Page 102 of Gladiators of the Vagabond Boxset

It was one of those nights. I couldn’t sleep, so I’d worked myself into exhaustion until I couldn’t think straight.

I still had no solution for how to save Lo or Kitan, but I was going to find one.

There was just no other option. I had a lead for Kitan—a good one—I just needed a little more time to make sure this could work.

This morning, as I lay tossing and turning, I finally caved and called one of my lady friends. I felt guilty for giving in, but at this point I needed something to distract me for a brief moment, and finding pleasure in the arms of a pretty Sune female would do just that.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed, contemplating whether to ring for breakfast while I was at it, when Jalina strutted in.

The female was snow-white, her long hair curling around her shoulders, her icy blue eyes darkened dramatically for a sultry look.

With pouted lips, she made all thoughts of food flee from my mind.

Then, she pulled the sash on her coat and revealed she wore nothing underneath.

Oh, yeah, I’d make a meal out of her first. It was easy to lose myself in a round of meaningless sex with a pretty female. She was willing, and she didn’t care that, to me, she was just a warm body, because I made her feel good. For a brief moment, she made me feel good, too.

When my com rang, I’d just fallen into an exhausted heap at her side, thinking I could finally find a few hours of real sleep. Then I saw the unfamiliar number on the display, and my heart started racing. Could it be?

The conversation after that was a blur. I’d only just had the presence of mind to stumble into the bathroom and shut the door.

If Jalina overheard what I was plotting with Kitan…

she would not hesitate to sell me out to my parents.

Kitan and Chloe were in dire straits, even if they had somehow managed to escape the monastery.

My mind was racing with possibilities; everything had changed now that they were out.

I needed to get the media involved. A part of me felt a pang of disappointment—anger, even—that Kitan and Chloe hadn’t managed to get Lo out along with them, even if what Kitan told me about her situation was good news.

My thoughts spun back to the day I’d met the tiny, scrappy little girl. I remembered how much her bright green eyes looked like those of her mother, and how her freckled face reminded me of a young Kitan, back when my siblings and I got to visit him at the monastery.

I’d taken to running home from the office; it was one of the only moments during the day that I could find for exercise.

If I didn’t give myself a chance to stretch all four of my legs, I’d go stir-crazy.

I wasn’t like my father or mother in that way, I couldn’t recall the last time they’d changed.

I didn’t think I’d seen my mother in her four-legged shape in years.

The streets were growing dark, lit only by pools of light from the orbs floating above them.

I made it a race, leaping from one bright spot to the next, the pack of clothing strapped to my back bouncing against my spine with each jump.

Not far now—just a few more streets. Each walled mansion was bigger than the last, and in the distance, I could already see the pale white, carved stone that surrounded the Akentral property.

Home, or at least an approximation of one.

A shape darted across the street in front of me, tiny, on all fours, with a white fan of a tail waving behind it.

I knew that shape, it was burned into my brain, even if this one was an entirely different color.

Heart racing, I anxiously searched the quiet night for a sign of anyone else out at this late hour, fear for the little kit tightening my chest.

Following the kit into an alley right around the corner from the Arkentral ancestral home, I skidded to a stop.

There, standing defiantly in the middle of the little side street, was a tiny scrap of a girl.

She couldn’t be older than four, but her green eyes were wise beyond her years.

She was completely naked, and her skinny body was smeared with dirt, her wild, white-blonde hair sticking up around her grubby face.

“Are you Kest Arkentral?” she demanded, not a hint of fear in her defiant tone.

Even if she didn’t say it, from those looks and that tone alone, I knew just who her mother was.

This girl couldn’t be mine—we’d parted years before she was born—but I felt a surge of protective instinct rear up in me all the same.

Shaking myself out of my four-legged shape, I pulled the backpack free from my back.

Shrugging into a pair of pants, I said, “Yes. That’s my name.

” Squatting down in front of her, I pulled a silky blue scarf free from the rest of my clothing and held it out to her.

As Sune, we were hardly concerned with modesty; shifting and nudity were a daily part of life.

Tonight, there was a chill in the air, however, and I didn’t want her to get sick.

“I have something for you. My mom told me to find you and give it to you,” the girl said after she’d wrapped herself up in the soft fabric.

With only her feet sticking out, she padded over to what I’d assumed was a pile of trash.

Now I realized that it was a scuffed, dirty brown bag with her things.

Handing me a slightly grubby, folded piece of paper, the girl shuffled back.

Her big green eyes, staring at me, were a little unnerving, as if she were expecting the world from me.

I couldn’t give her that… She was like my brother, nothing could keep her on the outside.

The monastery was the only place for her to go.

“Please, my mom is dead,” she said, and her arm came out to gesture at the paper I was now holding.

It felt like a grenade was about to go off in my face, while at the same time a painful shard of grief struck me in the heart at her words.

At one point, I’d loved her mother—though not enough to break all social taboos and run away with her.

It was the kind of love a teenage boy experiences for the first time.

It wasn’t right that she was gone, that she’d left a child alone in the world. Truly alone, from the look of her.

Opening the piece of paper, I carefully looked inside, afraid of what I might find there.

I was even more shocked to realize that Akra had named me her daughter’s legal guardian in her last will and testament.

I knew enough about legal documents to recognize the official seal of a judge at the bottom of the page.

This document would hold in court. This girl—Akra’s daughter—was now mine, whether I wanted her or not.