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I take it out on those in the ring. I pick fights. I do what I must, because I have promised to cooperate so I can keep Mina.
Lord Sir approves of my newfound bloodthirstiness. "Back in fighting form, I see," he says when he watches from the arena bleachers. "Perhaps all you needed was the right incentive."
Was cutting off my finger and scarring me supposed to be the incentive? I kick sand in his direction, and the trainers come after me with shock-sticks. Worth it, though.
Mina watches my new attitude with frustration, her lips pursed. I know she disapproves, because when I act out, they hurt me, and she doesn't like that. But after seeing me wounded and collapsed on the floor, my pride has taken a hit. I'm not the ferocious, unstoppable Crulden in the vids. In her eyes, I'm the weak one, so I do my best to show off. I fight longer, and harder, and with more enthusiasm than I have since I started, because I want Mina to notice.
I want Mina to see me as just as deadly as the other Crulden, not the fragile, wounded clone curled up on his cell floor.
If I want to train into the night, they're more than willing to let me.
It's a few days after my scarring, when the sun goes down and one of my trainers is determined to bruise every bit of my hide. We work with wooden staves, though the scientist feels it's a waste of time. "He's Crulden the Ruiner," he says with a dismissive sniff. "They won't give him a staff."
Even so, my trainer is thorough and wants me to have practice with it. I can respect that—and him—so I give it my best shot, even though day flows into night, and the stars come out. The weather cools once the sun is gone, and lights come on all over the compound. It turns the place from a prison into something almost pleasant, with golden lighting making the ferns dance in the shadows. Mina doesn't complain when the lights come on over the pit and the stands, either. She simply continues to sit, watching me with a hint of a frown on her face, like she doesn't understand me.
Maybe she doesn't. It only adds to my foul mood, and when my trainer throws me the staff one more time and indicates I should go another round, I welcome it.
I lift my head, about to suggest that I should take on multiple opponents—just to get my juices flowing—when I scent something odd.
Strangers.
The scents aren't ones I recognize. One of them is mesakkah—like the scientist and Lord Sir, but different. The other is sweeter, richer. Human. And female.
I pause, staring into the shadows. There, hiding along the wall, I see a male mesakkah, holding a club. He's got a female with him, and when he looks me in the eye, he carefully tucks her against him. He's filthy, his clothing torn and muddy, his horns tarnished, and when he glances over at the hangar in the distance, I realize they're breaking in to steal a ship.
Lord Sir doesn't know they're here.
I'm fascinated despite myself. His human is dressed in very little clothing, but she looks as muddy and exhausted as he does. More than that, there's something interesting in her scent. She's…gravid. Pregnant. He's her mate, then. Not like the scientist. Not like Lord Sir. He's with the human female, and judging by the way she clings to him, she's with him, too. There's another behind them, but he's not interesting to me.
I'm interested in that pregnant female. I don't want her, of course. But I think of Mina carrying my child and…I want that. I want that more than anything.
Almost as much as I want to see them escape. I want to see what happens. Because I imagine myself as that protective male, and Mina as the female…and I want them to escape. I want them to get out of here, so I can see if it's possible for us.
So I pause and glance over at Mina. "I need a break."
Mina hops into the ring, a pitcher of the refreshing fruit drink I like in her arms. "About time." Her tone is full of annoyance but the look on her face is worried. "You okay?"
"Let's hurry it up with the chitchat, all right?" one of the clones says. "We're missing meal time with all this flirting between the two of you."
It's said in a good-natured way. The clones that watch us fight are very into the practice, encouraging me and alternately egging on my enemies. They're competitive, and talkative, but I normally ignore them. I take the pitcher from Mina, drink, and then lean in toward her. "Stay back."
Her brows furrow. "What—"
I turn and slam the heavy pitcher into the head of the guard nearest to me. "I don't like your attitude toward my female," I roar. I'm picking a fight, and immediately, every clone guard is in the ring, piling onto me. I fight them all, tossing and flinging bodies about with abandon, eager to create a distraction so that other female—the pregnant one—can get away with her mate.
