Page 4 of Adtovar (The Alliance Rescue #1)

I feigned attention to their lighthearted chatter.

But deep down, the weight of reality sat heavy on my heart.

I couldn’t imagine going through what these females endured as a prize.

And although I sympathized with them, there was also a sense of relief that I didn’t suffer their fate.

In all my time here, I’d never made it to the prize pool.

Of course, that didn’t mean I had it easy.

At first, the pit owner, Bozzo, felt he had to break me.

I hadn’t been the most compliant of creatures—I tended to bite.

I spent weeks in a cell, starved, smacked around, and forced to clean up messes I couldn’t even recall without a wave of nausea.

Then I figured out that the small gray rocks littered over the dirt floor of the slave quarters possessed some interesting properties.

After that, Bozzo and I came to a begrudging understanding.

He would never let me go, but at least I spent my time here cleaning and looking after the other females and not on my back.

“I wonder how it went with Melakor,” Emmiait whispered, her question drawing a blanket of silence over the table.

Slowly, and with my head lowered so hopefully no one would notice, I let my gaze travel across the room toward the newest arrival.

Melakor was massive, with bulging muscles that would make The Rock jealous and dirt-colored leathery skin.

Two massive wings sprouted from his back, shredded and worthless for flight from his time in the arena.

His eyes were black, and so were his lips, which framed yellow tusks jutting from his lower jaw.

There wasn’t an inch of this male that spoke of gentleness or kindness.

I started to ask who he chose for the night, but realized with a sickening lurch to my stomach that I already knew.

“Where’s Lafalia?”

Gasps arose around the table as the others came to the same conclusion, but I was already rushing down the corridor.

“Lafalia?”

Her cell was dark and silent, save a tiny sliver of dirty yellow light filtering through a hole in the ceiling. She lay on the cot, curled into a fetal position, so still and pale I feared she might be dead despite the ragged, desperate sound of her breathing echoing around the room.

“Lafalia?”

I dropped to my knees beside her cot, my hand outstretched but hesitant to touch her.

Of all the females, Lafalia was the most human looking…

and the most frail. She was tiny, standing a few inches shorter than my five foot seven, with pale pink skin, large, almost doll-like green eyes, and wavy lavender hair.

Now, deep blue and purple bruises mottled the beautiful color of her skin.

A deep cut split the center of her lower lip, and drops of dried blue blood dotted her skin like freckles.

Swelling shut one eye, while the other remained squeezed tightly closed as though she was afraid to see what surrounded her.

“Lafalia?” I whispered again, this time letting my hand land gently on her shoulder.

One green eye popped open, bloodshot and wary.

“What happened, sweetie?” It was a stupid question. I knew what happened, and the bastard that did it was sitting in the dining hall like he didn’t have a care in the universe. Fucker!

“I—I hurt.”

Her voice was nothing more than a rasp, and she winced as the sound traveled over her injured lip.

I didn’t doubt it. Her lip and eye looked painful, as did the myriad of bruises covering her pale skin, but what concerned me most was the way she held her arms crossed protectively over her ribs.

“Goddess,” Sureeta muttered, stumbling into the room, followed by the rest of the females. “Will she live?”

“Of course she will live,” I snapped at the red-skinned female, pissed that she’d even thrown that option out to the universe. The truth was, I didn’t know.

“Rumors say Melakor has killed females before,” Teenalia whispered, her voice laden with fear. The new gladiator was a champion, and with Lafalia injured, he would pick another… and another… and another.

I couldn’t worry about that now. I needed to check Lafalia’s injuries and find a way to treat her with a first aid kit that was little more than a needle, some string and a half-jar of mint smelling salve that was God knew how old.

There was one thing though, and without taking my eyes from Lafalia’s face, my hand fished into the depths of my satchel.

The metal box felt cold to the touch and was no bigger in my hand than a box of pop-tarts.

A medi-unit. I’d bartered with Bozzo for it by promising not to set fires anymore.

The thing was old and had long since ran out of medication, but it could still diagnose injury and illness.

Placing my fingers in the depressions on the side of the box, I gave a squeeze, and the unit chugged to life, giving off a faint blue light.

Slowly, I ran it from the top of Lafalia’s head to the tips of her toes and back again.

It beeped once, and then a slurred robotic voice listed the damage.

Periorbital hematoma of the left eye.

Laceration of the lower lip.

Fractures in ribs three, five, and seven in the left chest cavity.

Fractures in ribs four and six in the right chest cavity.

“Any diagnosis of head trauma?” I heard worried gasps from behind me as I prompted the unit.

Negative.

I took a deep breath, asking what I feared most. “Any diagnosis of internal bleeding?”

Negative.

Relief slammed through me so forcefully that I nearly wept. Instead, I got to work.

I set Meeka to gathering every clean piece of cloth she could get her hands on.

Sureeta was tasked with getting a cup of the coldest, cleanest water she could find.

Teenalia’s job was to beg, borrow or steal some gruel from the kitchen. Lafalia needed to eat to retain her strength and with her split lip, chewing the brick like protein bars would prove painful.

Emmiait went to scrounge up some new clothes. Lafalia’s dress was nothing more than ripped rags.

Kysia stayed with me, standing sentry at the door. Bozzo forbid the gladiators from visiting the female quarters except for prize night, but I didn’t want to take the chance of Melakor returning to finish the job. God, what had that bastard done to her?

The girls returned quickly and huddled worriedly around the cot while I tended to Lafalia’s injuries. She lay still under my touch, only the quickening of her breath and faint moans letting me know she was still conscious.

What I wouldn’t give for some herbs. My grandmother had been what some called a yarb woman , skilled at folk healing and natural remedies.

While I’d always resisted her attempts to teach me the skill, I’d picked up enough from her, and my aunt, to at least conjure something to relieve pain if I only had the supplies.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I cooed, wiping the dried blood from her lip before dipping one of the clean cloths in cold water and instructing Kysia to hold it against the wound like a compress.

“This is not right,” Sureeta grumbled, her purple gaze hardening as it flashed toward the dining area where I suspected Melakor remained.

“You know he will win again,” Kysia murmured, fear clouding her features. “Which one of us will he do this to next?”

“Nobody,” I assured them, applying the rest of the cold compresses to Lafalia’s ribs, causing her to utter a moan of pain.

“You’re going to see Bozzo,” Emmiait guessed.

I tensed but gave a curt nod of agreement.

I didn’t want to. Life worked out better for me if I stayed far away from the nasty fucker that owned the pit.

We had a grudging acceptance of each other, Bozzo and I.

He left me alone, and I… behaved. But no way in hell was I going to allow some asshole gladiator to brutalize these females. Truce be damned.

“Are you going to use your magic on him?” Kysia whispered, her eyes brightening, excited by the prospect.

“I’m going to use something on him,” I promised.