Page 40 of Hooded (Gladiators of the Gryn #5)

KLYNN

My nest isn’t good enough for my mate. It doesn’t matter how many times I change it, I’m not happy, and she can’t possibly like it enough to be mine. Fern might say she loves it, but just how true can it be when I hate it?

The youngling growing in her is making her larger nova-day by nova-day. Her stomach bulges in a way which makes my pants tight on an almost nova-hourly basis. She isn’t particularly impressed with the planet’s atmosphere, stating regularly that it is ‘too hot’ and having to shed her clothing.

I do not want her to be too hot, but I do like it when she wears very little. It makes mating her very easy. And my little fury likes being mated.

My internal pleasure at the idea of mating is not enough for my irritation. I cannot get my nest right. I haven’t fought anything since we left the Tormelek ship, and despite the fact my mate loves to watch me, going through my fighting moves every morning isn’t the same.

I shouldn’t crave the violence, but I do.

I have a mate to protect, a youngling on the way. I should be doing something other than worrying about my nest not being right.

But it isn’t right and it irks me.

“Gryn?” A strong voice has me turning with a snarl.

A group of Fenere along with a single Yetag, tentacles waving softly, stand in the clearing a little way from my nest. I growl enough to raise the dead, but I see they’re keeping a respectful distance.

Maybe I won’t end them today.

“We need your assistance,” the largest of the Fenere males, one I vaguely remember is called Logan, says.

“I’m busy,” I respond.

“This won’t take a warrior of your size long,” Logan says. “And we can provide you with more materials for your nest in return.”

I admit, it’s getting harder to find what I want without taking it, and I can’t continue to justify spending our dwindling credits on nesting materials.

And I need to make this nest right.

“My nest is my business,” I snarl. “What do you want?”

“There’s a party of Varangy at the port.” The Yetag twists his tentacles together. “Security can’t control them, and we heard”—he looks at the Fenere—“we heard you were once a gladiator, a fighter. We need your help to get them to leave.”

I’d very much like to do some more damage to any Varangy who crosses my path, and this would seem to be a gift dropped into my lap. I look over at my nest. My Fern is sleeping and she needs her rest. A group of Varangy will not take any time to deal with, and I’ll be back long before she wakes.

“I need a weapon.”

“We have some,” Logan offers, and another Fenere steps forward with a pulsar.

“I meant a proper weapon, not some pistol. I need a sword,” I growl.

All of them look at each other. “I have this,” the Yetag says, pulling a short gladius from under his garb.

I don’t want to think about where else it might have been.

“It will do,” I say, taking the weapon from him and pushing through the gaggle before striding out of the forest into the grasslands which lead down to the small town some short distance below.

I open my wings, feeling the wind rush through them, and beat down hard to get off the ground. It’s as if I haven’t flown for nova-months, strength rushing through me, filling me with fire.

I will fight. I will win. And I will make my nest.

The spaceport is on the far side of the town, an area sheltered from the rest of the populace by a ridge of granite. Fenes’ exports are mostly agricultural in nature, and whilst they generate wealth for the planet, they’re not exactly setting the galaxy alight, or something any Varangy might have an interest in.

Which means these ones are not expecting a fight.

I swoop over the town, rising up over the bluff and hanging in the updraft for a short while whilst I look down on the spaceport.

A Varangy ship squats near the main terminal, steam escaping from various ports. It will be my first call, before I enter to deal with the occupants. Folding up my wings, I drop, pumping hard to keep up my speed as I race towards the ground. I pull up at the last minute and use the velocity to carry me on to the port where I land next to the stinking ship.

The gladius might appear somewhat well used, but the blade is hardened tritanium, and it slides easily into the metal of the Varangy vessel.

My work completed, I circle the terminal building, a low-level metal monstrosity which I recall from our initial landing. Most of it is given over to cargo, with only a small area used for any species which wishes to enter or exit the planet. As I approach, I can hear the sounds of destruction and carousing.

I can smell them. The Varangy are here.

And they are mine to destroy.