Page 29 of Bound (Gladiators of the Gryn #3)

CHRISSIE

I don’t get a good look at the three Oykig as one points across the square at us, but I can’t shake the feeling they’re familiar somehow. Given they’re toting enough ray guns to supply an army, I can see why Rych decided they were up to no good.

I should be terrified. I spent so much of my time post abduction frightened for my life and my body, until I caught the virus and nothing else mattered. Here and now, alongside my big, bad Gryn gladiator, his movements easy and sinuous, his abs rippling and his great wings held high as we make good our escape, I have no fear.

It’s as freeing as finding my pain is so much reduced since waking up here. I heard about hot springs on Earth which were supposed to have healing properties, but I thought it was a Victorian myth. Could it be the same here on Trefa?

I’m not going to dwell on it. Simply reveling in feeling somewhere near how I was before the virus is enough. I can even keep up with Rych’s long strides as we duck down a number of increasingly narrow passages before we come out into a small space between the buildings.

“Can I ask you to ‘wait here’? Little mate, while I…” He points upwards and opens his wings.

“Just this once,” I respond and stand back as he beats down, whipping up dust and debris as he fires himself upwards but doesn’t get much higher than the roofs above before flipping over and disappearing out of sight.

I wait.

I don’t like it, but I recognize in this particular situation, asking him to carry me with him is neither sensible nor going to be pleasant.

Minutes tick by. I tap my foot and drink the rest of my joh, a hot drink more like chai than coffee, and one I didn’t realize I had a taste for until now.

Something blots out the suns, and Rych crashes back to the ground, his wings falling like a cloak around him.

“Rych?”

“We have to go, now!” he says, rising but keeping his torso hidden from me.

Pain flashes through my mind, but it’s not my pain, it’s a ghost of a pain.

“Let me see,” I demand.

He glares at me for a second, then he unwraps the wing from around himself. A searing livid plasma burn crosses his abdomen down the left side.

“It’s a flesh wound,” Rych says, straightening up. “I’ve had worse in the dome. Let’s go, little spark.”

He ushers me ahead of him.

“You need to get it treated.”

“I heal fast. All Gryn do,” he responds as I’m rushed along down three more winding passages, at the bottom of which, I see an oddly shaped craft.

“I’d prefer we were flying, but this is all I could find on short notice.”

“What is it?” I stare at the thing, a skeleton sphere with what looks like a seat in the middle and a large block below.

“It’s a hover craft,” Rych says, clambering onto it like a motorcycle.

“I think hover craft on Trefa and hovercraft on Earth are two different things,” I say, partly to myself, as I get on in front of him. “How does it work?”

“Press here to start.” Rych wraps an arm around me and presses on the console in front.

The thing hums, and a set of bars rises up out of the solid block, molding themselves to my shape.

“Accelerate is…”

I’ve already wrapped my hand around what I think is the throttle, and as I squeeze, the sphere shoots forward.

“It is like a motorbike.” I laugh out loud. “I feel like I haven’t ridden in ages! And I haven’t ridden in ages!” I grip harder, and with a lurch, the hover craft increases its speed.

Behind us, a plasma bolt slams into a wall.

“Keep going,” Rych says.

A quick glance over my shoulder, and I see he has a pulsar pistol in his hand. I grip the throttle as he returns fire, and we jink through the alleyways which are, fortunately, large enough for the craft and the two of us.

“Where to?” I shout over the sound of the engine and the wind as we race down a wide passageway.

“Next left,” Rych says in my ear, “and we should be out of Kal.”

I take the turn, feeling my way with the new machine. It’s incredibly responsive and stable as we whirl around, and I see, at the bottom of the hill, an open space. I increase our speed, and we race downwards before firing out from between two walls.

“Shit!” I try to slow down before we hit the wide river.

“Keep going! This is all terrain,” Rych calls out. I grip the throttle with all my might, and we skim over the surface, spray hitting the forcefield around us until we’re free of the water. I risk a check behind us and see, through the mist, two of the Oykigs stranded on the other side.

“Go!” Rych exhorts me as several bolts hit the surface where we just were. “Before they get their own transport.”

We shoot forward again, into the waving grass of the wide plain, and I keep up our pace until the grassland morphs into low sweeping hills and there are places we can hide. I bring the hover craft to a halt.

Rych rolls off with a groan and throws himself down on the ground.

“Are you okay?” I ask, leaping off after him.

“Not used to fast ground transport,” he grumbles. “Prefer flying.”

“You’re travel sick?”

Rych nods. He has one hand wrapped over his abdomen.

“Let me see,” I say, gently lifting it away.

The burn doesn’t look great, but it also isn’t any worse than when I briefly saw it before.

“There are supplies on the hover craft.” Rych eyes the thing with suspicion. “I’m not sure what as I borrowed it.”

“Borrowed?”

He gives me a shrug and a wan smile. “Maybe stole.”

“Great, so we can add thieves to our resumes, as well as hooligans.”

“I already am a thief, little spark, and as for hooligan, if that has anything to do with the way you piloted the hover craft, I am in awe of your hooliganism,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.