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And I watch.
Something is different about today, I decide. There's a lot of the guardsmen around this morning, their sweaty, nervous scents flooding my senses with the need to hunt. I could take that one, I decide, as one approaches the bars with my food. He's practically dripping with nervousness, and it makes me want to bare my teeth with hunger. He sets the tray down and slides it toward my cage, frowning to himself when it stops short a good distance from the bars.
I bite back a malicious grin.
The guard approaches, his tail twitching, and I remain very, very still. He watches me, hesitates, then shoves the tray full of meal bars again. Once more, it gets nowhere near my cage, and the male makes an unhappy sound. He rubs his head at the base of his horns and then takes another step forward.
One more, I tell him silently. Just one more step and then the hunt begins.
The guard hesitates, then leans forward and places his hand at the edge of the metal tray to give it another push. His tail flicks in agitation, and the moment it swings toward my cage, I act. I reach out and snatch it, jerking hard. The male loses his balance and stumbles toward my cage, and then I grab him. I sink my claws into his arm and when he screams, I bury my fangs in his throat to stop his howling. Hot, warm blood rushes into my mouth, better than a dozen of their dry protein bars, and I revel in the sensation.
Kill, my old master's voice says. Make it messy. Give them a good show.
I rake my claws down the male's chest as I tear at his throat—
The sizzle of the cuffs—turned up to max—jolts up my arms. I can ignore it and keep attacking the male, but if I do, I discard all of the work I've done to convince them that the cuffs work on me. I'm not going to give up my plans for a snack, no matter how bloody, so I release him, howling my rage, and jerk at the cuffs. I make a good show of it, just like my master taught me, and lick at the blood on my muzzle. The male stumbles away, clutching at his neck, and I resist the urge to curl my lip in derision at his moaning.
It's barely a keffing flesh wound. Pathetic. I suffered worse on a daily basis at the last stable.
They send another jolt through the cuffs and I react appropriately, then lick the blood off my chops. I wasn't going to eat the fool. I just wanted to maul him a bit. Watch them scurry. Have a little entertainment. I keep my eyes closed and pretend to be unconscious, listening to the guards race around the room.
"Again?" the one in charge states. "Who got too close to the asshole?"
"Abbik, sir," another male says. "They're taking him to the clinic right now."
The one in charge groans in frustration, and I just imagine how annoyed his face is. "That's the third one this week. When are they going to learn? You don't approach the keffing cage! Why do you think he's in one?"
"Sorry, sir. Abbik is new. I'll have him reassigned to outpost duty."
"You do that. He clearly can't be trusted with this." The male sighs heavily. "Today, of all days." His booted feet echo on the floor. "Someone come and clean up this mess before Riffin brings his female in. We don't want her screaming at the sight of the blood."
Screaming?
Female?
My senses prick with interest for the first time in days—weeks? I don't know how long I've been in this cage. Ever since they woke me up. I don't know who the new master is, or why he's letting his guards fool around with watching over me. I don't know where they're keeping the rest of the fighters, or what they plan to do with me. Probably fodder for a particular match. Wouldn't be surprised if it was a death-match. They're not acting like they know what to do with me, which isn't a good sign for my longevity.
So I have to be smarter than all of them.
I remain still as someone brings in a cleaner bot. The thing whirrs, squirting a harsh smelling soap that makes my eyes water. My wrists ache from the angle that I've 'collapsed' upon in the floor of my cage, but I don't move. To do so would put them on alert again, and I want to know what this 'female' situation is.
The floor is cleaned, but no one bothers to clean me, which is a shame. I'd love for them to put a hand on me so I can show them just how many limbs I can break in under a breath. There's blood on my muzzle and claws, but I don't suppose that matters. The female isn't for me. They never are.
