Page 9 of Bound (Gladiators of the Gryn #3)

CHRISSIE

I set the small ‘beat box’, as I call it, on the table in the large living area Fenek never uses. It has the best acoustics I’ve ever come across and is the perfect place to practice without straining anything.

The box is programmed with my backing music. Music itself is not unusual on Trefa, or in Tatatunga, but it seems there are few singers. This could be due to the myriad of different species and cultures, but as so many seem to enjoy my singing, it does seem strange there are so few of us. But music means there are instruments, or tech, like my beat box, which allowed me to create a number of basic backing tracks I can use when I sing, although mostly, it’s only my voice.

Having run through a few exercises, I start with one of my favorite songs by Kate Rusby. One I hardly ever got to sing because the band preferred Eighties rock ballads, which I am not opposed to, but it’s nice to sing something soft every once in a while.

As my voice dies away in the room, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickle as if someone is watching me. I don’t want to move, so I slowly, painfully turn my head until my eye is drawn to a pool of feathers.

Feathers which I follow upwards until I come to a bare-chested, heavily muscled Rych, who has his arms folded over his chest. Along with his necklaces, he has a leather strap in a “v” shape which is set with a glowing stone and two heavy gold cuffs on his forearms.

“Is everything okay?” I reach for my stick and switch off the music.

“Fenek wants us to travel to Artalen, tonight. Transport will be here soon.” He says gruffly.

“Artalen?”

“Yes,” Rych replies. “Dry, arid, boring as vrex, but it’s where we’re going. He wants you to sing.”

“Somewhere dry. Awesome,” I mutter to myself, picking up my box and my stick and getting to my feet. “Did he leave you to deliver any more fun messages?” I ask Rych.

He straightens his shoulders, pulling himself up to his full height, which is pretty impressive.

“Only I am to take care of you.”

An anger rises up inside me. I want to shout about being able to take care of myself. I don’t need anyone else’s help. I can do this. I’ve always done what I wanted when I wanted. My dad made sure I was as independent as they come.

But it’s pointless. Utterly pointless.

“I’ll go pack.” I hobble past him, hating my leg for showing weakness next to this prime example of male alien.

But I don’t get far. A clawed hand curls around my arm, stopping me in my tracks.

“And not let you out of my sight.”

I shake him off, surprised when he does let go but also at how heat blooms on my skin where he touched me.

“I doubt you need to watch me put clothes in a case.”

“Perhaps,” Rych says, his dark eyes even darker. “It’s my job. Let me do it.”

Now I feel like a complete arse for being angry. And I also feel exhausted from all the emotions.

“Fine, whatever,” I sigh out, and with my leg feeling a little easier, I don’t limp so much as I head up to my room, an enormous Gryn in tow.

He follows me into my room and stands just inside the doorway, arms folded over his chest. It’s clear, for whatever reason, he’s taking this seriously, and he’s not going anywhere.

I simply do not have the energy to get rid of him. Which means I’m going to have to tolerate him as I pull out the items I need and place them on my bed, before opening up my wardrobe.

“Did Fenek say anything about my audience?” I ask as I stare into my closet.

“No,” Rych grunts.

I peer around the door at him.

He’s glowering at something. When I look down, I see it’s the travel case I use. It’s a bot, like virtually everything Fenek owns. It’s rolled out of its cupboard, lights blinking, waiting for me to offer up what will go inside it.

It beeps. Rych’s wings flare out, slamming into the walls, and he swipes at the case with a snarl, huge, thick claws scoring over the surface.

It rolls away from him.

“That’s my luggage. Thank you for protecting me from it,” I say, not quite believing what I’m seeing.

“Don’t like bots,” Rych growls.

“You’re not kidding.” I inspect the case. There’s only superficial damage. It chimes and opens up for me like a yawning mouth. Rych makes a strangled sound.

“Look, you’ve done your job protecting me from my luggage. I’ll not be long. Why not wait for me downstairs?” I suggest.

Rych growls under his breath, not taking his eyes off the luggage bot. He really, really doesn’t like it. His entire body is tenser than I’ve ever seen him, and his feathers are slicked down hard. Despite my earlier anger, I don’t like seeing him this way, at all.

“I can manage here.” I put my hand on his arm.

Slowly, he looks down at where I’m touching him, and it’s as if the light which went off when he reacted to the bot comes back on again.

His eyes bore into mine and it feels like electricity crackles between us. I’m lost in the deep dark pools. The scent of his feathers, spicy, sweet as they’ve fluffed again, fill my senses.

Rych’s hand curls over mine, hot, clawed, dangerous, and comforting.

Something buzzes on his belt.

“The transport is here,” he rasps.

“You’d better go do your job,” I respond.

He doesn’t move. I don’t move. His belt buzzes again, and he curses his “vrex” under his breath. I can’t stop the smile on my face.

“Did you really also do security when you were a gladiator?” I can’t help but ask.

Right now, he strikes me as the least likely bodyguard in the whole of Tatatunga.

“Of course I did.” He bristles, straightening, his hand falling away. “And I was one of the best.”