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The only tentacle Vinian would get on the Nivilus would be the one I would cut off and mount as a trophy.

The nagas flicked their tongues, tasting the air in my direction as they swayed. Their genital slits, which hid their sex organs, bulged with unmistakable lust. In one of the great mysteries of the universe, human blood was an aphrodisiac for Altasians. I’d used that fact to my advantage before and I wasn’t above using it again. I’d take all the favors I could get right now.

“Please.” I didn’t have to fake the quaver in my voice since I felt like hells, but my pleading expression was all acting. I’d rather die than ever beg for mercy. “Vinian…”

Very slowly, so he wouldn’t interpret it as an attack, I stretched out my right arm, as if reaching for his tentacles like a supplicant. Agony radiated from my wound when I moved, the pain turning my thoughts to static. As I’d hoped, a gush of blood ran down my side, perfuming the air.

The Altasians’ swaying—and those bulges—grew more pronounced, while their pupils had blown wide, the diamonds now filling their eyes with black until the gold was nothing more than a ring.

Yes, breathe it in, I willed them. I smell so good.

Rather than move away, Vinian sank lower on his tentacles. Drops of viscous fluid dripped from his body and stung wherever they hit my skin. His proximity gave me a close-up look at his dagger, still dripping my blood.

“You had some good years at least, little scrap,” he said, with a hint of what might have been strange affection. “That’s better than most of your kind ever got. You knew it had to end sometime.”

Little scrap.

My stomach contracted, and suddenly I was a half a galaxy away, on my knees in the dirt outside our small house, holding my younger sister in my arms while my mother haggled with an enormous Ganaian male with horns and thick gray fur over our price.

“Ten thousand credits for these little scraps?” the procurer scoffed, his silver eyes cold as he glanced back at Calla and me. He hadn’t given Mother his name. “They aren’t worth two thousand. Look how thin they are. The younger one won’t survive training, much less her first fight in the arena.”

Mother’s expression hardened even further. “She will. Their father was a gladiator. He survived to sixteen and earned his freedom. His daughters will do the same.”

The procurer gave us another look. This time, his gaze was less dismissive and more calculating. “Their father will vouch for their parentage?”

She scoffed. “He’s long gone, Procurer. My word will have to do.”

His chuckle reminded me of gravel scraping across stone. “The word of a scrap means little if there is no proof.”

Mother’s mouth compressed into a thin line as the procurer’s stare locked on Calla and me. My sister buried her face against my chest, but I didn’t look away.

My stomach, always aching and hungry, churned like I might be sick. I wanted to grab Calla’s hand and run. She was only a year younger than me, and she could run almost as fast despite her shorter legs. We had to be quick to avoid all the dangers in the city’s alleys and markets, and to be able to snatch food from wherever we could find it. Gods below knew there was seldom food for us at home.

But there was no hiding from the procurers who worked for the arena owners—at least, not for long. Not if they’d made a deal. And I sensed a deal was about to be made, as if the price was a scent carried by the hot wind stirring the dust around us. It settled over my sister and me like a shroud.

“No proof of parentage, nothing but skin and bones,” the procurer mused. One of his horns was broken and jagged at the tip. I wondered if it hurt. “Still, if you’re telling the truth about their father…” He turned back to Mother. “Five thousand credits for both.”

She raised her chin, eyes narrowed. “Eight thousand. They’re stronger than they look.”

The procurer smiled, but the twist of his mouth had no humor in it. “A father who was a gladiator and a mother as immovable as stone. Perhaps these little scraps will be worth the expenditure.” He gave Mother a nod. “Eight thousand, then.”

Everything inside me turned to stone.

Gods below, I hoped Calla wouldn’t remember this day. I hoped the sight of our mother accepting the credit transfer faded from her mind. I hoped she’d have no recollection of how Mother didn’t say a word to us, or the way the door closed in the procurer’s face once the deal was done, leaving us alone with the stranger who’d take us away from this city to another much larger one, where we’d begin our training and face our fates, like so many other little scraps from the dusty human colony towns of the cesspool that was the planet Ganai.

I looked up at Vinian, at his empty eyes and satisfied smirk, and heard the roar of spectators. Instead of blood and metal, I tasted the sand of the arena floor as my faceless opponent stood over me, weapon raised for a killing blow.

All my pain vanished as if a switch had been thrown. I hadn’t died in the sand of the arena, and I wasn’t going to die in this docking bay.

With a practiced flick of my wrist, the plasma-edged lash stored in the bracer on my right forearm shot from under my sleeve, uncoiling as it sliced through the air in a searing arc.

Vinian blinked at me with all six eyes. His mouth moved, but no sound emerged. The dagger he’d used on me clattered to the floor.

I was already rolling to my left and coming up on one knee as Vinian’s body separated into pieces, spilling dark green blood across the deck. His severed tentacles writhed. Far more of his blood now pooled on the deck than mine. Very satisfying given how much he’d apparently enjoyed the sight of me bleeding out.

Not that I had time to relish that fact.

The Altasians were reacting slowly thanks to the intoxicating scent of my blood. I’d hoped to gain a better advantage, but what little I’d gotten would have to be enough.