Wrage (Galaxy Gladiators #11) - Alana Khan Page 0,56

hides our lovemaking. Then I attack my mate.

I whisper to her of how much I love her. She doesn’t need to be able to see in order to know the light of my love shines brightly out of my eyes.

After making certain she’s more than ready for me, I slide into her, revelling in the sounds we make as we moan our pleasure to each other.

When we’re done, I move to the bed’s edge, nestling against her back and kissing her soft brown hair until her breathing calms and slows.

Chapter Eleven

Elyse

“Get up assholes.” One of the guards wakes me from a deep sleep. When I glance up, I see four of them, weapons pointed at us.

Wrage rises, nude, makes sure I’m covered by the robe Ryone sent last night, and helps me from the bed. He left his one article of clothing, his pants, on the floor last night. In our hurry to make love, he left it too close to the puddle of blood, which oozed across the floor as we slept. It’s drenched now.

“Come.”

We follow orders, walking down the hallway sandwiched between them, two behind and two in front. The other prisoners watch, foregoing their usual catcalls. We’re headed toward the opening of the old mine, not the fighting cage.

I know as sure as the sky on Earth is blue that if I wasn’t here Wrage would make a move against them. But he won’t. He’ll use his last breath trying to protect me.

I’d forgotten how hot and brutal it was on the surface, but before we’re even above ground, I’m pelted with the red sand and assaulted by the blazing heat.

My heart is pounding—this can’t be good. Was Ryone so angry Wrage won last night that he wants to abandon any pretense of fairness and have his henchmen gun him down? In front of me?

Wrage’s arm is around my waist, I grab his other hand in mine and hold him tight, my teeth clamped in fear.

My shoulders relax a bit when the guards lead us up the mansion’s steps. At least they’re not lining us up for a firing squad.

Once we’re inside, Ryone orders from the top of the stairs, “Get them into the shower. There are clothes for them there. And you two lovers, don’t bother to look for weapons. I’ve had the room swept of anything you could use. Don’t dawdle, I want you dressed in ten minimas.”

We’re rushed through a sumptuous guest room on the main floor, and into the adjoining bath. It’s certainly finer than anything I’ve been in since I left Earth. Come to think of it, it’s nicer than anything I experienced on Earth.

It takes me a while to figure out how to turn on the spigot, and a little longer to adjust it to temperature. When I step under the pelting water and feel it sluice over me, wiping off a week of filthy grime, I allow myself to bask in the simple pleasure.

Wrage joins me. The enclosure’s big enough for four more. He quietly moans as he allows the water to wash over him. Less than twelve hours ago he was literally bathed in the blood of that behemoth.

“No dawdling!” Ryone’s voice scolds over a hidden speaker. I’m certain he’s watching, too. I’ve long since stopped caring about that.

After Wrage and I step out, we spend an extra minute toweling each other dry. What before used to be such a mundane part of my life is now a luxury I wish I had more time to indulge in.

The thought flashes through my head that we should be on our honeymoon. If life was fair, we’d be rolling out of bed in a few hours, ordering room service and taking a shower so we could go back to bed and begin another round of enjoying each others’ body.

As it stands, though, I hurry to the wall where there are two outfits hanging from hooks. Assuming mine is the flowery pattern, I sort through it, trying to picture what to do with all the flowy layers so I can put it on properly.

Finally deciding how it should look, I wrap it around me and find the wispy silken dress plunges between my breasts, the fabric lifting and supporting them. It flows past my knees, and hugs my curves in the best way.

I glance at Wrage, half expecting them to have equipped him with a striped prison uniform like back on Earth, but he’s been supplied with form-fitting black trousers, a royal