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Chapter Three

D akon

My body feels fantastic. My cock feels even better. It’s too bad older women have a bad reputation. Armena was tight and firm as an eighteen- annum -old. Whether it’s the renovatio treatments or not, it doesn’t matter. The last several hoaras in bed with her were exceptional.

I’m stalking through the hallways to my room, feeling like I could climb a mountain. There’s nothing like giving a woman ecstasy to make a male feel virile.

Bellumar is a modern space station—sleek and well designed. The hub is the spacious arena and viewing stands. The seats are well-appointed and comfortable. The round fighting area at the center is filled with sand.

The gladiators are kept somewhere in the bowels of the ship. Of course, I’ve never seen this portion of the space station. Why would I?

Patrons can observe the games from the stands, but they can also watch from their rooms. There are five rings of rooms that circle the arena in a stepped, ascending fashion. When the curtains are open in the floor-to-ceiling windows of the guest rooms, spectators can watch from the luxury of their private cabins. Few do, though. Even though their rooms are more sumptuous and comfortable, there’s something about being in the stands, in the midst of the action, hearing the noise of metal on metal, even metal piercing flesh, that enhances the excitement.

I’m surprised to see a slim female, no more than five fiertos tall, leading a huge Anthen warrior through the hallway. She has a delicate leash attached to his pain/kill collar. He’s at least two heads taller than her, is probably twice her weight. The sight is stunning. To see a tiny female managing that much muscle by the simple controller on her dainty wrist is impressive.

I don’t give it a lot of thought, though. I’m busy replaying what happened in Armena’s bed, and on her couch, and against her wall. Her oral skills were impressive, as was her ability to take pleasure from my cock.

I press my hand on the palm reader to my room, enter, and close the door behind me. I have less than an hoara to shower, dress, and make it to the arena before tonight’s games begin.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror before I enter the shower. My dark brown hair was cut by the best hairdresser in Cramson, the capital city of Morgana, the day we left for these games. The cleverly disheveled perfection is all the rage among my peers.

Females have told me my gray-green eyes are beautiful. One told me they look as if they hold the secrets of the universe in their depths. My cheekbones are high and strong—they give the impression of intelligence, or so I’ve been told. I know females think I’m handsome, if the frequency of propositions is any indication.

My body is thin but thickly muscled. I think of it as a tool of my trade and try to keep in good shape. I work out in the gymnasium at least five days a week, maybe more. If Armena’s screams of passion are any measure, I’m good at what I do.

As I enter the shower, I’m slightly surprised to see my cock is semi-hard and could be ready for action in a moment. I’m thinking of the sounds Mena made in the heat of passion, the feel of those bright red nails digging into the flesh of my ass.

I soap my cock and work myself toward release. My thoughts turn to the lovely four-armed Mordite female I’ve had my eye on in the hallways. I’ve done some investigation and believe she’s single and here with her parents. I’ll try to maneuver an introduction before the games tonight.

Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed in a fine dress jacket and pants. They’re black, but in the right lighting, there’s the faintest crimson undertone. This is one of the most expensive outfits I possess. I must admit, I look great.

I grab my ticket. We have good seats near the sands. I’m looking forward to tonight’s festivities, a few of last night’s matches were lackluster and subpar.

I’m just a few steps down the hallway when three males surround me. I feel a sharp pain in the small of my back as one male on each side of me grabs a wrist.

“You’re coming with us,” one of them growls in my ear. “I’d hate to have to stick this knife in your spinal cord if you scream or make a scene.”

“What’s going on?” A cold bolt of terror shoots up my spine. I hold my breath, afraid to release it.

“Shut the fuck up.” His tone is so low I almost don’t hear it—the message is clear.

I feel the knife digging at my flesh again and follow his order.

We enter the stairwell and descend. I’m processing everything at lightning speed. From the clanging reverberations as four pairs of shoes hit the metal steps, to the dusty smell. I can feel the sharp bite of the knife at my spine. My mouth is so dry I can’t swallow. My heart is hammering in my chest.

“I have money. I can pay you whatever you w—.”

“Shut the drack up!”

The knife presses harder against my flesh. I look to each side. These males are huge, they possibly outweigh me by fifty dextans each. The three of them are serious and know exactly what they’re doing. There’s no escape in this confined area. Maybe later.

The hands on my wrists yank me downward. The space station houses the richest people in the galaxy. It doesn’t make sense for these males to kidnap me. There are people worth a million times more credits than me.

My mind is racing. I’m trying to imagine an explanation for what’s happening, but I can’t comprehend it. My breath is rasping, my throat is parched, I’ve broken out in a cold sweat.

We don’t stop at the first floor, we keep descending to the floors below, those reserved for staff and slaves.

When we run out of stairs, we exit through a thick, steel door. There’s no window dressing here. Everything is utilitarian and stark. The males’ demeanor has changed as well. All pretense of civility is gone. I’m being pulled forward with more force.

We’re in the slave quarters. The males I see in cell after cell aren’t just slaves—they’re gladiators. There’s a reptilian guard up ahead, his hand on the door to an open cell. When we get there, I’m thrown inside with such force that I hit the rear metal wall, then bounce a few fiertos back into the room.

The stark clang of the door as it closes raises the hair on the back of my neck.

“Please, tell me why you’re doing this.” At the front bars now, I don’t feel powerful like a did an hoara ago in Armena’s bed. I feel young and weak and terrified.

The three males look at each other. I wonder if they’re brothers, they resemble each other.

The tallest shrugs and leans forward. “Your parents fucked up when they cheated Daneur Khour. He was going to kill them. They bartered their lives for yours.” They turn and saunter down the hallway toward the exit.

“Wait! What’s to become of me?”

Another turns and sneers. “You’re to be tomorrow’s entertainment, boy. Unless you can kill your opponent in the arena, tomorrow’s the last time you’ll suck air into your miserable lungs.”

They’re out the door before I can ask another question. It doesn’t matter. I have no idea what to ask.

There’s a slim mattress on a bunk connected to a wall. My legs give out as I sink onto it. I can’t process this. For long moments I wonder if this is a terrible dream. But the stench of piss on the mattress is real. The sharp pain at the base of my spine where that knife pricked me is real. And the feeling of sheer terror racing along my veins is definitely real.