Page 12

Chapter Twelve

Z ar

We’re given our sparring assignments and I nod formally to Dax, who I’m paired with. Since I fight as a Murmillo, it is fitting that I fight a Retiarius Gladiator. We are commonly matched in combat.

We all get to work, lifting weights, running a bit, warming up before the females enter. I notice a few of the males begin to preen. I follow their gaze to what has been set aside as the viewing area. I see the women taking seats on mats on the floor.

I catch Anya’s eye, she’s biting her lower lip, her brows knit together in worry. I realize she must be anxious about me. Did she not believe me when I told her I’m the best gladiator in the ludus ? This is just an exhibition. I give her a thumbs-up sign and an open smile that shows my fangs. I hope she understands it means don’t worry about me, this will be fun.

“I am Doctore, the head of this ludus , or gladiator school,” Doctore’s sonorous voice commands attention from all. I respect him completely. He is tall and thin, his skin a dark burnished ebony. His face, though humanoid, is thin and elongated. The skin on his shoulder and pectoral are pebbled. He is strong, sage, and completely fair. Looking at his proud bearing, if you didn’t know he was a slave, you’d think he was a king. He’s taught me a lot, even though I’ve known him for such a short time and I’ve trained under many other teachers.

“Our revered captain has granted you the honor of watching several sparring matches in this exhibition. These males are well trained and excited to perform for you. Do not fret, other than a few nicks and scrapes, this display of strength and prowess is designed for entertainment only and none of these fine males will be harmed in the proceedings.”

Anya’s shoulders relax a tiny bit. She still looks worried, her bottom lip captured in her top teeth. Actually, this gives me a warm feeling inside, she’s the first person since Pallatin to genuinely care whether I live or die.

I notice the nine other women, all sitting on the floor of the ludus . I see the doctor and the first mate. The Urluts are all here. The captain and little Tyree must be watching through holo-vid on the bridge. It makes sense. Someone needs to be at the helm.

Shadow edges over to me and whispers, “We should attack now.”

Had we known this was going to happen, this might very well have been a good time to attack. We have our weapons and some crude shields. The Urluts will certainly be distracted by the fight. They love to gamble and will be more focused on betting than on guarding any of us.

“We’re not prepared. We don’t know if Tyree is watching and can deactivate the collars. We haven’t organized our plan of attack, and most importantly, the women are easy targets and would certainly be attacked by the cowardly guards.”

“As I said before,” Shadow says contemptuously, “your feelings about that female have made you soft.”

“It may well be, Shadow, but none of the other males will be willing to risk their females’ lives. Did you see how possessive they were when we cleaned up after the Marauder attack? You might be running forward with your sword drawn, but none of us will be behind you. No one will have your back.” I wait, hoping my words sink in. “The right time is coming, Shadow, and it will be soon. But not today.”

Shadow grunts in response, obviously not happy, but seeing my logic.

Doctore continues, “The first match will be between Steele and Axxios. Our way of fighting these matches goes back millennia. We have specific categories of ceremonial fighters, each with its own history, its own weapons, each with its own shields. Steele and Axxios will both be fighting as Cestus Gladiators. It is tradition that Cestus gladiators wear no clothing.”

A small titter rises up from the women. I noticed shortly after we met that little Anya seemed embarrassed to show her body. It seems these humans all have prohibitions against nudity. They’ll be in for a show during this match.

Steele steps forward and unceremoniously removes his loincloth. His silver body is already covered in a sheen of sweat from his warm-up. Axxios, our golden gladiator pilot, removes his loincloth, managing to look for all the galaxy as if he is taking off the finest overcoat at a fancy ball.

They square off in the designated area.

“Cestus gladiators are not allowed weapons or shields of any kind. These matches are usually a warm-up before the bigger contests that are to come,” Doctore explains.

I’ve watched these two spar since we’ve all been on this ship together. I know they are evenly matched. First impressions might make a novice believe that Axxios will be the certain winner. His body is so much thicker, so much more heavily muscled, that I imagine if the females were gamblers they would be betting on him to win.

My eyes travel to Zoey, Steele’s tiny mate. I noticed the other day she is extremely fearful and shy. She never worked up the nerve to even look at me, much less give me eye contact. But now she appears practically paralyzed with dread. She must have jumped to the foregone conclusion that her cellmate will be beaten badly.

Axxios’s female, Brianna I think her name is, looks slightly confident. I think she’s trying to act as if she’s uninterested and completely above this whole affair, but I can see that isn’t true. Her eyes are glued on Axxios.

“Begin,” Doctore calls.

The men thump their fists lightly on their chests and nod to their opponent as is custom. They approach each other warily, and all at once Axxios rushes Steele. They grapple each other, necks straining, muscles bulging. They are grunting, shoving, struggling, trying to push each other onto the ground.

As I thought, Axxios is not the easy victor. Steele, although he doesn’t have Axxios’s obvious bulk, is lithe, strong, and quicker on his feet. It’s an excellent match of talents.

I’m surprised when I steal a glance at the females. They don’t appear to be appreciating this contest. Most are watching in horror, if at all. Zoey looks as if she’s about to faint—her eyes look huge in her pale face. I hope neither male in the ring glances over at their women. They would be peeking over to catch the appreciation in their females’ eyes and be distracted when they see the women are repulsed by the display.

Finally, Axxios wrestles Steele to the floor. Both their bodies hit the mat with such force the loud noise gathers everyone’s attention. It looks as if Axxios is winning when he begins to press Steele’s silver shoulders to the mat.

Before Doctore can call the match, Steele flips himself off the mat and almost sits on Axxios’s shoulders, the bigger man still down on all fours. Steele brilliantly levers his body weight to push Axxios forward and down in a somersault. Steele uses all his might to press Axxios’s shoulders to the mat, and Doctore hollers, “Ho! Match to Steele.”

The gladiators all stomp their left feet on the floor, a show of appreciation to both men, especially to Steele for a match well fought. Axxios claps Steele on the upper arm, the etiquette of the ring to admit defeat.

The women, at first speechless, clap politely, obviously more dismayed than impressed. I silently caution myself not to look over at Anya during my match. Obviously, on her planet there is no appreciation for this type of combat. I can’t blame her. From everything she’s told me she came from a backwater planet that didn’t even have fully functional space travel, how could they be expected to enjoy a spectacle this advanced?

“Zar and Dax,” Doctore announces.

I take a moment to glance over at Anya and she looks stricken. She referred to Dax as, what was it, a Neanderthal? I don’t know what that means, but she didn’t seem to want to get to know the male. He’s nice enough. He has also been a slave most of his life. He’s lived and trained in rougher places than I. I learned a few manners about eating and hygiene over the annums that I don’t think he was privileged to receive. He is a man of few words, but I’ve never known him to be anything but kind.

When Dax and I square off, I realize what might have upset Anya. Dax is big. Really big. He is taller than me by a head and definitely outweighs me. His muscles seem more pronounced, but probably because he has skin like my Anya, and I have fur. My fur might hide some of my muscles.

Dax is a retiarius, which means he fights with a long spear with a trident point—three blades at the end. Of course, we are only fighting with wooden facsimiles. He’s also equipped with a net, big enough to cast at me. It’s designed to disable me or trip me up.

As a Murmillo gladiator, I have a three- fierto blade, also wooden, and a large rectangular shield. Through the ages, these two types of gladiators were supposed to be well matched. There are advantages to each. Dax’s weapons are built for longer reach. His trident is almost three times longer than my sword. His net can be used in many cunning methods, and his gear weighs much less than mine which gives him speed and agility.

My sword, however, is designed to disable my opponent much more effectively than his spear. Once I get close enough to my opponent, his trident becomes ineffective, while my sword becomes deadly. Besides, I’ve sparred with Dax for weeks. He’s not as swift or nimble as I am.

I know who will be the inevitable winner of this match, but Anya doesn’t. I glance over at her and see her jaw is clenched, her brow knitted—her fear is palpable. I give her a smile and the thumbs-up sign again. She takes a deep breath, but I don’t think I’ve reassured her.

Anya

Holy shit. I am completely beside myself with worry. I can hardly comprehend what is going on in the ring, and I have absolutely no time or energy to process the fact that this confirms the whole Chariots of the Gods idea. Most experts considered the book a conspiracy theory. The author said aliens visited Earth millennia ago and possibly seeded the planet with offshoots of their race. Some related theories said other aliens visited and provided some of their culture as well as their DNA.

What else would explain the fact that the ancient Romans had the exact same fighters and combat styles as what I’m watching two thousand years later and a trillion miles away?

I have no time to ponder this. Back to the business at hand, which is that my lion guy is going to be caught in a net by an enormous caveman and poked into submission by a seven-foot spear.

My heart is thumping so hard I can barely hear the Urluts’ raucous cheers. Dax throws his net, trying to trip Zar. He patiently pulls it back and casts it again and again, effectively keeping Zar away from him. Zar’s weapon isn’t long enough to do any damage at all, he’s too far away to strike his opponent, and with no sharp edge on his wooden sword, he can’t cut the net.

Dax seems to have finally tired Zar out. Zar looks winded, and his movements seem slower. The bigger male is about to throw the spear, which looks dangerous even though it’s wooden, when Zar moves swift and sure. He approaches his opponent and slams the side of the sword with tremendous force against Dax’s midsection. It hits him with such violence that the big guy expels his breath in a huff. It knocked the air out of him, because for a brief moment he almost doubles over. Then he stands tall again, but I can tell he’s gasping to draw breath.

Zar sees his opening and steps forward again, battering Dax in the same spot again. Dax wobbles. You can see a slashing red welt forming on his skin. Dax is still not recovered when Zar smashes him yet again with the blunt side of the sword. This time Dax loses his breath and hits the mat with his knees—hard.

With Zar in close next to Dax, the caveman is at a severe disadvantage. He can’t throw his net, and the long spear is useless at such close range. Dax makes a valiant effort to choke up on the spear to get his grip closer to the pointed end so he can thrust with it, but he’s no match for Zar’s swift, catlike grace.

Zar moves behind the big man, puts what would be the cutting edge of the sword against Dax’s throat, and looks toward Doctore to see if the match is over. Doctore nods and announces, “Ho! Match to Zar.”

I hadn’t realized, but somewhere during that fight I had risen to my feet, one hand over my mouth to keep from crying out. I look around now that Zar is safe and realize how consumed I’d been. I gasp in a gulp of air, wondering how long I’d been holding my breath.

My knees feel weak now that the match is over. What if that fight had been for real? Zar could have been killed. Dax could have been killed. I look down and see that I bit my knuckle until it bled while I was watching the match.

It suddenly strikes me, more clearly than I’d have believed possible, that this has been Zar’s world his whole life. This is Zar’s “normal.” It’s as natural as breathing for him to train, to fight, and to kill.

I can’t help but think of him in a new light. At first, my mind flies into worry mode. How can I have feelings for this man—a stone-cold killer? Then I calm a bit and realize this is who he’s been groomed to be. This is who he has been forced to be. His whole world has been kill or be killed, and he was smart and athletic enough to be on the winning, living, breathing end of that equation.

But the male I share a cell with, that’s the real Zar. When no one is threatening his life, when it’s just two people alone in a room, that’s the male he wants to be, the one that lives in his heart. The authentic person who inhabits that gorgeous, muscular body is the person who apologized for what he was forced to do to me in bed. It’s that person who doesn’t want to eat his fair share of our rations. It is that person who is willing to risk his life to lead this rebellion—not so much because he wants it, but because it’s what I want.

I know Zar’s heart, and it is good. I really do love this man. I had toyed with the idea for the last few days. I kept telling myself it was the whole falling-in-love-because-there’s-danger thing. But at this very moment, I realize not only do I love Zar. I love him for all the right reasons.

I can tell that Zar’s eyes are on me throughout the next few matches. He looks quizzical, then his brows slash in worry. I assume he’s trying to read my mind. I wonder if he thinks I’m sickened by the barbarous behavior I just witnessed. That’s not what’s going on in my mind. It’s not because I’m repelled by him, but because I’m so compellingly attracted to him. I can’t look him in the eyes right now. I just can’t.

Zar

Something’s going on with Anya and it’s not good. She won’t even look at me. I must disgust her. Seeing the real me, the me who is trained to fight and win and kill, has repulsed her. Why wouldn’t it? She grew up on a peaceful planet with parents who loved her and safeguarded her and gave her a room to sleep in with a door that locked for her protection.

She’s never had to fight for scraps to eat. She’s never had to plot and make alliances and take advantage of others’ weaknesses. She has never until a few short days ago worried that her life might end at any moment. She’s never had to kill someone she loved. How could she look at me as anything other than an absolute barbarian?

Right now I should be watching the bouts. In a few short days, we’re going to land on Hyperion and I’ll be matched against one of these males in a fight with real weapons, possibly to the death. Even though I’ve sparred with all of these gladiators many times, I should be evaluating their strengths and weaknesses. I should be looking for vulnerabilities to exploit in the future when my life may depend on it.

But I can’t pay attention to anything other than Anya’s beautiful face. I’ve never seen her other than close up in the cell. Now I can watch her from a distance. She’s even lovelier with this span between us. I don’t know if I ever really noticed her heart-shaped face, the delicate way her eyebrows frame her eyes, or the fact that her neck is as graceful as a dancer’s.

My heart hitches in my chest. I can’t lose her. I can’t lose this female. We can’t land on Hyperion. We’ll have to make a stand here on this ship. We have to finalize our plans on how to overthrow this vessel, and we must act soon.

Anya

The females are taken back to the cell block first, leaving the males in the ludus . I sneak one last look at Zar before they make us leave the arena. Good Lord, he is so amazingly handsome. He’s the perfect merger of man and cat. The perfect combination of hard muscle and soft fur. The perfect union of lithe movement and prodigious strength.

All I can think about is jumping his bones. He is so sexy. His fighting and winning today, rather than scaring me or turning me off, has poured gasoline on my already flaming libido. How am I ever going to wait until lights out?

“Holy shit,” Maddie, Stryker’s cellmate, exclaims on the way back to our cells. “Is it just me, or was that whole exhibition Hot. As. Hell?” She mock fans herself with her hand.

Every single woman in line laughs, nodding—even Zoey, Steele’s timid cellmate.

“Okay,” Savannah laughs, “so it’s not just me? Good to know.”

“There’s something to be said for sheer, raw, male power,” Callista agrees.

“No talking!” the Urlut shouts as he brandishes his baton.

Silence.

Zar

I’m not sure what to expect when I duck into the cell a short time later. I surely didn’t foresee her big smile, or her coming to greet me as soon as the Urluts leave the cell block. She presses her hands to my cheeks and strokes my mane and then pulls back to look me up and down. She circles me slowly and deliberately as she seems to be reassuring herself that I’m in one piece.

“You fought like a lion today.” Then she laughs. When I lift my eyebrow in question, she explains, “On my world, there are animals that look a lot like you. They’re called lions.”

When I give a skeptical glance, she quickly amends, “They’re apex predators in their hunting grounds. They’re powerful, beautiful creatures.”

Frankly, I have no idea how to respond to this. Yesterday I looked like some pet in her world, today I’m like a killing machine?

She draws my attention from these thoughts when she puts her hands on the back of my neck and pulls my lips to hers. Her kisses aren’t tentative or sweet or innocent as they’ve often been before. They are insistent and impatient. Her tongue invades my mouth, her body presses to mine like a second coat of fur. Her luscious breasts press into my midriff, she straddles one of my legs and presses her core against my thigh. I’ve never seen her this forceful or demanding.

She’s riding my thigh, making soft moaning noises in the back of her throat. It doesn’t take me long to catch up to the intensity of her desire. I’m instantly hard and ready to take her. She certainly doesn’t seem to want or need foreplay.

When she forcefully whispers, “Fuck me, Zar,” it dispels any hesitance I may have had.

“The lights,” I point out, my voice thick with passion.

“I don’t give a fuck about the lights. I don’t care who hears. I don’t care if there are cameras. I want you. Now.”

She’s already climbed up on me, her legs wrapped around my waist, her upper arms around my shoulders and her hands sifting through the mane on the back of my head. I hold her hips, my tail encircling her waist.

Her tongue almost savagely explores the cavern of my mouth. I turn us both around and press her back into the far corner of the cell. If the Urluts are watching, all they’ll see are my rear and haunches. They won’t see my Anya.

I pull my cock out of my loincloth, not even trying to untie the dracking thing. She drags her bottoms down and wiggles them off. Her level of passion is igniting mine, and I can’t get into position fast enough. My cock finds her wet center, needing no help from either of our hands. She’s dripping wet and practically writhing on the head of my dick. I pierce into her channel and seat myself in one exquisite thrust.

Before I can even initiate a rhythm, she begins to move. Her hands are on my shoulders, and she uses her upper body strength to ride me. I take a moment to really look at her lovely face. She is so passionate, so intent on the powerful feelings coursing through her. Her head is pressed against the wall as she positions herself against my pelvis to get the best angle and pressure. I could watch her like this for hoaras , but this isn’t going to take hoaras . She’s already close.

She changes her angle almost imperceptibly and I realize this ratchets her passion up a notch. She’s moaning louder, pressing harder, breathing faster. I match her rhythm exactly, and her excitement increases to a level I didn’t know was possible. I lean down and nip her in the crook between her neck and shoulder and that catapults her over the edge. Her inner walls grip my cock, hard and pulsing, which leads to a cataclysmic orgasm of my own.

Anya

Oh my God. Where did this Anya come from? Holy shit, I’ve never been here before. I’ve been horny, yeah, that’s nothing new. But attacking someone? Demanding like that? Not caring if the Urluts were watching and jacking off to what we were doing? No, this is a new part of me I’ve never met before.

My back is still pressed against the hard back wall of the cell. I’m still impaled on Zar’s fabulous cock (which, by the way, is still prodigiously huge and hard). I know at some point I should probably have a long, serious talk with myself and figure out what is going on with my psyche. Perhaps if I was still on Earth, I’d schedule an appointment with a therapist and figure out what things in my childhood contributed to me being vulnerable to this intense attraction to lion-man.

But I’ll ponder that later, because, hey, I’d hate to waste this moment, still connected to such a hot , handsome, sexy lion-man. I nip him in the harbor where neck meets shoulder, right where he so passionately nipped me. My hips ride him, more slowly this time. If anything, this is more sensual, more passionate than what we experienced a moment ago.

This time, he takes control. He leans down to scrape my already overly-sensitive nipples with his blunt front teeth. When he stands back up to his considerable full height, and my nipples press against his suede-like fur, it’s one of the most erotic sensations I’ve ever experienced. I don’t know whether to focus on breasts or pussy. I am completely incapable of multitasking at this point. I have to choose.

Okay, I choose pussy. Pussy and clit. This ride is delicious as he is not only hitting all the right spots with all the right pressure and all the right friction and just the right movement, but he’s found a magic spot inside me that almost instantly pushes me over the top. My orgasm triggers his own. He tries to be quiet, but he lets out an appreciative feline hiss.

I’m incapable of thought or movement for a few moments. My inner walls are still quivering with aftershocks. If we were in a bed in a locked room, I’d be ready for round three in about a minute. But the reality that the Urluts probably are jacking off to our video feed finally penetrates my foggy brain.

Zar senses the change in me immediately and, still managing to cover my nudity, leans down to retrieve my bottoms. He helps me step into them and maneuvers himself back into his loincloth. We walk the few steps to the bed and settle in under the blanket. He pets my hair, his eyes never leaving mine.

We both give a startled laugh when we hear the undeniable sound of a male orgasm grunting from down the hall. We’re still enjoying the unspoken joke when we hear a female trying to stifle a scream of passion.

“Do you think the Urluts gave us some aphrodisiac?” he asks seriously, cocking his head.

How do I explain that the primitive gladiatorial exhibition, which one week ago would have repulsed me, was a bigger turn-on than a room full of Chippendale dancers? Thunder from Down Under can’t compete with seeing all that muscular man-flesh sparring in the arena. Who knew?

“I think seeing our men fighting was exciting… I know it was for me,” I say shyly. Why I’m shy now, I have no idea. I certainly wasn’t shy a few minutes ago when I practically jumped my cellmate.

“Perhaps I will never understand human females.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing, babe.”