Anzil (Gladiators of Krix #2) - Miranda Martin Page 0,14
crushing between us, but that is not my reason.
“Xyron and I are working a plan,” I whisper in her ear. I drop her and move away. “Never let your guard down,” I say loud for the benefit of the watching guard.
“I get that, but you aren’t moving that fast,” she says, shaking her head.
She means fast enough, but we can’t speak openly. Another guard walks out to join the one at the gate. The new one says something, and the old one points at the two of us training. She glances at them then back to me.
She blurs across the sand. Her small size gives her advantages over most opponents she will face in the arena. Advantages, but not guarantees. Fortunately, she will not be playing in any blood games. If she was slated for one… I don’t know what I would do, but I wouldn’t allow that to happen.
She leaps into the air and I stumble back, but she hits me in the chest. Her legs wrap around my waist. She punches me in the jaw with the hand holding her sword. My vision spins and blurs. I wrap an arm around her, fighting instinct screaming to throw the source of the pain to the ground and stomp it.
“They could be hurt, or worse,” she whispers in my ear. “There is no time.”
She leaps off and lands on her feet. I touch my head to rub my jaw where she hit.
“Good attack,” I say. “But you must always choose your moment. A gladiator must be in control of the attack or he will be the effect of the attack.”
“Good advice,” she says. “For those who have time. What about when your back’s against the wall? When you’re outsized by some giant asshole?”
The guards watching snort loud enough that it echoes across the empty lot. I hear the clink of coins being exchanged as they bet on the outcome of our sparring.
“Then more than ever,” I say and attack.
She has learned well. Parry, dodge, strike, meeting each attack. I attack faster. Pushing her harder. I can’t protect her, but I can train her to protect herself. She is the strongest female I’ve ever met. The more I’m with her the more I want her.
Sweat beads her brow and soon soaks her shirt. Her nipples poke through the thin fabric, distracting. I would take them in my mouth, roll them with my tongue, and I imagine the sounds she would make as I do so.
If but we were free. Xyron wants to break out of here and run for the free movement, but he’s a fool. The free movement is a myth, a story told by those not strong enough to dominate. I am Primus of House Batius. I’m no weakling clinging desperately to mythical hopes. Xyron and I beat the Shadow, the unbeatable monster. There is no challenge I cannot defeat.
She presses her attack and I retreat, then I shift my sword to my other hand. She reacts with surprise, barely dodging the swing from the other side. Our swords make music, the rhythm of their clacking echoing off the walls.
Buying our freedom or winning it in the arena is the only smart move. If we follow her and Xyron’s desire, stage an escape, they’ll never stop hunting us. Krixian society cannot stand for an escape, much less all of us escaping. I know she won’t go without the rest of the human females. The hunt they would call down on us would be unprecedented. It could bring peace to the Houses, stopping their silent wars long enough to see us dead, at least.
The law is clear and works for us. We can buy our freedom or we can earn it in the arena. Victory in the Majoris Gladorius guarantees freedom for the last man standing, but it is not unheard of for a gladiator to win his freedom at lesser games.
Her full lips part as she pants, her chest heaving. Her parries are coming slower. She’s tiring too soon. In the arena she’ll need more stamina.
“You’re not done,” I say, striking faster.
Her eyes narrow, furrowing her brow, and the look in her eyes is pure determination. The corners of her lips turn up in a partial smile. It’s a tell, I don’t mistake that, but I’m not prepared for what she does.
I push in, getting inside her space and making it harder for her to bring her sword up to block. I punch with my free hand, but instead