Page 48 of Galaxy Gladiators Romance Box Set #11-19

Epilogue

S ometime in the future . . .

Lyra

We are back on Hyperion. A dozen emotions swirl through me when I glimpse a humanoid female whose brown hair hangs below her waist like mine used to. For the swiftest moment, I have a pang of melancholy—feeling loss and maybe a sliver of envy. Then I reach up and rub my fingers through my short hair.

Petra calls what’s on the right side of my head a crewcut. If I stroke it with my palm, it tickles. It took lunars to decide to shave half my hair off and dye the rest in what Petra tells me are ‘mermaid’ colors.

My long brown hair had defined me my whole life. I’d thought it was the reason Vartan was attracted to me. But over the lunars , I came to realize it was a symbol of who I was . I am no longer that person.

Cutting it off, transforming, became so important to me I invited everyone to watch. Petra got into the spirit of it and called it a shearing party. I even baked a Paragon cake and used food coloring to make it blue and green and pink—mermaid colors—for the occasion.

Sharing my metamorphosis with my friends was a joy. When I saw myself in the mirror afterward, I liked my image. My appearance reflected the female I’ve transformed into—strong, courageous, someone who knows what she wants and takes it.

Between all of us, we take as many opportunities as we can to celebrate. We’ve all endured too many hardships to miss a chance at fun and lightheartedness. I have to admit the celebration we had after our next run-in with Commander Khour just might have to go down as the party of the decade. Although I’m sure we’ll have many happy days and magnificent celebrations ahead of us.

While Vartan pays for our admission to the museum, I absently wonder if the knife I keep in my boot, or the one at the small of my back under my leather pants, will set off the weapons detector we’re about to pass through. I don’t worry, though, they were specifically designed to remain undetected.

With our tickets in hand, Vartan turns to join me. He’s such a handsome male. It’s hard to recall what I saw the day I first met him. He looked so fierce. I try to remember the fear I felt. It knotted my stomach and was so intense it slowed my thoughts. Today that’s like a faded dream. When I look at him now, all I can see is the affection in his eyes and the compassion in his expression. I love this male with every fiber of my being.

We pass into the museum without a problem and head straight to the pet room. That’s what I called it that day so many lunars ago when I was here, and it’s what I call it now.

I didn’t explain to my mate why I wanted to visit the museum while we’re on Hyperion for Erro’s fight. Perhaps it’s because I wasn’t clear in my own mind.

We enter and turn to our right, inspecting all the pictures of Hyperion’s golden period. The females are all naked.

Being here in this room it’s easy to fall back into the thoughts and feelings I had that day. The fear that I didn’t belong. The awkwardness of wearing clothes. The belief I should be naked. The relentless thoughts of being worthless and unlovable.

Perhaps I didn’t fully understand my burning desire to return to this room until right this moment. I needed to be here to see and truly appreciate the changes I’ve undergone.

It’s been a metamorphosis. The haircut is just the icing on the Paragon cake. My body’s different—stronger from all the hoaras I’ve trained in the ludus . I’ve pestered every male on both ships to tutor me in their specialty. I can fight with either hand using a longsword or gladius . I can hit a bullseye at one hundred paces with a laser pistol or rifle, even a bow and arrow.

Being able to read the Intergalactic Database has opened up my world beyond my wildest imaginings. In addition to the many forms of hand-to-hand combat I’ve mastered, I understand the ion cannons and can make minor repairs to the hyperdrive. I can pilot the ship, program the nav system, work the comms, sew material and leather, bake a wide variety of tasty goodies and grow vegetables in the hydroponics lab. I can’t carve, but I discovered I love to draw. Anya calls it cross-training—I can do it all.

So while I can help out anywhere I’m needed on the ship, my favorite job is the one I created for myself. I call the position Newcomer Welcomer. When Vartan and I moved from the Fool’s Errand to the Devil’s Playground , it was bittersweet. I had to say goodbye to so many friends, but the two ships meet several times an annum . The Playground is a great fit for us, it’s where we belong, but there were only four females there when I arrived.

Four females and all those rowdy, single, farting, singing, fighting males who still need constant reminders to wear clothes—at least to the dining room. I knew they wouldn’t stay single long, though, so it was clear that over time all the new females would need orientation and a ready-made friend. Who better to provide that service than me? A female who wouldn’t have survived without all my friends on the Fool’s Errand .

I love my new job, and the females I’ve welcomed onboard have appreciated my help and guidance.

Vartan and I haven’t spoken as we strolled through the gallery. As we approach the exit of the Golden Era gallery, I keep my eyes averted until I’m close to the huge painting that’s the reason I came today. I’ve wondered many times what it would feel like to see it again, now that I’ve changed.

I slowly lift my eyes, gaze at it, and immediately choke up, my eyes stinging with hot tears. There it is, just as it was lunars ago, the paint faded over the centuries, the colors slightly muted. The ship is listing dangerously in swirling gray water, males are throwing themselves into the sea to escape the leaping flames, and there is Lydia, rowing to them, reaching to pull them into her small boat and take them to safety.

I recall as if it were yesterday that I felt like a helpless pet when I gazed at this before. I knew I could never be capable of being strong or brave like Lydia.

I was so wrong.

Vartan has kept his distance, allowing me my own thoughts, so I reach around his waist, communicating wordlessly that I don’t need my privacy anymore. He pulls me close and holds me tight.

“You did that. What you did, Lyra, was just as heroic. Just as noteworthy. Just as strong. You’re my hero, love.”

“And you’re mine,” I say as I gaze up at him.

Was there a time his smile scared me? Now all I see is his handsome face. I press my palm to his cheek. The one with the scar. He looks at me with so much love, but it’s more than that—he’s proud of me. His gaze is full of respect.

“What we have is amazing, Vartan. I’m so glad I’m your mate.”

“I love you, Lyra. We’re so good together.” He dips his head to kiss the top of my head. It’s his wordless statement of commitment.

“Let’s keep traveling the galaxy together, my mate,” I tell him. “Righting wrongs, rescuing people, and saving them. One soul at a time.”

“Aye, my love. Forever.