Page 64 of Galaxy Games Four-Book Box Set (Galaxy Games)

64

A Kiss?

S adie

The guards escort all the couples to the second floor via a once-grand staircase that looks like it was half-eaten by dinosaurs. When we get to the second floor, some of the building to our left is gone. You can look up and see the stars. It’s creepy. Luckily, our rooms are to the right.

Despite the filth on the main floor, our room is surprisingly tidy. I sigh in relief when I pull back the bedding to see clean sheets. Was it only last night 1213 and I went to sleep in our cabin on the cruise ship? It seems like a lifetime ago.

I’m shocked to find two extra blankets at the top of the closet. The Galaxy Network isn’t the type to worry about contestants’ comfort. Whoever cleaned and outfitted this room must have been contract labor. I silently thank them as I pull a blanket down and head to the bathroom. I’ll need something to wear when I get out of my shower.

It’s only when I cross the bathroom threshold I realize my assumption that there would be running water might have been unrealistic. I turn on the sink faucet, then call to Twelve, “You called me optimistic like it’s a bad thing. There’s running water. And it’s warm.”

I pull off the tattered shreds of my panties and makeshift bra and step into the shower. I can’t contain the deep, rumbled, “Ahh,” that escapes my mouth when the water pours down on me. I’d like to stay in here for an hour, but I assume they trucked water in from somewhere and there probably isn’t enough to go around.

“I doubt there’s a lot of water,” I call to him as I rinse. “You might want to slide in here as soon as I’m done.”

After only taking the time to partially dry myself, I wrap in my towel and give Twelve the bathroom. He enters as I leave. There are two piles of clothing on the foot of the beds, just like last night. Thank goodness. Competing tomorrow in underwear would have put me at a distinct disadvantage.

I tuck the extra blanket around me like an oversized bath sheet and sit at the small hotel room table to take a moment to think.

Seventy contestants are gone. We’re down to thirty. If I’d been paired with anyone other than Twelve, I imagine I’d be dead by now.

As awful as dinner was, I took the time to look around the table. Unsurprisingly, most of the males were ones I’d pegged as possible partners last night in the ballroom. They were big, strong, and looked at least moderately intelligent. All their females not only looked like they’d be fierce competitors but were at least a foot taller than me.

I have a feeling that because of me, Twelve and I are the underdogs—no pun intended to my canine-looking partner. If I were a home viewer, I don’t think I’d be betting on us.

My thoughts turn from that upsetting thought to my partner. We got off to a rocky start last night, but I guess being in a life-and-death struggle helps people bond. I like him.

He opens the bathroom door and stands on the threshold. He’s nonchalantly drying himself with a towel.

Naked.

And unashamed.

Nor should he be. The male has absolutely nothing to be shy about. Wide, muscular shoulders vee to a trim waist. His thighs are like tree trunks that narrow to hiker’s calves—strong and sturdy. All of those luscious steel-hard muscles are covered in soft black fur I spent half the day sliding my fingers through. His flexible tail is calmly undulating back and forth. I’m still not sure why patches of his skin glow blue under his fur, but it’s beautiful and otherworldly.

I avert my eyes before they wander to where I really want to look. I’m about to scold him for his lack of clothing, then snap my mouth shut. First of all, the guy had a hard life. I have a feeling this is normal for him. Second, the scenery is too gorgeous to cover.

“How are you doing?” he asks as he slides into the chair across the little table from me.

“I’ve had better days.” I shrug. “But I’m glad to be alive.”

It looks as if he’s about to say something, but he closes that canine mouth and looks at me with appreciation.

“You’re a good partner. If I’d had first pick, I don’t think I could have done better.”

My head tips back in surprise. “Thanks.”

“You’ve packed a lot of brains and courage into a small package,” he says, his eyes shining with approval.

I’ve never been an impulsive person. Being an Olympic hopeful means you’re the opposite of impulsive. It means waking before dawn and practicing for hours a day. Gymnastics requires complete concentration. But the obligatory weight lifting I had to do to reach competitive levels? Not so much.

During all those mindless hours of working out, I had a lot of time to plan my life. Following whims was nowhere on my agenda.

But being abducted into space and entered into The Game seems to have changed my trajectory. For once in my life, I want to do something impulsive. I’ve practiced for hours a day and focused on success and where did it get me? Stranded on an obscure planet somewhere past Orion’s belt.

I’m tired of being a slave to the future. I don’t think I have a future. I want to live now! I want to have sex with Twelve and I can’t think of any reason not to.

First things first, though. I can’t bear to call him 1213 one more time.

“Have you considered giving yourself a different name?” I ask, thinking I’m being sensitive.

“Why would I do that?”

I scrutinize him to see if I offended him. I don’t think so. It looks like he’s genuinely baffled by my question.

“Well… it seems impersonal. And it defines you as a geneslave which you don’t seem very proud of.”

“It’s what I am.”

Okay, now he’s defensive.

“Never mind.” I shrug, wishing I hadn’t brought it up. Damn. I’ve just increased the difficulty factor of asking him for sex.

1213

“What would you suggest?” I ask. It never before occurred to me to change my name. In my defense, I only left my genefarm barracks four days ago. All the products were marked with a number in our ear. Now that she mentions it, I like the idea of having a real name instead of the number I was issued when they removed me from my incubator.

“Suggest?” Her gaze whips to me in surprise. “I wouldn’t be so bold as to suggest a name. That’s a deeply personal choice.”

“How did you choose yours?” I ask.

“I didn’t choose mine. My parents gave it to me.”

“Since they gave it to you, should you choose a different name now that you’re an adult?” I’m confused.

“I was given my name by loving parents who selected it with care. It was my great-grandmother’s name. I like it.”

When I continue to look at her, trying to better understand, she adds, “It wasn’t randomly assigned to me with no meaning, no reason, and no affection.”

“You’re right.” I get it now. “A number is impersonal. How would I go about picking a name?”

“Hmm. If it were me, I’d choose something I loved. Something that made me happy. Something that resonated.”

“Like what?” Maybe if she gives me examples, it will give me ideas.

She thinks for a while. “As a child, I spent a lot of time indoors, working out. So for me, it might be Sky or Breeze or Vista.” There’s the prettiest wistful expression on her face.

“There was nothing good about the genefarm. Nothing,” I tell her. “The only other times I left my cell in my barracks were when they sent me to war. There was nothing good about that, either. Today was the best day of my life.”

She reaches across the table and grips my hand, hard. I smell her tears and look to see her eyes are shining. “That the worst day of my life is the best day of yours is so heartbreaking I can’t bear it.” She swallows hard, twice, as one tear snakes down her cheek.

I catch it with the pad of my finger, careful not to cut her with my claw.

“No one has ever cried for me before.” I don’t know what to make of it, except my body is mimicking hers. I’m swallowing convulsively and my eyes feel hot.

She places her palm over my hand, then lifts to press it to her cheek.

“Tell me.” She leans closer. “What were the best things about today?”

“You,” I blurt. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that.

“That’s sweet.” She gives me full eye contact, so I think she means it. “Tell me what else you liked.”

“Seeing pieces of the sky through the canopy of trees, hearing the rustle of the leaves, and the best part was when I was flying through the trees swinging from branch to branch and then on the zipline.”

“Those were all good things. Do any names come to mind?”

“Fly.”

She nods and grimaces at the same time. “That’s a great thought, and don’t get me wrong, if you want to use it, be my guest. But… on Earth it not only means to fly like a bird, but it’s also the name for ugly bugs that hang around in shit.” She wrinkles her nose. “Not really a good visual.”

“What about Zip?” she offers. “You enjoyed zipping through the trees.”

“It seems childish,” I protest.

“You’re right.”

We both stay silent for a while. I can’t think of anything I’d want to be called for the rest of my life, however short it might be.

“I’ve been calling you something in my head. You might like it.”

I raise an eyebrow, silently urging her to say it.

“Anubis. It’s an ancient Egyptian god’s name. The way he’s depicted, he looks just like you.”

A god’s name? Is she teasing me?

“A bad god? A mean one?” I ask.

“I can’t remember what he’s the god of, but he’s…” She stops suddenly, as if she’s embarrassed.

“He’s…?” I prompt.

“He’s strong, and fast, and … handsome.”

I inspect her face. She seems incapable of hiding her emotions. She’s serious. I thought for sure the handsome comment was meant as a tease, but it wasn’t.

“Say it again,” I urge, my tone eager. From a number to a god’s name? Is this really happening?

“Anubis.”

“Anubis,” I say, rolling the Earth word around on my lips. My mouth doesn’t pronounce many of her Earth sounds easily, but I manage this new name well.

“Handsome?” I ask, perhaps wanting to hear her say it again. Then I realize what folly it is and move my hand to my ear. It’s a reflexive action to cover my tattoo, my number.

“What does your tattoo say?” she asks.

I forget she can’t read Universal.

“12—”

Before the word is out of my mouth, she leans closer and places a finger across my lips.

“I can read it perfectly,” she says, her face serious. “It says Anubis.”

I smile, perhaps wider than I’ve ever smiled. “Say my name again,” I order.

She rises from the table and hurries to the other end of the room. “Can you come here and help me get this blanket from the top of the closet, Anubis ?”

I stride over to help her. She takes the blanket from me, tosses it on the bed, and walks to the refresher.

“ Anubis? Come help me neaten up in here.”

I saunter in and almost walk straight into her. She hands me a towel and says, “ Anubis , would you wrap this around your waist?” Under her breath, I hear her whisper, “Why did I ask him to do that?”

Once I complete that task, she leans close, her perfect pink lips a scant distance from mine, and asks, “How does the name feel?”

It would seem like a bigger decision if I wasn’t pretty sure I was going to die tomorrow. If I thought I might live longer, I’d give my name more thought. It’s a good name, though. I don’t know what I like more, that it belongs to a god, or that it sounds so beautiful as it spills from her lips.

“Good.”

“ Anubis …” she pauses, then stares at me. Her gaze flicks from my eyes to my lips and back again. “Kiss me.”