Wrage (Galaxy Gladiators #11) - Alana Khan Page 0,16

ungainly. You wouldn’t think they could fly except they’re giving rides to people up and down the beach and out over the ocean.

“Tandem,” I say. Elyse nods her head in agreement.

It seems the only way to keep her sweet and compliant is to have my tongue between those pretty pink lips.

Minimas later we’ve been instructed on how to fly the beasts, Elyse is safely belted in front of me, and I press my feet into its side to tell it to fly—and it does!

“Gods!” I breathe as we rise from the shore. I’ve never felt anything like this. It’s what I always thought freedom would feel like—only better. The wind on my face and in my hair is amazing. There are stars of sunlight twinkling on the water below. The smell is overpowering; it almost burns my mreen, but it’s tangy and screams at me that I’m alive.

Elyse is belted so close to me her back presses against my front. Leaning down, I murmur in her ear, “How are you doing?”

“This is amazing!” she calls to me, her words caught and carried to me by the wind.

Her long brown hair, driven by the breeze, pelts against my chest. Closing my eyes, I try to capture this moment. I saw a vid once of someone pressing flowers between the pages of a book. I want to press this memory into the crevices of my mind.

The smell, that’s what I’ll remember first. Then the feel of the breeze. The feeling of freedom—it’s wild and banishes all other thoughts from my mind. But then it’s Elyse. Elyse in a small, beautiful package, her hips pressed against mine. And then I hear it—laughter bubbling out of her mouth.

“It’s magical, Wrage.”

I know she’s not mad at me when she says my name. I’ll press her happiness into this memory to look at later. She’s already warned me we’re not to be lovers. But this moment is a good one. I want to remember it.

“There.” She points down the shore, there aren’t as many people in that direction. “So beautiful.” Her hands grab my thighs, her fingers spanning them as if our physical intimacy is as natural as breathing.

We fly like this a while in silence. Enjoying the beauty and the endless expanse of the ocean.

Reaching up to pet the balfour, Elyse begins to scream. I wouldn’t call it a scream at first, it’s more like a howl. Then it rises in volume and pitch until it’s a screech. Her hands keep stroking the balfour as she calms him, willing him to keep flying even through her outburst.

At first, he turned his head to inspect her, his eyes wide in fright. But now that he’s used to it, her fingers still sliding through his short fur, he just keeps going in the direction I point him.

I don’t know what to make of this, but decide to keep heading farther down the beach, waiting to see what comes next.

“Fuck you, Urluts!” she screams. Urluts are known far and wide as the major players in the human slave trade. They must have been the ones who stole her from her home. “Fuck you! Fuck you!” her voice is torn from her mouth by the wind.

“And fuck you Blizen. You shitbag rapist. And Mrzz. And you too Plivik. And Drenken, you dirty pink asshole.” She’s mumbling now. Maybe her curses at her owners have become too personal to share. I feel a tiny splash of moisture on my cheek and know the wind has splattered me with one of her tears.

She continues her rant as we fly away from the crowd. When her muscles, so tight from screaming begin to relax, I peek around to see her face. It’s red and covered in tears.

“Don’t worry. That helped. I’ll be pulled together before we get back to the balfour station,” she reassures me.

“I don’t worry what others will think, Elyse. I worry that you’re alright.”

She turns to look at me, sneaks a peek at the sincerity on my face, and gives me the tiniest smile imaginable.

She looks like she just released a thousand dextans of pain and rage.

I envy her, wanting the relief she’s found. Without thinking, certainly before I give myself permission to show my private self to anyone, much less to a mate who doesn’t want my love, anger spirals in my bowels and whirls like a tornado that I need to vomit out of my mouth.

“Drack you, MarZan cartel, who stole me from my home,” I scream.