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

CHRISSIE

I swear as the glass tumbles into the stone basin in my quarters and smashes to pieces. It means I have to take another one from the kitchen.

The last thing I want is to go downstairs. I am exhausted, and I don’t want to encounter my boss. Fenek’s absolutely adamant the assassin came for him with the intention of kidnapping me. Something I find highly improbable…the kidnapping, not the assassination.

I try to take the glass out of the basin carefully but hiss as my hand is nicked by a sharp shard. My blood oozes out, deep scarlet, making my head spin as I reach for a towel and wrap up the wound. I’m so sick of being sick. I force myself to stay upright and clear up the remainder of the glass, which I deposit in the refuse incinerator.

As I do, I catch sight of myself. My skin is pale in the artificial light, and my hair looks like straw. But humans are virtually unknown in this quarter of the galaxy, and even though I think I look terrible, no one else does. The one saving grace.

I’m a sick thirty-year-old human. I might have an ability to entertain, but I’m not exactly a prize, even if Fenek touts me around like one. My alien boss excels at marketing himself, and he’s done very well at it.

I decide to put my big girl knickers on and do what I need to do. Taking my stick, I make my way slowly down the stairs, listening for Fenek’s whiny voice. All I hear is the hum of the internal generators and the sounds of the cleaning bots going about their business. Outside it’s bright and sunny. I consider whether I should go out, get some sun on my face, but then I remember how my skin reacted last time. Big purple blotches.

This space virus is something else. And sunlight is out of the question. Best just stay alone in the dark.

I descend another staircase which takes me into the basement, to the kitchens. Fenek rarely uses them, preferring to get food delivered or eat out. But as he doesn’t want to take me everywhere, he has it stocked with basic re-hydrated rations and a kitchen-bot who can prepare fresh meals if I want them.

So, when I enter, I don’t expect to see another living being, let alone a massive male, with slate dark wings, feathers pooling on the floor behind him as he sits at the kitchen bench, his back to me. He’s eating his way steadily through an absolute mountain of meat.

I freeze.

He doesn’t stop eating or even look around. It’s like I don’t exist. I contemplate my options. I could back out of here, pretend I didn’t see this enormous creature and go back to my quarters.

Or I could get my glass of water because I actually live here, and I shouldn’t be intimidated in my own living space, by whatever this…hulk of a male is. An absolutely vast creature who has a very muscular back and, from my current position, a bum to die for.

One thing is for sure—he works out. A lot.

I toss my hair back and stride, well, hobble but with bigger movements…into the kitchen, making my way past the male to the prep area on the other side of him.

“Hi,” I say breezily. “New here?”

Worst opening line ever. I cringe inwardly.

He grunts.

Maybe not such a bad opening line if he’s going to be rude. I fill my glass with water from the cooling fountain and lean against the counter.

“I’m ,” I say as he continues to shovel food into his mouth. He doesn’t speak. “And you are…?” I prompt.

The male lifts his head, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He has liquid dark eyes, and no white shows within them, only a reflection of me. His cheekbones could have been carved by a Greek sculptor, his face severely handsome. A small scar runs through one eyebrow, giving him a rakish look under his dark floppy hair. Around his neck are a number of heavy precious metal necklaces, tangled together.

And that’s all he wears on his upper half. Some jewelry. Otherwise he is bare chested and what a chest! The same sculptor has had a field day on his abs. I’m getting hot simply looking at him, and it doesn’t help his eyes are raking over me from my toes to the top of my head.

“Rych,” he rasps before going back to his food, eyes down once more. “You should get your wound seen to,” he adds, not making eye contact.

He has one hand on the counter and now I notice the claws. They’re nothing like Fenek’s. These things have to be close to three inches long, curved like a big cat with needle sharp tips. They’re digging into the surface as if it’s cheese and not solid stone.

I take a gulp of water, choke, and then run for it.

Whoever this Rych is, he’s a dangerous predator, and as prey, I need to get as far away from him as I can.

But I only get as far as the doorway before I’m twirled around, and a hard, muscular body is pressed against mine, a pair of dark, dark eyes drilling into my soul. My treacherous body, the one I thought was broken, doesn’t shy away from him. Instead, my core pulses.

“Don’t think you can get away from me, little spark…” His voice is midnight velvet drawn over hot coals. “I eat morsels like you for breakfast, and I will certainly relish you.”