Page 5

My hackles rise, and the wind turns, carrying more scents. Not just mesakkah and praxiian. There's another splice with strange scents, and a…moden? I'd bet they're all gladiators.

Are they hunting for us? If so, I need to prepare. I sink down into the shadows at the base of one of the nearby cliffs and next to a scrubby-looking bush that seems more thorns than leaves. I dig out some of the snow near my legs and pull it back over my crouching form until my entire body is hidden. They will have to come examine the bush—or the churned snow—to discover me, and I will attack if I must.

I ignore the cold, remain still, and wait. I concentrate on the world around me. There is a distinct lack of insect life here, and all is incredibly silent. The high canyons make my breaths echo and carry on the wind, so I slow my respiration.

Then, I hear voices in the distance.

Male voices. I tense, preparing to fight if I must, because these are likely gladiators sent down for the games like me. They are my enemy.

They grow closer, and I realize they are traveling together. Idiots. Why would you work together? You cannot share a female. She should belong to the strongest male that can protect her. Unless all the other females are dead and they are hunting for mine. The thought makes me furious, and I can feel my claws distending in response. No one is touching Aidy.

Only me.

The speakers walk right past my hiding place, and I count three bodies. Two splices—one reptilian in nature, the other praxiian—and a heavyset moden. They carry spears and seem to be hunting, but they're so loud I doubt they'll catch anything. Icould pick them off easily, but something makes me pause. They have fur clothing, and weapons. They got them from somewhere.

I need to find out where so I can get supplies for myself and Aidy.

"What if we find something dead?" the reptilian one asks the others. "Can't we just bring that back to camp?"

"Has to be alive," says the moden, his voice deep and sonorous. "The blue thing dies quickly, and we need it living to put it into someone."

Blue thing? Put into someone? I prick my ears, listening carefully.

"Bah," says the reptilian. "Feels like they are assigning busy work to us so we stay away from the females."

"We are helping save them," the moden says. "Surely they will look fondly upon us for that. The khui helps with the cold."

The praxiian says nothing, content to let the others speak. The three trudge on through the snow, and when their voices become indecipherable, I leave my hiding space and follow them carefully. I keep enough space between us that they will not pick up my scent, and the wind remains in my favor.

By the time I catch up, they have caught a slow-moving, round beast with quills. It wriggles in the hands of the moden, who grips it like a ball and ignores the beast's efforts to escape. I duck to the side, hiding in the shadows of the canyon, as the three clueless males stand around and discuss their prize.

"How do we know this creature has one?" the reptilian asks.

The praxiian finally speaks. "The eyes. They glow blue. That means the parasite is active."

A parasite. Interesting.

"Let me see it," the reptilian says, and the moden hands it to him.

Immediately, the creature squirms wildly and the reptilian loses his grip. He catches it again, only to wrench it by the neck and the creature goes limp.

"You killed it. Idiot." The praxiian's words are a displeased growl. "Now we can't bring it back."

"My hands were just too strong," the reptilian protests. "My killing instinct took over. It's because I'm such a fierce fighter."

I have to bite my lip to keep from snorting with derision. Someone thinks highly of himself.

The moden speaks up. "Open it. We can take the khui for one of us and bring the meat back to camp. All is not lost, but we must be quick." He turns to the praxiian. "You don't have a khui yet, Valmir."

The praxiian nods and takes the dead animal from the other. He pulls out a small, crude knife and cuts it open, and the scent of blood fills the wind. After a moment, he pulls out what looks like a glowing blue filament and stretches it on his fingers. "It looks like a worm."

"It is a worm, but what other choice do you have? It's necessary for survival." The moden remains unruffled. "Be quick so the creature's death is not in vain."

The praxiian splice cuts his arm open with a claw, and as I watch, he places the filament there. It disappears before my eyes, and the praxiian shudders and collapses on the ground.

"Great. Now we have to carry him back to camp." The reptilian is disgusted. "He's not going to wake up for hours."

"You should have thought of that before you killed our catch," the moden says. He bends down to scoop up the collapsed praxiian, and as he does, I notice his eyes are a faint blue instead of the normal moden black. Interesting.