The woman under the smaller Ginarigon’s arm shakes her head and slips away from them both. She meets my eyes, runs a finger over her neck, and mouthsdrug. She points to her teeth, then to the Ginarigons.
I haven’t heard this before, but I have felt strange now and then when fighting Ginarigons in deep space. I always chalked it up to battle fatigue or just fatigue and starvation in general.
The more I think about it, the angrier I get. Adrenaline seems to burn off a bit of the drug.
I use what Teol taught me and peel free the hand that clutches my suit by reaching over his fist and tugging his wrist in a direction that’s unnatural.
He grunts and glares at me as I lurch for the closest door. He swipes at me, but I am smaller and dart under a table before flinging myself into the hallway.
A cameradrone whizzes after me as I search the bottom floor for my room. When I find it, I frantically scan my wristband. The door beeps as it unlocks. He appears in the hallway, sees me, and charges.
I thrust myself inside and slam the door in his face. It promptly latches with loud chunks.
He roars with frustration and punches the door. The screen beside me displays him pacing. He growls and punches the door again. Red lights flash over his body.
Speakers relay a message into the hallway. “Aggressive action toward racers is not permitted. Return to your quarters to cool down or be removed from the game.”
“Zariah,” the room’s AI calls to me from the nearby screen. “Are you hurt?”
“I was unaware Ginarigons can drug us with their teeth,” I admit.
“They are capable of this, yes, much like venomous snakes from Earth. But they are supposed to refrain from it during the race.”
“Fair comparison.”
“Shall I order you room service?” the AI asks.
“I won’t trust it, won’t eat it. So don’t waste it.”
“Understood. I can call your private security and have them escort you to the lunch hall when you are ready.”
“Thank you.”Private security?
“Shall I do that now?”
“In a moment. Let me catch my breath.”
Leaning back against the wall, I notice the jar of weirdly shaped condoms on the dresser, feel my insides squirm with disgust at the idea of mating after such a night, and hide it in a cabinet. I’m a mess of venom and hormones, struggling to think through my next moves.
What the hell were you thinking, Mom? This is turning into a nightmare!
I slump to sit at the base of the door and rest my head in my hands, breathing through the rest of the weakening venom. I won’t leave my room until I’m certain it no longer affects me.
My head pounds, the lights blur in my vision, and my body feels like I’ve had one too many drinks at the bar minus the upset stomach.
In the time I’m recuperating, I think about the media coverage, how my brother probably knows where I am thanks to it, and that the males were likely fighting over me because they think I have access to my father’s riches. Trouble is, I don’t. And anyone who knows anything about bounty hunters, pirates, or marauders is that they will sacrifice everyone and everything but their money and power.
Anyone with half a brain will know I don’t have access or I wouldn’t be here. Too many males fought each other over me for it to be a coincidence.
I turn on the holovid and watch ABR’s feed. The news banner reads “Alien Male Racers Fight for Deceased Bounty Hunter’s Daughter.”
It’s not ABR’s fault. It falls on the reporter who failed to respect my privacy for a hot story.
Now, I’m never going to be able to leave my room.
“Zariah,” the room’s AI asks. “Do you need medical assistance?”
“No.”I don’t need to draw any more attentionto myself.
