Page 87

It wasn’t my place to kill him outright, but I still wanted a chance to send this despicable male to his gods for judgement. It would be my great honor to dispose of him for her.

So why was Keela not moving? Why were her emotions suddenly so eerily calm?

“When you saw my sister and me that day, kneeling in the dirt,” she said, her voice quiet, “what did you see?”

I almost fluttered in surprise. Why would she ask him this? What did it matter?

“Two hungry children whose mother did not want them,” Orqiel said, his tone flat. “Two potentially good fighters supposedly sired by a gladiator, who’d be sold that day whether it was to me or to someone else. And I would rather it be to me.”

Keela’s expression didn’t change. All I sensed from her was a grim resignation. “Why?” she asked.

“Because some procurers took more care long-term with their purchases than others, and I was one of them. Or because I believed I could earn enough credits off your hard work and suffering to get myself away from Ganai.” He raised his palms. “Choose which explanation you believe is more true.”

She didn’t move, though her gloved fingers tightened on her nivilus. “But you didn’t leave Ganai until you had to, and then you continued to work in arenas. You still do.”

“That is true.” He shrugged and dropped his hands to his sides. “So that should answer your questions about who I am and what your next move should be.”

Did this male truly want to die by Keela’s blade? Why goad her and offer himself up in such a way, without any weapons to defend himself? If he simply wanted to end his life, he could have done so by his own hand and done it painlessly. Even if he hoped Keela would give him a quick end as he’d requested, he had to know she could just as easily make him suffer. That would have been my choice if it were up to me.

Maybe Keela was suspicious too. She was as expressionless as a cliff face, but a trickle of uneasiness came through our bond.

“I didn’t think much about you once I left Ganai,” she said, sliding the orb into an interior pocket of her robe with a casualness that didn’t match the tension in her body. “But I always assumed you’d died in the fires. Imagine my surprise when I found out who was behind the bounty.” Her sudden smile would have made my wings quiver with unease if I wasn’t a shadow. “Orqiel unha’Feste, purchaser of hungry, unwanted children, is now Beastmaster of the Aiphelevia and an old, damaged male with no owner’s box in a grand arena on Forval IX.”

Orqiel’s eyes narrowed just a little.

“Maybe he’s paying back a life debt to an old friend who saved his skin back on Ganai,” she continued. “A noble act and a good way to honor a dying man’s wishes.” Her fingers flexed on the staff of her nivilus. “Or maybe it gave him an idea. Maybe now he’s looking for something novel, something the Aiphelevia hasn’t ever had on its famous black sands. Or should I say someone?” Her voice dropped to almost a purr. “Maybe a former Ganaian child gladiator? And then once the crowd sees one of us in action…perhaps he would hunt down more?”

Three of his thick fingers twitched. A tell.

Gods above, my brilliant mate had sniffed him out. He wasn’t just delivering a message; he was trying to capture her.

This bastard was dead.

A sound from the hallway—a brush of metal against the wall, just loud enough that Keela heard it too.

Orqiel backpedaled and dove to his right, moving toward a shower area with a low wall. Going for cover, or for a weapon?

In a blink, Keela transferred her nivilus to her left hand, pulled my sword from her back sheath, and held the weapon out toward me by its hilt. “Go.”

It was my fastest transition from shadow to physical form in recent memory.

Between one heartsbeat and the next, I was on my feet, wings tight to my back and my right hand on the sword’s grip.

“I love you,” I said. “Don’t be long.”

Her smile was all the answer I needed.

I took the sword and ran for the hallway as Keela charged toward Orqiel’s shower refuge with her nivilus at the ready. Both my mate and her weapon looked hungry for his blood.

Two Hardanians, an Atolani, and a J’noran formed a wall of malice in the doorway between the hallway and Orqiel’s bedroom. All armed with swords or staves and carrying shields. All fighters from the arena, wearing collars inscribed with their ranks.

And none of them were prepared for me to suddenly appear, wings flared and totally nude, and it gave me a half-second of advantage. Nakedness was almost strategic at this point.

The J’noran stared at my bare body, dumbfounded, and I took my chance to plunge my plasma-edged sword between the plates of his armor and through his neck. I relieved him of his stunner staff as he fell. It was smaller and lighter than the Havelian one I used for sparring, but it felt good in my hand.

The Hardanians were unmistakably a fighting pair. Brothers, by the look of them, with metal-studded skin and traditional kilts made of pelts. They attacked in perfect sync, their movements more elegant than any Hardanian I’d ever faced. Usually they resorted to skill mixed with brute force. These males each wielded a plasma-edged sword and stun shield as naturally as if they’d been born with them.

If they’d been five or ten years older or more streetwise, I might have had a real problem. But this polished pair lacked experience with brawling.