Page 28 of Gladiators of the Vagabond Boxset

Ziame

Abigail was waiting for me on the cot when we returned from the gym; I was infinitely relieved to see her.

Which meant I felt free to act out a little after having been compliant nearly the entire day.

I appraised the four Krektar escorting my fellow gladiators and me back to our cells.

Ah, that was good to see—the newest recruit was among them.

He’d probably fumble when I made a ruckus.

I weighed my options for a quick moment.

Would they do something to Abigail if I hurt another guard?

They hadn’t last time, and I knew they truly thought I was practically a mindless beast, incapable of speech.

When the damn crime lord and his flunkies had managed to capture me, I’d made such a spectacle fighting that they hadn’t realized what I really was.

They hadn’t even bothered to try to equip me with translator-tech the way they did most other slaves.

A slave who understood your orders was quicker to obey, after all.

Thankfully, I had my own tech installed, and it was far superior to the tech that was standard in the universe.

My translator implants were neural and worked for the written as well as the spoken word; they adapted and learned new languages on the fly.

The tech they had brutally put in my Abigail only worked for the languages in their database—and sometimes faultily at that.

Not that there was much better out here.

To get something as good as what I had, we’d have to return to Lacerten somehow, impossible.

I kept track of the four guards and the remaining gladiators. I figured I could maybe frighten the closest two enough for them to back into some of the others; they’d possibly do the work for me without putting Abigail at risk of reprisal.

I waited until the last moment, when the two in the cells nearest to me were just stepping in and I was closest to my own cell.

Then I swiveled my head, snorted in a deep gust of air, and let my lungs do their trick—oxygenating that air hard on the exhale.

My fire-starter clicked in my throat as a warning, and then the exhale caught fire.

My aim was perfect. The cone of flame sprayed right between the two Krektar at my back, and they hastily jumped out of the way. Just as I’d hoped, their frantic leap landed them right into the arms of Sunder and the wiry, scrawny Geramor of the blue fur.

I knew just how vicious Geramor was. Of all the gladiators, I was the least certain of his morality. In this, he came through exactly as I’d hoped. The opportunity, in the heat of the moment, was too good for him to keep his many fangs in his mouth.

While I backed away and into my cell, blocking Abigail from sight and possible reprisal, Geramor opened his huge, double-hinged mouth and ripped out the throat of the Krektar who’d stumbled into his greedy clutches.

Sunder was far more practical. In that one flash of a moment when I’d sprayed the hallway with my fire, I’d seen his face.

He grabbed the Krektar nearest him, not even letting chance have a say in whether his victim ended up in his cell.

Just like I’d done with Farn last night, he snapped his victim’s neck with an air of economy and practice, tossing the body out of his cell and bowling it into the remaining two panicking guards.

He sank to his knees the next moment, placing his hands on his horned head in surrender, making it clear at once that he did not intend to harm the other guards—smart, because that meant the scrambling Uru, the senior of the two guards, snapped his bars closed but didn’t engage his pain collar.

My cell closed as well, but Geramor was doused on the highest setting by the pain collar. Incredibly, the carnivorous male had started eating the Krektar he’d caught, and he didn’t immediately stop eating, either. Yuck.

It took two minutes on that high setting before he lost consciousness and thudded hard to the floor of his cell. During that time, all of us were utterly quiet, hearing only his agonized moans and the thrashing of his heels on the floor when he collapsed.

What was going on behind me was far more interesting, though. I knew I’d scared Abigail with the eruption of violence, and she was clearly horrified to see Geramor suffer, to see him try to eat the guard he killed, too, if I could hazard a guess.

Instead of staying behind my broad back, the female had looked—of course she had.

Instead of backing away, shuddering in fear or repulsion, she had placed her small hands on my scaled back, anchoring herself to me.

Almost as if my presence gave her comfort, but I didn’t dare hope that was already the case.

“Did he just start eating the guard?” Abigail asked me in a hushed whisper, shock evident in every single syllable.

I rolled my shoulders, then spoke softly so my words would not carry beyond Abigail’s pretty, round ears.

“Yes. Geramor’s species, the Hoxiam, are extremely carnivorous.

They need vast amounts of meat, and he’s not getting nearly enough.

” I didn’t add that their species tended to live off the thrill of the kill and the hunt just as much—and enjoyed eating all kinds of sentient races.

They were spacefaring but banned from all ports and planets except when enslaved, of course.

As soon as Geramor passed out, Uru ordered Thonklad to pull the body of their fellow guard out of the cell.

It obviously wouldn’t do to let the Hoxiam male have access to any of the guard’s gear or to let him continue gorging himself on his flesh.

They knew, as well as I did, that on large quantities of fresh meat, a Hoxiam nearly doubled in size.

It was only done for certain types of fights, which meant that Geramor was always half-starved—sad and horrible if his preferred food wasn’t sentient races.

Once the body was out, Uru closed the cell, and the two Krektar worked to dispose of the bodies with little fanfare.

They were not the type to get sentimental, so I wouldn’t be surprised if those two bodies simply went out of the airlock without another word said.

At least it was good to see that Thonklad definitely seemed a little green around the gills when handling the corpse mutilated by Geramor.

They returned, throwing rations into our cells, and then, on their heels, Frek came. “Shit, he’s come for the punishment,” I murmured to Abigail, who’d taken the bars and sat down with them on the cot. I hadn’t wanted to start eating yet, so she had the two meant for me as well.

“He’s the type that gets off on hurting those bigger than him, isn’t he?

” Abigail scoffed in a hushed whisper. I fought a grin at her description—oh yeah, that was spot on.

I knew his type well; they always set the pain collar higher than warranted and always kicked a little extra when you were already down. Weak little bullies.

“Curl under the blanket and stay out of sight,” I said as a warning in low tones. I really didn’t want Frek to set his sights on her. Bully or not, he wouldn’t hesitate to harm my female if he thought he could.

“Thought to stage a little rebellion, did you, Beast?” the wart-faced Krektar demanded as he stepped in front of my cell.

I hadn’t backed away into the dark, hoping that playing target would make him less likely to focus on Abigail.

At his words, I cocked my head, scraping my horns against the bars of the cell, then shook my head a little as if I had gotten confused when one horn got stuck for a brief moment.

Frek laughed uproariously, pointing at me and then looking at the other Krektar. “Look at the dumb beast. He was probably just attempting to swat a fly!” The three Krektar laughed, but I saw the look in the older Uru’s eyes, he was thinking hard. Shit… That wouldn’t do.

Then Frek turned to gaze into the dark shadows where my cot was. I knew he couldn’t see Abigail, but that didn’t seem to matter. “Too bad you’re not pregnant yet. For you! You’ll have to let that beast between your legs again! I only wish I could see that, hear your pretty screams.”

I smelled Abigail’s fear. She was shaking on the cot, trying to stay quiet and hidden.

Stepping into Frek’s line of sight, I growled, flaring up my spines and the blades on my arms in a territorial display.

He was close enough that, if I breathed fire, he’d be burned to a crisp.

The clicking of my fire-starter would give me away, though. It was too slow a weapon.

Frek didn’t raise his hand. There was little warning, but the pain flared to life through my collar. It roared through me at the highest setting, and I groaned in surprise, instinctively advancing toward him, bashing my hard skull and thick horns against the bars of my cell.

Behind me, Abigail screamed, “Ziame! No, stop it! Don’t hurt him!

” She was behind me then, grabbing my arm at the elbow and trying to pull me away from the bars.

I had no control of my muscles, though; it was all I could do to remain standing.

That damn coward Frek had engaged the control on the highest setting.

It was far harder to resist this pain, to stay conscious, but for Abigail, I tried.

Somehow, my hands unlocked from the bars, and I staggered back a step, pulled backward by my female’s meager weight. Another staggering step while I groaned, focusing hate-filled eyes on the gleeful Frek. Then I sank to my knees and forced myself to turn to stone.