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“Lovely place,” Keela muttered when we finally reached the street. “I think I would have rather gone to Forval IX and taken my chances with carnivorous plants, sandstorms, and toxic air. Can’t be worse than this.”

“We can visit later if you want,” I offered, half seriously. “Just to see what the fuss is about.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Possibly. I admit I’m curious.”

We turned right and made our way at a brisk pace down the deserted street toward the arena. As large as an entire city sector, it towered above everything else in the area and had become visible to the naked eye during our descent from orbit before any other structure.

We’d set the ship down as close as we dared to the part of the arena’s residential complex that housed most of its officials, including Orqiel. The arena’s schematics showed the current Beastmaster resided in a wing with tunnel access to the facility that housed the non-sentient combatants he controlled.

If all went well, it would be a short walk to the entrance to that residential wing and the first test of both our disguises and our identity chips.

At first, we saw no one walking on the street—just a few shadowy animals darting in and out of buildings. Far overhead, the planet’s elite filled the sky in brightly lit flyers in seemingly endless rivers of traffic on their way to late-night meals or entertainment or bouts at the arena, while only a few dingy civilian hover vehicles passed on the street. We ducked into buildings or dark passages to keep out of sight whenever one hummed by.

But once we reached the streets leading to the arena’s residential complex, foot traffic, civilian vehicles, surveillance drones, and armed Sentry patrols replaced the silent desolation of the area where we’d left the ship.

Our proximity to the Aiphelevia must have dredged up all kinds of terrible memories for my mate. And yet I sensed no anger, grief, or fear from Keela as we approached the arena—only determination, focus, and heightened awareness of our surroundings.

Since our clothing identified us as employees, we attracted very little scrutiny, but Keela’s lovely dragoness features drew appreciative stares. In keeping with my disguise as a mated Haboori male, I bared my teeth and oversized fangs and rested my gloved hand on the back of Keela’s slim neck as a clear declaration of ownership.

Rather than appear submissive or cowed, she kept her chin raised and exchanged nods with others passing by who eyed our casual intimacy with undisguised avarice. A proudly mated pair was enviable on pretty much every planet, even cesspools like Saistea.

But Keela didn’t just feign her pride in our matehood—I sensed she felt it deeply as well. Satisfaction made my chest rumble and my real fangs drip and my cocks as hard as a meteorite. I had never been more grateful to be wearing a cloak capable of hiding my arousal.

I allowed myself a moment to bask in the knowledge that her admirers saw only her Fortusian disguise. Of all the beings on this busy street, I alone had seen her true beauty. Let them gaze at this dragon-eyed female. Her fierce green gaze was for me alone.

Without warning, a pair of cyborg Sentries stepped out from an alcove to block our way. I let out a low warning growl and stepped in front of my mate.

“Identification,” the Sentries said in unison. Each raised a metal palm with an embedded scanner. “State your names and purpose.”

I raised my wrist and scanned the chip while Keela did the same with the other bot. “I am Hurd K’low,” I said in Alliance Standard, my voice modulated to sound like a Haboori. “I am a guard. This is my mate. We are on our way to work.”

“I am Meline K’low,” Keela said, without wilting under the cyborgs’ piercing stares. “I am a bathing attendant.”

Her biomask had done little to change her natural voice, since her disguise was humanoid, but like mine it still needed to be altered to match our false identities’ voice prints.

To my dismay, the Sentries’ scanners lit up red instead of orange. Both cyborgs raised their plasma weapons and aimed them at our chests. “Do not move,” the Sentries said, again in unison.

Keela and I froze.

Pedestrians walked around our little group, looking curiously at us while giving the Sentries a wide berth.

I kept my expression neutral while inwardly cursing Lumos and his entire AI ancestry. He had sworn these identities would pass all but the most intense scrutiny. If we had to engage these Sentries in full view of the entire gods-damned street⁠—

Blessedly, both scanners turned orange. The cyborgs automatically lowered their weapons, their movements perfectly and eerily synced.

“Identification confirmed,” they said. Each bot stepped to the opposite side of the walkway as if forming a doorway. “You may proceed.”

“Thank you,” Keela chirped in that too-sweet voice. Without hesitation, she started forward, giving me no choice but to immediately follow.

With my hand once again resting on her neck, we passed between the Sentries. Their heads swiveled to keep us in sight. And though they didn’t follow or raise their weapons again, I was extremely aware of my back as we continued down the walkway.

Despite the close call, Keela didn’t tremble and her breathing didn’t change. Through our bond, I sensed some strain, but her focus and determination remained unshaken.

As for whether I owed Lumos an apology for cursing him, it would largely depend on how the next few minutes went.

The rest of the walk to the gate was uneventful. Keela and I got in line to scan our identities with other employees arriving for their late-night shifts. This time our scans didn’t go red first before the orange appeared.

Side by side, we passed through the security gate and entered the arena complex.