Page 86 of Gladiators of the Vagabond Boxset

Kest’s eyes went wide and angry when I talked about my five years as a gladiator, and I had to reassure him that as a Prime fighter, I hadn’t been treated too badly.

Sure, I had no freedom and had been forced to fight people I had no desire to fight, injuring them and, a few times, even killing them.

It was still a far cry from the constant pain and mental anguish here at Suleantra.

I’d been taken to places, to different planets, and seen so many different species.

I had been caught, but not nearly as caught as I was here.

When a knock at the door summoned Kest to leave, we were no closer to figuring out how I could assist him in freeing the little shifter girl.

I wished I could help, but my situation with Chloe here was dire enough.

Possibly, just sharing the burden had lightened Kest’s load and given him hope.

He assured me he was going to do everything he could to set Chloe and me free too, and I knew that, with him as head of my family, he might even have some clout to that effect.

We just didn’t know how much. To that effect, he’d had me memorize his com frequency in case we got our hands on one. I was grateful for the lifeline.

***

Chloe

Kest left, but it wasn’t long before a whole barrage of people came and went into our rooms. Priests, clad in what Kitan told me were novice robes of dull gray, carried away our breakfast dishes and tidied up the place without a word, glancing at us furtively from beneath their raised cowls, starry-eyed adoration on their features whenever they looked at Kitan.

They brought in racks of clothing, the first new clothes we had seen since we’d arrived here.

While I didn’t really want to give up the comfort and familiarity of the set of clothes I was wearing, I had to admit that it would be nice not to have to rush them through the cleanser each morning and wear the same thing each day.

The stuff all looked fancy and handcrafted, part and parcel of the appearance they wanted Kitan to portray: the well-cared-for, spoiled priest—a true shifter that they readily revered.

I hadn’t seen a priest like that in action—the way they were portrayed to the people, the masses who thought Kitan and his ilk were here voluntarily and liked their positions.

A Sune female, dressed not in priest robes but a fancy, silky sheath of purple, oversaw the appearance of the clothing and then fussed over each garment.

She made Kitan try on several outfits and tailored them to perfection with some kind of rod, cutting the fabric and seaming sections flawlessly.

She did the same for me with several fancy dresses that I hated to wear instantly.

Dresses weren’t me—they were made to put me on display, to make me look sexy and pretty.

The opposite of what I’d been trying to achieve for far too long felt unnatural to me now.

But there were pants—both leather and of high synth quality—as well as cute skirts and belts, and boots far better than the scuffed old ones I wore.

Tops, too, both formfitting and loose, including some beautiful handcrafted items made of soft yarn.

I loved those. After wearing oversized sweaters—often three on top of each other to hide my body shape—the handcrafted items felt familiar.

By the time the tailor and all the eager priest novices had vacated the rooms, Kitan sat dressed in finery in a chair.

Sweat beaded on his forehead from exertion; he couldn’t hide that he was still sore from what he’d endured over the past four days.

The robes draped around him were a dark brown with black embroidery that matched the markings on his body.

His arms were bare, putting them on display, and I knew he wore nothing beneath that robe, which was closed only with a sash.

I had a feeling this meant he was expected to easily strip out of it and shift.

I was dressed in a gown with cutouts in all kinds of interesting places and a lot of sheer fabric that draped around my legs.

It was in the same brown and black colors as Kitan’s, but mine was highlighted with shimmering gems along intriguing edges, drawing the eye to my cleavage, the cutouts over my hips, and a long slit that displayed my left leg.

I had barely managed to figure out a way to strap the box with the implant to one of my legs, where it was out of sight but safely on me.

“You look far too sexy and pretty to be suitable for the eyes of others,” Kitan said in a husky voice.

He crooked his finger at me, and I went to his side, my heart pounding from the heated look in his eyes.

“If I weren’t certain that I’d collapse if I tried, I’d have you riding my face; that slit looks like it gives me perfect access. ”

The unexpectedly filthy words had my face go red and my body flush with heat.

Over the past few days, we had been far too hurt and tired to address the relationship growing between us, but clearly, Kitan was feeling a little better now that he hadn’t been forced to shift constantly this morning.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to step even closer and risk getting interrupted just so I could spend a moment of bliss in his arms, or if I should protect him from further harm and step away.

My indecision decided for me. Kitan raised an arm and slid it beneath my skirt, cupping the back of my thigh and tugging me close.

Wetness flooded my core at the touch to the sensitive skin so close to my center, and I shivered.

My eyes locked onto his; I couldn’t look away from that heat, that desire sparkling in those golden depths.

“Kitan,” I whispered, my tone an unmistakable invitation, only for both of us to groan when the door to our chambers suddenly swished open.