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“Justice will be served, and you’ll reclaim your rightful place,” Naxer vowed.
“I do not require revenge,” his Beta replied, shaking his head with a wry little smile on his scarred face. “I only want things set right, and Torian is yours. Don’t save the death stroke for me, Alpha.”
Naxer nodded once. “As you wish.” Then he turned to me. “Mate, I must go to challenge my cousin now. They may force me to fight his Beta as well, though I will try not to kill him, for that is not our way unless I am forced.” He looked at us. “If I fail, your priority is to escape with my mate and save as many Earth women as possible. Take Amara to sector one and liberate her abducted people. Let that be my dying request.”
My heart raced at his words. “Hey.” I stepped forward, unable to help myself as I laid a trembling hand on his arm. “Quit speaking as if you’re already counting yourself out.”
His smile unfurled gradually as he bent down, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that jolted every nerve awake, even amid the mounting tension. “I will return once I have secured my victory,” he told me, firm certainty on his face. “Remember, even the most seasoned warrior prepares for every outcome, not just victory.” With that, he pivoted, muscling his way through the crowd that had gathered around the quarreling Gladiators.
“Torian,” Naxer boomed, his voice carrying over the ruckus.
The clamor halted abruptly, the crowd undulating and parting like a sea around Naxer, as if recognizing the gravity of his presence. He strode forward with his head up, shoulders back, and stride open. Like he already owned the sector.
“I reclaim my pack.” Naxer folded back his hood.
Even though I was secluded from the crowd, I had a sufficient view of what was happening from my position. The massive alien at the center of the Gladiators was wearing jeweled bracers and glaring at Naxer like he wanted to set him on fire. Torian…
Torian was colossal, but there was an unsettling imbalance to his massiveness, as if amplified by alien substances. He was finely dressed in jeweled armor that looked like parade dress, though the swords on his belt looked very real. His opulent attire only stressed his eerie and arrogant demeanor. His complexion was pale grayish; his wispy blond hair barely covered his broad skull.
A shiver raced up my spine. Something was twisted in the alien, and it went beyond mere malevolence. There was an air of twisted wrongness about him.
“This pack is no longer yours,” Torian said slowly, as if talking to a stupid person, his voice dripping with disdain. “You were exiled to die in the jungle before you fell to the mating sickness. I took over this pack by right of strength.”
“You mean you enlisted hired muscle and subjected dissidents to torment?” Naxer retorted. “Including your own Gladiators.” Naxer looked around at them, scowling. “Delven alone bears too many scars to hide. This deviates from the honorable code of the Gladiators.”
Torian sighed and rolled his eyes, one hand dropping to the hilt of one of his knives. “It appears you’ve forgotten your place—your voice holds no sway here anymore. Now why have you dragged your half-mad carcass back to my sector?”
“I am not one bit mad, save perhaps for trusting you would not try something so dishonorable in my absence.”
The crowd parted further, sensing a growing, deadly tension between the two.
My gaze panned around and stopped when I saw the gathering of ragged human women just beyond Torian, standing with guards around them. The women looked exhausted and either angry or scared. Half of the women were left here by the slavers. Zahira was among them. My heart leaped when I saw her. Zahira appeared drained and battered; the scarring from pain sticks was clear, even from a distance. But she was alive, still standing.
“Zahira!” My voice tried to cut through the cacophony, swallowed by the din that erupted in response to Naxer’s audacious challenge for the Alpha position.
“Silence!” Torian commanded, unsheathing a pair of menacing blades with his lower appendages. “Explain yourself, Naxer. Have you come here to throw yourself on my blades for a mercy kill?”
“Far from it,” Naxer replied coolly, halting a mere six feet from his cousin while brandishing his own gleaming blades. “I’m here to throw you out of my sector on your bloated ass and take back what is mine—this pack.”
Torian laughed with an incredulous expression. “With what strength? You are dying from lack of a mate.”
“I am no longer sick, Torian,” Naxer said. “I’ve found my Sheleki.”
Torian’s jaw unhinged. A collective gasp swept through the crowd, a sea of murmurs and gossip, buzzing with speculation about the identity of Naxer’s mysterious mate.
With a flourish, I stepped forward. “I am Naxer’s Sheleki,” I declared, sweeping back my hood. Curiosity zinged toward me like an electrical charge.
“Impossible!” Torian roared, incredulity painting his features. “You expect us to believe the Omthryx led your Sheleki to you? In the middle of a godforsaken jungle?”
“Believe what you will.” Naxer’s icy gaze met Torian’s. “While you schemed and shattered the harmony of this pack, I recovered and refocused. Your reign is nothing but a chaotic interlude—a disgraceful bump in our history.” His fists clenched, trembling with barely contained fury. “You’re not fit to lead. Step down now, or be prepared to be torn apart.”
Torian’s eyes flickered as he weighed his diminishing options. Panic crept into his eyes as they darted to a youthful Gladiator with an ethereal mane of shorn white hair. “Khastrath, eliminate this nuisance. We’ve serious matters to attend to.”
Khastrath hesitated, his gaze moving between his Alpha and Naxer. “My apologies, Naxer,” he finally said, unsheathing his blades and stepping into the makeshift arena.
“You’re forgiven,” Naxer replied, his movements so swift they were almost a blur.
He disarmed Khastrath effortlessly and struck under the Gladiator’s jaw. Khastrath collapsed, incapacitated in an instant.
