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Things had been so simple before. My sole mission had been to liberate all my fellow humans from the hands of the slavers. Nothing else had mattered to me as much as that goal, and I had been willing to risk everything to see it through.But now?The game had totally changed.
Naxer and I had gone way beyond a tryst or an alliance of convenience. Now there were feelings involved. And they were making it hard for me to think strategically.
He was still my best bet for finding and freeing the others and for providing a haven. But that was all conditional on him taking back his throne and not bailing on his promise.
Can I really trust this guy? Or will I have to slip away again when this is all over just to keep my word to Zahira and the others?The weight of responsibility for the women still rested heavily on my shoulders no matter how much good sex and wild adventure had happened since I had made that promise. I’d sworn I would not rest until every kidnapped Earth woman was free.
If Naxer died somehow or went back on his promise, I still had a job to do.
And you bet your ass I’m gonna do it.
But if something happened to Naxer or if I had to ghost him? That would suck, more than I’d like to admit. Hurt in ways that no human man had ever mustered in me.
Marex, the guard we’d caught and pressed into service, kept looking at me curiously as I slipped down the corridor with them. His eyes kept flicking between me and Naxer like he was trying to decode what the hell our deal was. He could probably tell I had been with the captives from my battered shoes alone.But let’s be real—if I was just Naxer’s slave, would I be dual-wielding blasters?
I let him stew in his curiosity. There was still a chance he would turn on us as soon as he got the opportunity. I kept one eye on him, measuring both the odds he’d stab us in the back and the likelihood he was faster on the draw than me.
We approached a nondescript back door—unguarded—that led into the meeting room. Naxer gestured for the guard to go ahead, followed by me. He pulled up his hood before trailing behind. When we went through, the crowd in the stone-floored meeting room within didn’t spare us a glance. Everyone was so engrossed in the heated debate that we might as well have been invisible.
“I am telling you, we should have detained those accursed slavers before they could move on. Their sloppiness cost the Earthling females many lost lives. Any of us could have lost our Shelekis without even knowing it just on the journey here.” The voice was higher and younger-sounding than many of the others and full of strain.
“Stop complaining about the slavers’ methods,” another Gladiator said. “At least they deliver. I don’t see any of you, or the useless pups from the other sectors, coming up with a better idea on how to bring our mates.” The voice reverberated through the room—deep, booming, and dripping with arrogance. It was the voice of a man who had gotten way too used to getting his way. And to my amazement, he even sounded a little drunk.
“Torian,” Naxer growled under his breath.
The young guard guided us along the room’s perimeter, leading us to a lone figure standing apart from the crowd near the back. I glimpsed him as we drew near—pale and hollow-eyed with a fresh scar on one cheek.
“There, Alpha,” Marex murmured, nodding his head toward the scarred alien. Marex, who had relaxed around us, suddenly looked jittery. His eyes scanned the crowd as if expecting to be caught any second.
Naxer nodded and touched the guard’s shoulder. “Get back to your post before you’re noticed. Your role in this is done.” The Gladiator hurried away, and Naxer looked at me. “Follow me. My Beta can fill us in on the details before I challenge Torian.”
He led me to the scarred alien’s side, and for a few moments I wondered if it had been safe to let the guard go and to be here with no real disguise besides Naxer and I having our hoods up to conceal our faces.
“Half of the Earthling females the slavers brought us will be in the hands of medics for at least a ten-day,” another voice said in protest. “Some may not survive. It was shameful enough to use slavers, but their methods—this is monstrous.”
There was a small sense of satisfaction in hearing these Gladiators openly condemn what the slavers had done to us. The crowd erupted into shouts, some in support, some dismissing the speaker’s concerns. It seemed the crowd leaned more against buying Earth women even if their own survival was at stake.
Naxer had always said his people were mostly honorable and just; I hadn’t really bought it until this moment.
My focus shifted abruptly when Naxer clamped a hand on Delven’s shoulder, causing the alien to look up at us, bewildered.
The shock and joy on his face nearly made him shout aloud, but he caught himself and hurriedly stepped away from the crowd. “Follow me,” Delven said, steering us toward a secluded back gallery, hidden from the sight of the public speaker and crowd. Only then did he turn, beaming at Naxer with astonished eyes.
“By all the Omthryx. You live,” Delven said.
“Yes, against all odds, I’m still here.” Naxer clasped his friend’s shoulder.
Delven’s gaze flicked to me before settling back on Naxer. “How did you manage it?”
“The Omthryx’s mercy and that of my Sheleki.” His eyes glanced over at me. “Her name is Amara. She escaped the slavers and found me in the forest.” His eyes locked with Delven.
Delven looked like a Gladiator whose faith in life had been dying embers had suddenly found them breathed back to existence. “Then the stars have aligned in our favor,” he whispered softly. “You must challenge Torian before he causes any more trouble.”
“Before we move forward, tell us the details—what’s been going on and how much backing does he have?” Naxer asked, putting a leash on his overzealous Beta.
“Barely any at all. His Beta even protests his actions, as you heard. The resentment against him, his selfishness, his cruelty, and his mismanagement grows daily. But everyone lives in fear of him. He has turned us against each other, manipulated everyone. And used me as an example all the while.” He gestured to his face of scars. I recognized the marks—pain stick scars.
“You were tortured,” I uttered, aghast and barely audible. This Torian guy was a monster.
