Page 39 of Bound (Gladiators of the Gryn #3)

RYCH

Seeing Chrissie’s face as the door closes behind us is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

“Come.” Maxym slams a hand on my shoulder. “We will deal with the Loxzian, and you can return to your mate.”

“I need to nest for her,” I say through clenched teeth. “It hurts worse than being stabbed by Blayn.”

“Nesting? Already?” Maxym queries. “I wouldn’t have expected it of you.”

“What do you mean?” I growl, my feathers itching like crazy as we come out of the hidden doorway and duck down the passage which leads to the street.

“He means out of all of us, we didn’t expect you to find a mate,” Klynn says, spinning his sword pommel on the palm of his hand. “In fact, Maxym said he thought he’d find a mate before you.”

Maxym rubs at the back of his huge neck, almost as thick as a Xnosson bull’s. “You seemed interested in things other than nesting.”

“When fate finds you, it finds you,” I respond. “Although I doubt it’ll ever find Klynn.”

“Good,” he says. “Because I’ll stab it.”

I shake my head and squint up at Maxym. He grins.

“I’m not sure I endorse that particular strategy,” I say. “But then Klynn will never be mated, so it shouldn’t be a problem for him.”

Klynn snarls at me. “I’ll see you both at the dome. It’s about time there was violence,” he says, slipping into the shadows.

“Are you ready for the same?” I ask. “Because you don’t have to do this.”

“I was born ready.” Maxym draws down his brow, becoming the brooding terror he is well known for in the dome. “Violence is in my blood and soul, far more than Klynn.”

I grab hold of him, even though it could mean my life.

“Promise me, if anything happens, you’ll find my mate and help her get away.”

Maxym’s huge head swivels to where I have hold of him.

“You don’t need to ask, . She is as safe as she can be, and you will get back to her. But if anything happens, consider her under our protection.”

He backs away from me before darting away in the opposite direction to our comrade.

I feel rooted to the spot, not wanting to leave my mate, even if she is happy to have found a “lost library.” All I can think about is how the “books” will make good nesting material.

Which is probably something I don’t want to admit to my Chrissie. Something tells me she might disapprove.

I duck back the way we came, traversing a number of passages until I come out into a street far enough away from the safe house I shouldn’t be able to be traced back. As usual, the presence of a gladiator in the midst of the populace never goes unnoticed, regardless of whether or not I am still taking part in the games. Bodies part in front of me as I make my way to the dome.

As I get closer, the air fills with the scent of blood. It’s a smell which hangs over the place no matter whether the games are on or not. I fill my lungs with it, recalling how it used to be like home.

But home is where my Chrissie is. My mate is everything. The dome is nothing.

I skirt around the outside until I reach the hidden door, which swings open at my approach. I lever myself inside to find Klynn and his numerous swords waiting.

“What kept you?” he growls. “There’s fighting to be done.” He turns, his long wings swaying as he stomps down the corridor ahead of me.

Klynn isn’t happy unless he’s killing, damaged vrexer that he is.

I pull out my sword and follow him. Taking on the Loxzian here in a place I know gives me the advantage.

We make our way to the training arena where Maxym is waiting.

“Are they still here?”

“Yep, but there’s a problem,” Maxym says. “The procurator is suspicious we returned early. He knows gladiators with a pass will spend their time drinking until we’re rounded up and brought back.”

“What did you say?”

“I told the captain Klynn was sick, but the chances of the procurator believing that vrexer ever gets sick is pretty slim.”

“What do you think he will do?”

“There’s a risk of lockdown,” Maxym growls.

Klynn bristles, every feather on end. As if he doesn’t like being in the dome.

“Vrex! I need to get back to my mate. I can’t be locked in here,” I fire out. “But I have to get to the Loxzian first.”

“He’s in the hospitality suite,” Maxym says.

“Vrex it.”

“I know. I’d hoped they might take him on a tour, along with his reptilian friends, but as yet there’s been no movement.”

Outside the training arena, we hear voices. Klynn drops to the ground, concealing his swords, and clutches at his stomach.

“I’ll get rid of whoever it is,” Maxym says. “Go!”

I’m in the air before I even take a breath, climbing up until I get to the hidden ledge we discovered many nova-years ago. It runs around to a small opening only just big enough for a Gryn to squeeze through. I wait until I can hear voices (and the occasional dramatic groan from Klynn) and slide out of the arena into a stone passage which will lead me all the way to the dome itself.

The place is empty and silent. No gladiator likes an empty dome. Without the baying crowd, it is simply a killing ground. Even Klynn avoids it when it’s like this.

I scan the area, spotting the procurator’s hospitality suite is lit up, but there’s no movement inside. Then the great doors to the ante-chamber open up with a cracking sound which reverberates around the dome.

I look down, expecting to see the clerks making the place ready for the next games. But instead I see a number of Zarvu followed by the new procurator, the one the council appointed after the demise of the previous one, and a small group following on behind. He’s with the creature I’m seeking.

The Loxzian.

The assassin species is slim, covered in a silver fur which shifts like he can move to fit into spaces where no one should be able to fit. His long snout lifts as he attempts to scent past the stench of death.

His large, dark eyes miss nothing. The Loxzian senses are legendary, feared by any mark and well-regarded by any client. But their ability to fight is severely limited by their weak bodies. It makes them vulnerable out in the open although perfect as assassins.

The creatures following them send a shiver down my spine. It’s as if I recognize them, but at the same time, I do not know what they are. Like Maxym said, they’re like Oykig, only with greater facial horns and darker scales.

None of them are Fenek, although they appear to be the same species. And just when I’m attempting to work out whether or not that’s important, my name rings around the dome.

“, Gladiator of the Gryn, show yourself,” the procurator’s voice bellows out. “Your presence is required.”