someone on that planet.”

I’d also joined my first smuggler crew on Yavamir—a grizzled old band of four-horned Havelians who’d laughed uproariously when I’d approached their ship at the dock looking to work for a share and ended up treating me like their collective granddaughter.

The interval between my arrival on Yavamir and my departure aboard the Havelian ship was a blur of violence, booze, and gambling in dark, back-alley dens where blood was spilled so regularly that no one blinked when it happened and the floors were designed with drainage so they could be hosed clean. It was the best my life had ever been.

I had no idea what Jarrix’s life had been like up to now, but I couldn’t imagine it had unfolded anything like mine.

Part of me thought that proved just how incompatible we truly were, despite all the science and his unwavering faith in his own physiology.

The rest of me thought our jagged edges might fit together in surprisingly satisfying ways.

“Pick a weapon,” I said.

Without hesitation, he reached for the Havelian staff that had been a gift from my first crew when I left them to serve as first mate on another ship. The staff was heavy and designed for a fighter his height. One end held a stunner and the other a hidden blade that could be extended.

When he whirled the staff back and forth between his hands, then spun it behind his back to do the same before spinning it over his shoulder to his front, it catapulted me back ten years to watching the captain of the Havelian smuggler ship doing the same.

I’d demanded the captain teach me the move. Despite my extensive weapons training, I’d hit myself on the forehead on my first attempt, and it took me a full year until I could match his speed.

“What are you remembering?” Jarrix asked, the staff held loosely at its precise balance point in one hand as he studied me.

I had a sudden vision of us in the cockpit, of him drinking tea and me sipping my coffee while I told him about my years aboard the Havelian ship. I’d learned my trade from six foul-tempered males who would have cut their way through any enemy to keep me from getting so much as a scratch—and had done so more than once.

The fact I could not only envision such a scene with Jarrix but felt a strange warmth in my chest thinking about it left me more confused than I’d ever admit.

“Another life,” I said finally.

Under his watchful gaze, I chose the pair of J’noran intanas and moved away to warm up with a few spins of my own. Like Jarrix, I didn’t give away any of my moves during my warm-up.

I was more than proficient at all the weapons in my collection, but the intanas with their curved blades were an ideal size for my height. I loved their natural flow as well, which combined with their length made them feel as if they were extensions of my own arms.

When my attention returned to Jarrix, I discovered my warm-up had accomplished far more than demonstrating my competence. He was spectacularly hard under his sparring pants and making no effort whatsoever to hide his sincere appreciation.

And despite my uncertainty about…literally everything…I was appreciating his appreciation.

I raised my eyebrow and spun my intanas one after the other, letting them catch the cargo bay lights and feigning nonchalance while my clit throbbed. “So, blades turn you on?”

“Not at all.” He stalked toward me, eyes suddenly glowing like supernovas. “But seeing you holding those blades turns me into something I’ve never been before.”

I held my ground as he approached and pointed one intana straight at him. He stopped with his abdomen a few millimeters from its deadly edge.