Page 29 of Gladiators of the Vagabond Boxset

“Don’t want us to hurt your big stud, do you, tasty human?

” Frek taunted, and from the corner of my blurry eyes, I saw Abigail’s pretty face pinched with fear and worry.

She wasn’t even looking at the Krektar anymore.

She just looked at me. Then I saw the moisture pooling in her beautiful brown eyes and felt like a total heel.

I caused that. If I hadn’t instigated this round of violence, she wouldn’t be crying now.

A huge exhale rolled out of me, angled down, and I saw wisps of fire curl into the air.

The pain coursing through me had made me lose control of my fire-starter, and it clicked in my throat.

I couldn’t risk burning my Abigail, so I fought hard to turn my head away from her, locking eyes instead with Sunder, kneeling in his cell patiently.

The older male knew he was next, but his look conveyed understanding, sympathy, and support—at least, I liked to think it did.

I held myself strong as long as I could stand it, and then, just like the evening before, faked my fall from consciousness, opting to throw myself to the side Abigail was standing on so that I fell on top of her.

I caught my weight on my palms and made sure Abigail didn’t hit the metal floor hard; instead, her head landed on my curled arm. Then I pinned her, sort of.

I hoped that if I was on top of her like this, apparently out of it, they wouldn’t want to bother dragging me off her to get to her.

I could shield her from them, even while they thought I was out of it.

And of course, when I faked my fall, to Abigail, it was utterly real, and she screamed in fear and possibly a little pain.

“Not exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to watch,” Frek jeered, and Abigail moaned and feebly struggled to get her hands up and push me off.

I didn’t let her, but I shifted my weight a little more so I wasn’t crushing her as much.

When I did, she stilled, and I felt her turn her head into my throat.

The sensation of her breath on my scales was blocked partially by the collar but pleasant all the same.

As my head was angled just right to look into Sunder’s cell, I slid my nictitating membranes closed over my eyes, then opened my eyelids a little so I could see what was going on without giving myself away.

Frek had turned to stand in front of the Tarkan male’s cell and was appraising the male, who sat stone-still, clearly and patiently waiting for his punishment.

“You, at least, know exactly what you did,” Frek said. “Doesn’t make you less stupid. You do realize you are slated for death in your coming match?” He sounded triumphant and gleeful at that information, excited by the idea that the Tarkan was facing his final battle.

Sunder rolled his shoulders, his wings pressed tightly to his back. “I know. So what do I have to lose?” That was right—Sunder was one of the oldest males on the cell block. He had seen nearly ten years of gladiatorial combat and lived to teach the newer males about it.

In the gym, he was the one setting the exercises for us, responsible for pairing us up and training us to be our best. But Sunder—as far as being out on the sands—was definitely past his best-by date.

Rumor was he’d done something to anger Drameil, enough to get set up in a death match he couldn’t win.

He’d made himself valuable as our trainer, but not valuable enough.

Frek contemplated the male a little longer and then shrugged. “Fair enough. But I could kill you now, or you can die in another seven days. What do you prefer?” I nearly laughed at that; if I hadn’t had Abigail, I knew what I would choose.

Sunder surprised me. “You can’t kill me now.

” His deep baritone was concise and certain.

“If you do, you’ll lose your master a lot of credits.

He has bet against me on that fight. If I don’t show up, he’ll lose out.

You can’t afford to incur his wrath, Frek, or you’ll find yourself in my position next. ”

Frek let out an angry howl and jabbed the pain control on Sunder’s collar.

The older male fell to his hands and knees but stoically bore the pain the way I had.

He bared his fangs at Frek but didn’t make a sound—not until he thudded to the floor several minutes later, his head awkwardly falling against the wall.

Thankfully, that male had skin like stone and a skull made for headbutting like mine; he could handle that kind of headbashing without injury.

The Krektar said nothing as they left the cellblock, though Frek gave a sharp, warning look to each of the males who were awake. As the door slid closed behind them with a deafening thud, Kitan let out a long, loud sigh, and then he tsked, “Was all that worth it?”

The males erupted into conversation, aware that none of their words were recorded. “Yes! Of course! There are so few of them now; we need to whittle them down!” one said, and another scoffed. “We’ll never get out of our pain collars. They’ll always have the upper hand.”

There was loud, angry growling from the mind-broken beast that drowned out everything for a moment, and then the conversation flared up again.

The males were hard at work trying to recall how many guards were left, an admirable attempt.

I desperately needed to know this information myself.

We had to know the odds we were up against. I wouldn’t risk Abigail without it.