Page 10 of Hooded (Gladiators of the Gryn #5)

KLYNN

Sleeping is not usually my thing. But having demolished what was left on the platter my little Fern provided for me, I’m rather rudely awakened by the sound of the cell door opening.

Not what I was expecting at all. Especially as the corridor outside is empty, the slight breeze not blowing her scent in to me. I get to my feet and stretch out. I’ve already got my bearings on this small vessel, and there’s unlikely to be anything which can challenge me much, even a little female with a pulsar.

A delicious smelling female who is armed appears to be something my body reacts to every vrexing time. I palm my cocks, attempting to shift them somewhere their hardness will be less uncomfortable as I stride out of the door and into the corridor.

Then I can scent her. She’s out in the hold and I want her.

I need to claim her.

With a growl, I pound down the passage and out into the darkened hold. Fern stands in a circle of light, which brings me up short.

I know what it is. She has activated a form of personal forcefield, run by the ship itself. If I don’t want to get zapped (and those things sting), I will have to hold back.

Instead I pace a circle around her. She watches me, turning slowly to keep eye contact.

“Um…” She clears her throat, her hands twisting at her waist. “?”

“That’s my name,” I growl.

“ the destroyer?”

I snarl at the use of my dome name, one I’ve reveled in for far too long.

“There’s been”—she hesitates, staring at the floor rather than me in a very irritating way—“a mistake.”

“There has?” I halt my movement for half a nova-second before continuing. “Yes, there has,” I say emphatically.

“My comm, the mobile one I use when I’m off this ship—it was malfunctioning. I’m not sure why, but it identified you as the Denaver I was hunting, but you’re not a Denaver, you’re a Gryn, and I should have known, but I didn’t.” She pauses for breath. “I’m sorry. Please don’t eat me.”

Every feather not gummed up with Bogarok innards stands on end. I’d rouse if I was capable of doing so. I want to fall to my knees in order to do the exact opposite of her request.

I’d give up everything to taste her. Get what smells so delicious on my tongue and lick until she makes noises which cause my cocks to explode.

“The Bogarok were controlling all the signals in Tatatunga. That’s the reason your comm wasn’t working,” I rasp.

“Oh,” she says, her pretty mouth making a circle I want to stuff a finger in.

I need to get control of my body, of my mind, and stop letting this female turn me to mush. It was interesting being at her mercy, but I see an opportunity to put her at mine.

“I was part of a team which was fighting the Bogarok,” I state. “Your intervention might have resulted in them taking over permanently.”

Her eyes open wider, and she twists her hands more.

“I didn’t know…I was only on Trefa to get the mark. I got caught up in it all,” she wails.

“If we’d been successful, I was promised my freedom,” I add, probably unnecessarily, but I want to see just how far I can push it.

“Your freedom?” She struggles to get the words out.

“All gladiators at the dome are indentured, but some of us were there by order of the Galactic Council. I was one of them,” I growl. “But assisting the Tatatunga Council to free their city of Bogarok would have granted me a pardon.”

“I didn’t know,” Fern says, and a drip of water runs from her eye down her pale cheek.

My heart twists in my chest, pain spiking through me as if I’ve been run through with a blade.

“What are you doing?” I step closer to her forcefield, glaring at it, at her, as yet another drip follows the first.

“I’m apologizing,” she says, terror running over her beautiful face.

“No, with the water. What is it? Why does it make me hurt inside?” I growl.

She lifts one of her hands and swipes it over her cheek as another drip runs down the other side.

I can’t stop growling. I want to put my hands on her. I want to wrap my arms and wings around her, only I can’t because of the vrexing forcefield.

“I don’t understand,” she sniffles.

“The water from your eyes. Stop doing it,” I demand, clutching at my chest because the pain is drilling deeper.

“You don’t want me to cry?” Fern says.

“Cry? I don’t know what it is but…stop,” I growl.

“I…I can’t,” she responds, more water falling, and this time it drops onto the floor. “It’s not something I can turn off. I’m not a tap.”

I pace away, turn, and pace back.

The water is still there. The pain is still there. And I still can’t touch her.

“Please.” I force the word through my fangs. “Please don’t cry.”