Page 137 of Gladiators of the Vagabond Boxset

Camila just gave them a serene smile. “I don’t know what sass you’re talking about, sir.

” The sarcastic emphasis on sir was beautiful, and I smirked proudly.

It wasn’t going to do either of us any good, but then again…

I doubted anything would. We needed to find a way to help ourselves—to escape—and talking to these evil bastards wasn’t going to get us anywhere.

The UAR hotshot was about to angrily snap at my female, but that’s when Drameil cut in smoothly, his voice a hissing, oily smoothness.

“There are other ways to solve this, Commander Dale. It looks to me like my Prime gladiator is damaged beyond repair, and she seems to care for him…” He grinned in the most evil, bone-chilling fashion at me.

I felt every one of my injuries at that point, especially my leg, which I knew was beyond saving.

Growling at the evil bastard just made him smirk wider, and then he jabbed his cane at the wound on my thigh.

Agony shot through me, but I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of screaming.

I wasn’t going to make Camila listen to that.

Biting down hard on my lip, I kept the sound in, glaring into those hateful, burning coals for eyes inside the pale circle of Drameil’s face.

I didn’t look at Camila, but I felt the thud of her footstep as she stepped toward me and then froze.

Twisting that pointed cane deeper into my thigh, he cackled out a sinister laugh.

“Always were good at taking pain, weren’t you, Thorin? But that soft heart of yours…”

The cane lifted, the black tip red with my blood, splattering across my chest as he swerved it upward and pointed at my Caratan chain and the banishment medallion dangling across my cheek. “That’s why I let you keep that, of course. Did you tell the female about your pariah status, murderer?”

I kept my jaw clenched tight as a surge of hate washed over me.

My fists clenched on the floor, where I forced myself to keep them.

I was a hothead—always had been—but this time, I couldn’t let my temper get the best of me.

I would take his insults and his torture, but I’d hold strong, because that was the best way I could help Camila.

That female was so much better than I was; no wonder my instincts wanted me to mate with her.

Through all of this, I’d learned that I had a heart left after all.

Protecting it was no longer an option. I’d held back at the most idiotic times, but all for nothing, I was hers.

Body and soul, battered and broken as I was.

“Ah, lost for words for once, are you?” Drameil chuckled and flicked the tip of his cane, blood flicking in Camila’s direction and painting a line of droplets along her belly.

She stood still, her face a mask of furious anger, her breath coming in fast bursts.

Like me, she had her fists tightly clenched to hold back as much as she could.

Glaring at this monster, I still didn’t say anything.

Just focused on what I felt for Camila instead.

The all-consuming feelings were enough to push against the tide of pain.

Dissatisfied with my lack of response, the evil creature opened the slits in his cheeks and hissed.

His red eyes glowed brighter just as he brought that cane down hard on my femur.

He knew just where to strike to break the bone, just how hard he needed to hit.

I couldn’t hold back the howl of pain at the far-too-familiar feeling of my leg breaking.

When Camila lunged forward, fists at the ready, I barely managed to throw myself between her and the others, holding her back.

Drameil had already raised his cane, ready to hit her across the face with that damn thing.

We fell into a tangle at their feet, and as the cane came down toward us, I raised an arm, caught the blow in my open hand, and yanked hard.

Of course, Drameil was strong, but not as strong as a gladiator who trained each and every day.

He briefly held on to the cane, realized the danger he was in, and backed away.

I was sprawled on top of Camila in an awkward position, my broken, bleeding leg a crooked, tangled mess.

But she wasn’t helpless, even pinned down.

Her hand flicked, and a tiny knife flew through the air—the very knife I’d once let her keep, tucked up in her sleeve.

The blade spun head over tail several times in a glinting, silver line, embedding itself directly in Drameil’s right shoulder.

The male screamed a sound that pierced our eardrums. He stumbled back, windmilling his arms before the unfortunate soldier behind him managed to steady him.

Then my former master yanked the blade free from his shoulder with a vicious hiss and stabbed it down into that poor guy’s arm.

Instincts for the Sythral often kicked them into bloodlust when they felt pain; this was no different.

As the soldier let go of him, clutching at his arm with a shocked scream, Drameil turned on him—his nearest target. That frightening maw of razor-sharp teeth opened so far that the jaw hinges unhooked. Then he tore out the poor guy’s throat.

Pandemonium broke loose in the corridor.

The remaining five soldiers who had accompanied Camila’s former Commander—and my former Master—scrambled to get their rifles up and aimed at Drameil, while the Commander slammed his palm on the panel next to our door, sealing our cell shut.

Camila and I could still hear him screaming at his men to use only stun as they took him out.

We heard the sound of rifle shots, panicked screaming from the soldiers, and the thud of bodies hitting the floor.

I tried to get upright, rolling my weight onto my good leg while pressing up with my arms. Camila instantly scooted out from under me and did her best to help me into a sitting position, her eyes darting alertly to the ruckus outside our cell door.

Silence followed, punctuated by the rapid breathing of several men.

Then the Commander ordered medical assistance.

We said nothing, just kept ourselves pressed against the nearest wall, Camila standing protectively in front of me, which only smarted my ego a little.

She had Drameil’s black cane in her hands, holding it like it was a club, ready to hit whoever came through that door.

I loved this woman, I really did. This was nothing like the pale, weak feelings I’d harbored for my ex-partner once, feelings the bitch had cultivated to her advantage.

No, I recognized this as the real thing, finally.

The damn Commander broke through my shocking revelation when he slammed a fist against the panel next to the tiny window.

Then, he leaned in just enough so that we could see his angry, sneering face.

Camila swished the cane behind her back at the last moment, hiding it from view.

“You fucking bitch!” he snarled. “You could have just ruined everything! If he rescinds his trade offer…”

Camila tilted her chin up, glared at the male, and stuck out her middle finger at him—a curious gesture I’d never seen before but which outraged the male so much that spittle flew from his mouth. “Do you know what happened to your squad? Damn loyal fools, all of them.”

My female flinched but managed to hide it well, telling me that she cared about her people.

I curled my hand around her thigh, anchoring her and offering her support.

“Decommissioned the entire lot, just like I will do to you. Stew on that!” And with those horrible parting words, he disappeared from view.

As soon as he was gone, she sank to the floor in front of me, her eyes wet with tears as she looked up.

“God, what a bastard. He can’t seriously mean to say he killed all seven of my men in cold blood.

” She allowed me to draw her into my arms, cuddling against my side, the cane forgotten on the floor next to my leg.

“Sssh, you don’t know if he even spoke the truth.

He’s proven to be a liar; maybe this is a lie too,” I offered.

Privately, I also thought that decommissioned was a very odd term to use for executing a squad of soldiers.

Why wouldn’t he just say that? You decommissioned gear or a spaceship, not people—unless he was so far beyond thinking of people as real beings with thoughts and feelings that they had become objects. Like it was for Drameil.

Camila only briefly allowed emotion to get the better of her, straightening after a few minutes to look at my broken leg.

“How bad does it hurt? We’ll need to try and set this before it heals.

” She was all business as she assessed the bone break, taking refuge in the practical side of things for now.

She used the sharp point of the cane to cut a good portion of each pant leg off her undersuit—the only thing she was currently wearing.

Then she worked to free my own mangled leg from the remains of my pants leg.

I was panting in pain, sweat beading on my forehead, while she manipulated the broken parts of my femur into place to the best of her ability.

I didn’t tell her that I didn’t think the bone would heal, letting her take care of me the only way she knew how.

With the fabric she’d scavenged from our clothes, she tied everything in place tightly, staunching my bleeding wound and stabilizing the break.

For a while, it was quiet, while I struggled to get the pain under control, to settle into this new position as my flagging body tried to keep up with the demands.

Camila had lain down on the floor at my side, staring up at the ceiling quietly, lost in thought.

For what was possibly the first time in my life, I felt the need to talk and share my innermost thoughts.

These could very well be our last moments drawing breath, so I should clear the air, bare my soul.