Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Other Titles
About the Author
Izzie and the Icebeast
Alien Abduction Book 9
Honey Phillips
Copyright © 2020 by Honey Phillips
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author.
Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Maria Spada Book Cover Design
Edited by Lyss Em Editing
Chapter One
The crowd cheered as Baralt’s name was announced, and he strode out onto the glittering white sands of the arena. Although carefully designed to mimic an ancient historical site, it was essentially the same as every other place he had fought. He cast a quick, practiced eye at the spectators packing the stone seats rising high above the sand. A good turnout for a minor match. Relkhei, the fight master, might be a despicable male, but this had proven to be one of Baralt’s most lucrative contracts.
After a brief introduction, the match began. It was immediately obvious that the other fighter would not provide a challenge. The initial skirmishes proved him correct. Unwilling to prolong the fight, Baralt ducked under his opponent’s guard and raked a claw across the other male’s stomach. The male collapsed to the ground, green blood pooling beneath him as he clutched at the wound. He would live, but the fight was over.
Three suns blazed above, uncomfortably hot, but he ignored the heat just as he ignored the roar of the crowd. He lifted an absent hand in salute as he turned to the exit tunnel. There had been a time when he might have appreciated the adulation, but after more than ten years on the fight circuit, it no longer mattered to him.
Had it ever mattered to him? Perhaps. When he’d first started fighting, the admiration he had received had been a satisfying contrast to the disapproval he had received from his own people.
“Good fight, Baralt,” Mehexip gushed as he met him inside the tunnel, handing him a cleansing towel and a bottle of water.
He drained the water and tossed the bottle back before wiping away the blood staining his white fur.
“He wasn’t much of an opponent. Is that the best you can do?”
Mehexip gave a nervous laugh. “You know Relkhei likes to save the big fights for the end of the feast week.”
“Matches like this aren’t even worth showing up for,” he growled.
“You were well paid,” Mehexip assured him.
In other words, Mehexip had been satisfied with his cut. The small orange male served as his agent, arranging the fights and negotiating the contracts. Baralt knew that he cheated him, but as long as he kept it within reasonable levels, it was worth it to Baralt not to have to deal with the arrangements.
“What’s up next?” he asked.
“There’s a new batch of slaves.” Mehexip lowered his voice. “A couple of them looked like good candidates.”
“I doubt it.” The slave fighters might be driven by desperation, but their skills were usually lacking.
He headed up the tunnel, ready for the icy comfort of his quarters.
“No, really.” Mehexip scurried along beside him. “There is a Naimal in this batch.”
A faint stirring of interest surfaced. The Naimal were dangerous fighters, but they rarely appeared on the circuit. It could represent an interesting challenge, something that was becoming ever harder to find.
“When?”
“You know the drill. Three days of elimination matches, and then the final fights on the feast day.”
A group of guards came toward them, herding a line of slaves. Baralt gave them a quick assessment as they passed. Weak and untrained. They would be tossed in the arena and forced to fight, but they would be lucky to last a round. They were simply there to entertain the crowd and give the real fighters the chance to warm up.
He looked away again, but just as he passed the end of the line, an unexpectedly sweet fragrance washed over him. Female. It was not unexpected—female slaves were provided as rewards for successful fighters—but something about this particular scent caught his attention.
Trailing behind the other slaves at the back of the line, a small female was flanked by a watchful guard. Baralt had never seen one like her before. She was completely naked—nothing uncommon in the fight pits—but it was more than her lack of clothing that made her appear so bare. She had no fur, no scales, not even the armored plates common to many species. Only the dark curls covering her head and another small patch between her legs interrupted that smooth bare skin, glowing a warm gold even in the muted light of the tunnel. Nothing shielded the heavy weight of her breasts, topped with big dark nipples, or the lush swell of an ass that would fit perfectly in his hands. His kotra stirred at the thought.
“What is she?” he found himself asking.
The guard next to her grinned at him. “They called her a human. Not bad, eh?” He shook his head. “Shame to waste her on one of these animals.”
“She’d fetch a good price as a concubine,” he agreed, even though he hated the idea of this small female subjected to Relkhei’s whims.
“Apparently she’s a fighter. Caused enough damage to her last owners that they sold her with a warning.”
A fighter? This small female? Now that he looked closer, he could see that she had been injured. Bruises shadowed that silky skin, marking her neck and hips, and he could see red scratches on those lush breasts. The protective instincts ingrained in him roared to life, and he
