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Not that I need caution. I will win.
He pulls off his tunic, casting it at the feet of one of the women. They look over at us, and one female gives us a puzzled look. “You guys feverish or something?”
“Or something,” Chalath calls out, and then raises his fists to his chest, assuming a protective stance. He flicks a finger at me, indicating I should come at him.
With a feral snarl, I lunge.
The females scream, scrambling away as Chalath and I begin to spar. Immediately I am comfortable once more. This is what I am born to do. I grapple his arms, ignoring his claws as they dig into my scales. I can see the same crazy excitement in Chalath’s gaze as I feel—for the first time in days I feelalive. He shoves his weight at me, forcing me backward, and I swerve, ducking as he rakes his claws through the air. Within a few quick moves, I know what kind of fighter he is. He is all brute force, not sly intelligence or dexterity.
Unfortunately for him, I am all three.
I kick at him, turning and lashing him with my tail when he tries to roll away. I turn, keeping the upper hand, and lunge at him, trying to grapple. Back and forth we go, swiping at each other and circling, and I land a fist in his face when he tries to duck my swinging tail. He grunts and shakes it off, then tackles me and flings me to the ground.
“Stop it!” a female shrieks. “Where are Flor and I’rec? They’re fighting! Someone make them stop! Kyth! Stop them!”
The big moden splice just grunts, standing nearby to watch, and I know he will not stop us. He might want to fight me next, and I welcome the challenge. Grinning, I snap my teeth at Chalath and try to knock him over even as he seeks to sink his claws into my flesh. They bounce off my scales harmlessly and he growls in frustration.
Then I am being grabbed and dragged backward, even as Chalath has a stranger’s arm locked around his neck. It is I’rec, a look of fury on his face as he pulls Chalath away from me. I struggle to break free from my new attacker, and when both my arms are quickly pinned, I make the only move left to me—I stomp at Chalath’s face, my boot connecting with his nose.
Blood sprays and I laugh with delight. I have won. “Good match,” I call out as we are dragged to separate ends of the camp.
“Idiot,” the praxiian—Valmir—growls in my ear. “Rules are made to be followed.”
Bah. I ignore him. I shake off his grasp and fling my arms in the air, reveling in the looks of shock the females send my way and the sour looks the males do. They are just jealous they did not think of it first. My blood is roaring in my ears, and I feel good.
No, I feel keffing fantastic. I beat a fist over my heart, roaring with pride, and storm over to the fire so all can look upon my glory.
“Oh fuck off,” one woman mutters.
I raise both hands in the air again, stalking around the fire and letting all of them admire Skarr, he who has won the first sparring match here on this dismal planet.
Someone throws a handful of snow at my back. “Keep it down,” calls another female. “You’re giving me a headache!”
Slowly, I lower my arms and try not to show my frown to them. I…do not understand.
They should either love me or fear me. Both reactions are to be expected when faced with a triumphant, dangerous gladiator. They are giving me neither reaction. They are not begging to be pleasured.
Do…do they not know how to appropriately judge a battle?
I thump my chest again and then sit on a rock near the fire, my back stiff and my tail moving back and forth with agitation. I wait.
If my theory is correct, I shall resonate. I eye everyone within range of the fire’s light. The blonde female (who ignores me), Valmir (who gives me a look of disgust), and Chalath (irritated that I won, no doubt). Another two females hurry away, and another makes eye contact with me and bursts into tears.
Only one remains by the fire, the bland female with unremarkable features. She pokes at the flames with a long, skinny bone, then glances over at me with narrowed eyes.
“Ha!” I cry, beating my chest again. My tail sways back and forth, and I thump a fist over my heart once more. I do not need the adoration of that female to celebrate my win.
She curls her lip in my direction, turning back to the fire and poking at it with the stick once more. She is dismissingme. Clearly she missed the fight where I showed my strength.
I give my chest another proud thump, pacing back and forth, and then I feel it. There is a tickle in my chest. I pause and wait, curious. It grows stronger, the tickle turning into a vibration. A humming.
A song.
Yes.
I havewon. I have made this parasite, this khui, realize that I am the strongest of males, and so I should get the best of the females. I thump my chest again, triumphant, and the song only grows stronger. “You see?” I cry. “I resonate! I am the greatest of gladiators! My khui all but demands that I claim a female!”
“Oh brother,” someone mutters, and I turn.
