Page 118 of Gladiators of the Vagabond Boxset

The quarters were a little cramped, with a row of eight lockers along the back wall and four bunks. That meant the space was built to be shared by eight crewmen at a time, working day and night shifts. It made me realize this ship wasn’t a commercial cruiser, it was a military vessel of some kind.

I was still a prisoner. I was sure Thorin had locked me in here, and he’d done it without saying a single word.

Seriously, this guy had more mood swings than I could count.

Protective, letting me care for him, throwing flirts out there, and heated looks.

Followed by a cold shoulder, and a dose of distrust yet again.

At least I had a starting point now, and I was still not dead, which was a definite win in my book.

If I could just figure out why people had tried to kill me in the first place, destroying my entire career, tossing me out a damn airlock…

Okay, I had climbed out of that airlock myself, hoping to escape.

I was resolved to at least solve part of this puzzle and, hopefully, use it to convince these people to keep me alive, to maybe drop me off somewhere decent so I could live out my life and start over.

No matter how painful it was to leave my family behind.

Dropping down on the nearest bunk, I stretched out, working some tension kinks out of my body.

At least that Doc had worked wonders on my bruised face, and by now, my tender skin didn’t feel so raw.

If only that language update to my translator implant hadn’t given me a mountain of a headache, I would be feeling pretty good.

Closing my eyes, I ignored any discomfort and tried hard to remember every little detail of my last days aboard the UAR battleship. If I could just remember…

*

Thorin

Once Camila was safely locked away inside her own quarters, I headed for the gym.

My leg was better than it had been in days, those blasted cramps almost entirely ironed out by the magic touch of those clever fingers.

Wanting to take advantage of the moment and to get rid of this sexual frustration, I set myself a fast routine on the various machines.

When Kitan stepped into the gym, I felt the first stirrings of real excitement.

Just the male I needed, he owed me a good sparring match.

After all, I’d let him pummel me when he was first wooing his Chloe.

He’d been so out of it that he almost tore me to shreds when he started shifting into his hybrid form.

His gold eyes tracked me from the door as I shook out my limbs and headed for the sparring mat. “Let’s go!” I told him.

He nodded, a grin planted firmly on his vulpine face. “Your turn, is it? I’ve got to meet this Camila!” I didn’t appreciate the humor in this, didn’t want to draw any comparisons.

At the time he thought his female was dying, he was hurt, scared, and angry.

I got all that, so I offered him the outlet he needed.

What was going on in my head was nothing like that.

I desired the spitfire with her muscled, compact body, soft curves, and sexy long braid.

I was also scared to trust her because she and her people had come to this quadrant for Drameil.

What if it was all a big trick—gain our trust and then hand us over? Wouldn’t be the first time I bought lies from a pretty face. That thought fired up my anger as I touched the single medallion on my Caratan chain. Screw them, I just needed to fight.

Kitan was happy to oblige me, thankfully, and I sank into a good rhythm—just a warm-up at first—swapping jabs, dodging, moving with the flow.

My blood was fired up, though; I was just so furious with everything today, my past, how I’d ended up in Drameil’s stables, all the reminders of that horrible time and the experimental treatments whenever I broke a bone.

The way I craved Camila—and I’d only known her for less than half a damn day.

It wasn’t like I’d been celibate the past few years.

Unlike many of my brothers, Drameil had liked to use me for far more than just the gladiator fights: medical experiments, or pimping me out to some of his female contacts.

The latter I hadn’t minded nearly as much as the first; it had felt like an outlet, an escape in a way.

Here was a pretty face with a sexy braid, and I couldn’t get her out of my head, couldn’t separate her from the evil bastard that had ruled my life for the past seven years.

So, the fighting got heated as I let my anger and frustration find the nearest target.

Kitan was my lightning rod, channeling it all.

He was a good fighter in his skin-form, quick, fast on his feet, and equipped with all the right techniques.

But he didn’t have the sharp claws, overpowering strength, or towering size he commanded as a hybrid, when he shifted into what the human females called a fox on two legs.

During his stint as a gladiator, he’d almost exclusively fought that way, so he wasn’t as accustomed to fighting like this as I was.

Usually, Elrohirian like myself only fought in the unarmed leagues, the wrestling matches with opponents like Jakar, who, as a pretorian with four arms, was very good at that style.

In many ways, my body most closely resembled that of a human; I just had pointed ears and a good sense of smell.

I was bigger, so I was stronger and faster, but that didn’t help much when you had to fight a Sune in hybrid form, or a Kertinal with tough skin and horns, or a Tarkan with impenetrable stone skin.

So, to make me an opponent worth watching, there had been the experiments.

So now, I was far, far faster than any other Elrohirian—and stronger, too.

It was an advantage, because I was regularly underestimated, and I should have made an equal opponent to Kitan in his skin-form.

I was too angry, though, to realize that I was starting to do real damage.

That I really was returning the favor to him.

Only, I didn’t stop; I didn’t notice. All I saw was red.