Page 10

VEGA

The Ignarath guard's filthy, hooked talon scraped my neck as he shoved me.

Hard. I stumbled, boots skidding on slime-slick dirt, but caught myself.

No way was I giving the bastard the satisfaction of seeing me fall.

The cell door slammed shut behind me with a final, echoing thump that vibrated through the stone and my teeth.

“Enjoy your new home, pet.” The guard’s sneer stretched his scaled face, yellow eyes lingering like dirty fingers.

Malice dripped off him. “Your master better show tomorrow. Or the arena gets a new screamer.” He grunted, a wet, satisfied sound, and finally, his heavy footfalls faded down the corridor.

Only then did I let myself breathe. Air thick with old blood, piss, and the sour tang of fear-sweat hit the back of my throat. My jaw pulsed, a deep ache where one of them had clocked me. I tasted blood, copper and sharp, inside my cheek.

Alive. Check.

Functional? Jury was still out.

The cell was a pit. Damp in ways I didn’t want to think too hard about. A waste bucket in the corner, radiating its own special stink. Degradation by design.

And eyes. Staring from the shadows. Five pairs. Human.

My heart did a sick little flip-flop, then pounded against my ribs like it wanted out.

Gaunt faces. Hollowed-out eyes that held less life than ghosts.

Hunger, yeah, but something else. Resignation.

That flat, dead look that comes after hope gets ripped out too many times.

Three women, two men. Earth clothes shredded to rags.

Bodies like stick figures draped in bruises.

“Who the hell are you?”

The voice was rough gravel scraped over stone. It belonged to a woman standing protectively before the others. Dark hair hacked short, eyes narrowed, sharp with suspicion. It was the same question the woman in the other cell had asked, but harder, and somehow more resigned.

I pulled myself straighter, ignoring the sharp protest from my ribs. “I'm Vega Cross. I'm here to rescue you.”

And some job of that I was doing.

The words just hung there in the stale, stinking air. Nobody moved. No cheers, no relief. Just that sharp-eyed stare, dissecting me. Was I hallucinating? A liar? Some new Ignarath mind-fuck?

“Rescue?” A softer voice, cracked with disuse. Hope flickered, fragile as a candle flame. A woman with olive skin, faded magenta streaks clinging stubbornly to strands of black hair, took a hesitant step forward. “How? Were you on the Nostos ?”

“Yes.” I kept my voice low, trying to sound reassuring, even as my own guts churned. “I was in a sleeping pod that crashed near Scalvaris. Another Drakarn city. They're … different.”

Different. Christ, what an understatement.

But asking about the Nostos meant these were exactly the humans I was looking for.

We'd all crammed into those sleeping pods and surrendered our fate to a ship and an unknown future on some human colony in far off space.

It wasn't supposed to be there , but we were alive, and that was what mattered at that moment.

A bitter laugh choked out from the corner. A man, slumped against the far wall like his bones couldn't hold him up. “Different? These scaly bastards are all the same. Use you 'til you break, then eat the pieces.”

Maybe. I still had my own doubts about the Drakarn.

But right then? Survival mode. I moved deeper into the cell, scanning.

Automatic threat assessment. A lock as big as my fist. No picking that and, besides, I didn't have tools.

Bars thick, rusted but solid. Stone walls looked depressingly sound. Built to hold monsters. Or make them.

“I'm getting us out,” I said. A promise that felt heavy, maybe impossible, but necessary. “What are your names?”

Zarvash, you better show up in the morning. I had to banish the thought. He would be there. He had to be.

They traded looks. That silent language of shared suffering.

“Kinsley.” The first woman, the sharp-eyed one. “This is Nat.” Angular features, lean build, coiled tension. “Yelena.” The magenta streaks. “Eli.” The bitter laugher. “And Asif.” A thin man with kind eyes that looked tragically out of place there, gave a tiny nod.

“How long?” I asked, folding myself onto the gritty floor. Trying not to think about what I was sitting in.

“How long do you fucking think?” Kinsley spat. She still had life in her, still had enough fire to be angry. Good. “Our pod crashed out here. We didn't even have time to figure out which way was up before they found us.”

“What did they do to you?” I regretted the question even as the words came out of my mouth. Reika had escaped this terrible place and couldn't say a word about it. How could I expect it of people still living in hell?

Nat's mouth twisted. A nerve touched. “We're slaves. We clean the arena after the fights. Serve the warriors.” Her voice dropped, roughened. “Whatever they want.” That last bit hung there, heavy and ugly. My stomach clenched tight.

“Is a woman named Larissa here?” I leaned forward, pulse picking up speed. “Younger, Asian. Larissa Chen. Her sister, Kira, is in Scalvaris. Safe and alive.”

There was a flicker of recognition across Kinsley's face. Thank fuck. “Larissa … Yeah. They took her somewhere else. Outside the city.”

“Why?” The word shot out, too sharp. Damn it. Of course it wouldn't be easy. Not that this was easy.

“I don't know.” Kinsley hugged her knees tighter. “She knew things. Engineering stuff. One of their officials got real interested.”

Air rushed back into my lungs. Alive. Larissa was alive. Kira needed to know. If I got back to tell her. A new weight settled. What were they making her do?

“Have you seen Reika?” Yelena asked, voice trembling, hope making her look almost young again. “She was in our pod. Did you …?”

“Yes,” I said, and a real smile, small but there, touched my lips. “She's escaped; she's safe.”

The words crashed over Yelena. Hands flew to her mouth, tears instantly welling, spilling over. “Safe,” she whispered, the word dissolving into a choked sob.

“How'd you end up in here?” Asif asked. Quiet voice, steady gaze.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. There was grit under my nails.

“I came looking for more humans. After we found Reika, we knew you were out here. Then the Ignarath snatched me outside of Scalvaris. The opportunity to investigate was too good to pass up.” Not that there was a choice, considering the long hike home Zarvash and I had ahead of us.

If he came.

He would come.

“Alone?” Eli's eyebrows shot up. “Sounds like a suicide mission.”

Shit.

How to explain Zarvash? Tell these people, broken by Drakarn cruelty, that one of them was my backup? That he might be walking into this shithole arena to get me out? That the thought of him facing those Ignarath butchers made something cold curl in my gut? Fuck.

But I couldn't lie. Not that I was incapable of it—I'd lied myself out of too many situations to count. But it would break their trust right then when I needed it most.

I couldn't have that.

“I wasn't the only one captured by the Ignarath,” I said carefully. “There's a Drakarn with me. Zarvash.”

Silence. Thick. Heavy. Hostile.

“You're working with them?” Nat’s voice was pure ice. Disgust plain on her face. “Willingly?”

“It's complicated,” I bit out. Understatement of the damn millennium. “Scalvaris, it's … they're not these Ignarath scum. The gave us shelter. Protection.”

“For what price?” Eli challenged, face hardening into granite skepticism.

Terra and Darrokar. Orla and Rath. Selene and Vyne. Hawk and Khorlar. They all flashed through my head. The bonds. Unexpected. Unavoidable. The way we’d woven ourselves into their world or maybe got caught in their web.

That I couldn't say a word about. Working with the Drakarn was one thing. Fucking them? None of these humans could understand it. Hell, I didn't understand it.

Until I remembered the gentle feel of Zarvash's claws on my skin. The way his eyes I had lit with an inner fire when he looked at me, when he drew his hands up my arms while I broke out in goosebumps. While I silently wished he'd do more even as I dreaded it.

“Partnership,” I said finally. “We help them, they help us.”

Nobody looked convinced. Couldn't blame them. Their “partnership” involved cleaning blood off sand.

“This Scalvaris,” Kinsley said. “Tell us about it.”

So, I did. The underground city, the river. Training grounds. Healing caves. The crash and almost everything that came after it. I skipped the mate bonds. That was too much. Too unacceptable for people living this nightmare.

I watched their faces while I talked. Hope, quickly buried. Wariness. Disbelief. But behind it all, a desperate hunger for anything better than that cell.

“How are you planning on getting out?” Nat asked when I finished, blunt and practical. “Unless your Drakarn friend brought an army, forget it.”

I hesitated. “He's entering the tournament. We, uh …” Fuck, they weren't going to believe this part. “They think I'm his slave. I'm collateral. Some guards caught me sneaking around.” And Zarvash had to be furious about me sneaking off.

He'll come.

“And you trust this guy?” Asif asked.

“Yes,” I snapped before hesitation could sell me out. I had to trust him. At least tonight.

Five pairs of eyes looked at me with something like pity. They'd learned over and over again that you couldn't trust Drakarn. And there I was, in a cell with them, telling them that I was letting one of the monsters pretend to own me in an impossible plot to break these people out.

I'd be giving me a pitying look too.

“Sleep,” Kinsley said finally, her voice flat. “They do rounds soon, and they'll come in and cause trouble if we're making noise. They don't like it when we speak English.”

They didn't have translators. Of course, how could they? That was another problem for the morning.

Sleep. Right. Like my brain would shut off. Like the images wouldn't play on repeat.

I found a spot against the wall, away from the bucket, and drew my knees up tight. Cold stone leeched heat through my clothes, a constant, draining chill.

The others found their corners. A practiced ritual of finding oblivion in misery. Their breathing soon evened out into shallow, wary rest, not real sleep.

Not me. My mind was racing. A hamster wheel of worst-case scenarios.

Zarvash in the arena. Injured wing painting a target on his back. Ignarath closing in. Blood. His death. Mine.

Or maybe he wouldn't show. He could calculate the odds. A strategic retreat. Cut his losses. It made sense. Logical. Smart.

But he’d sworn. By the Forge . And that look in his eyes when they grabbed me … Fury, yes. Raw, blistering fury. But something else underneath. Something that kicked my pulse into overdrive whenever I let myself think about it.

I closed my eyes and saw him. Bronze scales glinting. Those intense gold eyes. The way his tongue had flicked out, tasting my wrist, my fear, my pulse back in that room …

What the hell was wrong with me?

Months spent fighting this. Watching my friends fall into these alien traps. Terra. Orla. Selene. Hawk. I'd warned them. Raged at them.

Now me ? Pulse jumping at the memory of his touch? Sick with worry about him fighting? Trusting him to come?

Alien pheromones? Stockholm syndrome? Just plain stupid desperation?

It didn't matter. I couldn't afford it. Not now. Lives depended on me thinking straight.

But the image wouldn't fade. Bronze scales. Gold eyes. That growl when the guard hit me.

Touch what is mine, and I will rip your throat out with my teeth.

A shiver traced its way down my spine. Not fear. Damn it. Something else entirely. Something hot and confusing and dangerous.

I pressed my palms flat against the cold, gritty floor. Remember who you are, Cross. Intel officer. Survivor. Not some weak-kneed damsel pinning her hopes on a winged alien predator.

But as the night bled towards dawn, as the arena sounds died to an echoing, waiting silence, a traitorous part of me hoped. Against logic. Against survival instinct.

Hoped he'd come.

Hoped he'd fight.

Hoped he'd win.

Hoped that look, that possessive fury, meant something after all.

Sleep finally dragged me under, shallow and restless. Haunted by gold eyes and the bloody promise of dawn.