Wrage (Galaxy Gladiators #11) - Alana Khan Page 0,15
gladiator ass. Needy. Too hasty to trust. Too quick to open myself. How could I fail to notice this female has no heart?
I may have been drunk as Phager’s reen that night, but she wasn’t. She mated me knowing full well what she was doing. It was a premeditated scheme to gain her freedom, Wrage be damned. Well, now we’re both damned. Damned to a miserable life together.
She wants a relationship devoid of passion? Devoid of feelings? A harmonious platonic relationship? That she shall have.
An hoara later, we’re approaching the shore of a magnificent ocean. I’ve fought in arenas where I could smell the water milles away, but I never got a glimpse. The view from this distance takes my breath away. The salty smell almost overwhelms my mreen, but I choose to embrace the fragrance rather than fight it. Besides, it overpowers the delicious, sexy scent of Elyse sitting at my side.
I was rescued two lunars ago with fourteen others. We’re all gladiators, still reeling from the change. Slaves most of our lives, we were suddenly freed with no warning. It might sound like the answer to our prayers, but it’s not easy learning to make decisions when you’ve never been allowed to make them before.
Gladiators tend to be a rowdy bunch. We can be loud and crude. Elyse is smashed to my side on the hover-bus. If we had a different relationship, I’d put my arm around her and bring her into the conversation. Right this minima I’d be explaining things. At the very least, I’d calm her.
As it is, though, I sit straight and join in the crass talk. Let her get used to it. She doesn’t want to be lovers? By the sound of it, she doesn’t even want to be friends. She wants to be business partners? It’s everyone for themself.
“Tell me again,” Maximus says. “Exactly how did you manage to get mated the first night you’ve had an hoara alone since we gained our freedom?” He gives Elyse little more than a hasty glance.
“I’ve since been told havaché affects Wryth’Ns ten times more than other species.” I shrug. I learned my first day in the ludus where I trained as a gladiator, not to let anyone see your discomfort. If they do, they’ll tease you mercilessly.
“Bad luck.” Now he looks my little companion up and down. “When’s the divorce?”
“We’re giving it a try,” I say, wanting to put an end to his interrogation.
“When you get tired of it, I’ll give it a try,” he licks his lips, and even though he’s sitting down, I know he’s lewdly pumping his hips, mimicking sex. “Just tell me when you want to get rid of the little Morganian. She looks a lot like your last one.”
I almost jump at his bait but know it’s useless. He’s not even being rude. He’s just being a gladiator.
“What makes you think we’re not madly in love?” she asks, her voice so loud and direct that every head in the bus swivels toward her.
Max laughs, throwing his head back in a hearty roar. “I never thought of Wrage as loveable.”
“Well, he is.” With that, she plants a long, hard, seemingly heartfelt kiss on me.
My comrades laugh and hoot and whistle as her kiss continues, her fingers twining in my hair. I have no idea what she’s up to. She’s going to drive me insane with being hot and cold and hot again, but I decide it’s fair to respond in kind. My hand cups the back of her neck as I penetrate her mouth with my tongue, grunting with the satisfaction of tasting her again.
We must be doing a good job, because the males all turn to look out the front window, leaving us to our lust.
Moments later, the driver has parked the hover-bus and we’ve emptied out onto the sand. I get a quick moment to appreciate the fragrant breeze wafting in off the ocean before we’re marched to our tour.
“Okay,” a tiny female Crichen says. Her skin is such a pale blue you can almost see through it. Her wings are flicking slowly behind her back even though she’s standing on the ground. “You reserved fourteen balfour rides. It looks like someone miscounted. You,” she points to Elyse as I release her from another kiss, “you want your own balfour or want to ride tandem with the male who can’t refrain from sticking his tongue down your throat?”
“Um . . .” She looks at the balfours. They’re large and