Page 7 of Hooded (Gladiators of the Gryn #5)
FERN
I’m not really sure what I was expecting from this mark, but certainly not a body to die for with abs which you could use to grate cheese.
Up until now, most of what I’ve picked up has been the galaxy’s low life. Usually with tentacles. Not entirely sure what it is about those with tentacles, but they seem to have pissed a lot of other species off.
So, this male is very different to anything I’ve had to deal with up until now. He’s most definitely more than seven feet tall, built like he’s wrapped in muscled barbed wire, with a face which could make any female go weak at the knees and a voice which rasps its way into parts of my body which should be off limits.
He also has a glower which could etch glass. As he turns to the food I put through for him, I get yet another eyeful of his impressive arse encased in skin-tight, filthy leather.
Stop ogling the merchandise, !
Not all the galaxy’s villains have to resemble seafood, so capturing species like his is something I’m going to have to get used to.
As well as getting a grip on whatever it is which is making my stomach contract as I watch him spear a piece of meat on one of his claws.
“Is it okay? I can get you something else if you don’t like it,” I hear myself say.
I am really, really bad at this bounty hunter business.
The male sniffs at the meat and then puts out his tongue to taste it. I shouldn’t feel a shiver of interest running down my back as he does so.
It seems he doesn’t find it terrible, as he then takes a small bite and chews slowly. I have a million things to do in advance of our wormhole jump to the next nebula, but instead I’m watching a massive male eat.
“It’ll do,” he rasps. “Next time, bring more.”
He grabs the platter, stalks to the far corner, and encloses the food and himself within his wings. Wings which are much lighter underneath than they are on the back, ringing a faint alarm bell in the back of my brain.
It seems I’ve been dismissed as he ignores me but as far as I can see isn’t actually eating. I oscillate for too many seconds wondering if I should say something else until I feel like a fool because he’s ignoring me and presumably waiting for me to leave before he starts his meal.
I close the viewing window and make my way slowly back up to the bridge and my living quarters, where the console is lit up with warning symbols.
Messing around with my mark means I’m going to have to really scramble to get ready for the wormhole transfer, setting up the engines, the shielding, and making the calculations to get in and out of the thing without being turned into so much spaghetti.
Finally, the swirling mass with the dark hole in the center appears on my viewing screen. I activate the viewer for the cells.
“We’re going into a wormhole,” I say without checking the screen. “My ship is pretty stable, but you might feel some movement.”
A blinking light alerts me to an imbalance of fuel cells between engines and when I finally look at the viewer…the cell is empty.
“Wrong cell,” I grumble, flicking through the feed to the other two.
They’re both empty.
My stomach drops through the floor and floats out into space.
“Fuck!” He can’t possibly have got out.
“Vrex indeed, little fury.” His voice comes from directly behind me.
My shaking hand finds the pulsar under the console, and I turn to face him.
Outside of the cell, I know I’ve underestimated him. Not only is he far larger than I anticipated, but his presence makes the air feel heavy. On the one hand, he stinks of Bogarok, and on the other, there is a faint scent of spice, almost like…cinnamon?
“This isn’t set to stun this time,” I warn him.
“But your contract is for alive,” he responds, taking a pace towards me.
“Alive, yes. All limbs intact, no.” I point the pulsar at his left leg. “You can face justice just as well with one leg as two.”
Does he hesitate? I’m not entirely sure because the star drive engages on its automatic trajectory, and we’re launched into the wormhole.
The sudden lurch knocks him slightly off balance, his wings suddenly rowing at the brief loss of gravity. I’m stuck fast to my console chair due to the clever design, which means in a beat he can’t match, I’m out and shoving the pulsar hard into his side.
“Do you really want to test me?” I snarl. “Because I hate bullies. I hate creatures who use their size and power to make others feel lesser, and I will very much enjoy removing your wings.”
Where that little speech came from, I do not know. The anger boiling within me is something I probably should channel more often.
The Denaver holds up his hands, claws retracted until they’re mere onyx tips. His dark, dark eyes are pools of contrition.
“Back,” I grind. “Back to your cell.”
He says nothing as he troops through my ship, down to the hold, wings sweeping the floor, swaying from side to side as I occasionally jab him in the feathered part of his back with the pulsar to remind him to behave.
His cell door stands open and he walks towards it.
“No,” I say, activating the middle cell. “This one.”
He turns his head to the side, heaves out a sigh, and then walks in. I shut the door behind him before activating the viewing window.
“This cell has additional inbuilt security measures. Try to escape again and you’ll find out what they are.”
He releases a long breath and turns towards the far wall.
After all the things he’s done, his dismissal somehow is a spear to my gut.