For the first time, she looked up, and he was shocked by the defiance blazing from her eyes. Eyes as dark as the bottomless caves he had once known so well. Yes, despite her size, he could believe that she was a fighter.
“Is she for sale?” he heard himself asking.
Mehexip shot him a startled look. He knew that Baralt rarely took an interest in a female. Baralt ignored the speculation on his face and stared at the guard, waiting for an answer.
The male shifted uncomfortably. Baralt’s fighting skills were one of the main draws to the fight pit, and he generally got what he wanted.
“I’m sorry, sir. Relkhei plans to offer her as a prize to the winner of the freedom contest.”
He bit back a growl. The freedom contest was a series of death matches—brutal, bloody, and ruthless. The kind of male who won that contest would not be careful with this delicate female.
He started to turn away, but then he looked back down at her face. Despite the fierce glare, he could see the shadow of desperation in her eyes. He couldn’t abandon her to such a fate.
“Tell Relkhei that I will battle the winner for her.”
Both Mehexip and the guard gaped at him. He never entered a death match.
“B-but,” Mehexip stuttered, but Baralt ignored him.
“Convey my message.”
He stepped closer, letting his size intimidate the guard. “And she is not to be touched. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” The guard looked disappointed, and Baralt knew that he’d had plans for the female. He wanted to demand that the female be given to him immediately, but he knew that Relkhei would never permit it.
“Mehexip, make the arrangements with Relkhei,” he ordered. “Then see that she is adequately housed and protected. I will hold you personally responsible if anyone so much as lays a finger on her.”
Mehexip opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but he must have realized that it was pointless and simply nodded.
The female still hadn’t spoken, her gaze darting from him to the guard. He gave in to temptation and touched a single finger to her cheek. Her skin was impossibly smooth and silky, and he almost groaned at the sensation. He couldn’t wait to explore further, to see if her entire body was as soft and delicate.
“Don’t worry, little female. I will take care of you.”
She snarled, and to his utter astonishment, whipped her head around and snapped at his finger with small white teeth. Fuck. His kotra threatened to emerge from its sheath at her fiery defiance.
The guard started to yank on her chain to force her to her knees, but Baralt had his claws around his throat before he could finish the move.
“No damage,” he growled.
The male’s eyes widened, and he immediately loosened his grip on the chain. “No, sir.”
Baralt let his hand drop, then hesitated, unusually undecided. He didn’t want to leave her. But while he might hold a privileged position, Relkhei ruled his fight pit with a ruthless hand. He would have to wait. With a last look at his female, he turned and strode off to his quarters.
He sighed with relief as he entered his rooms and the cool air surrounded him. Most of the other fighters chose living quarters with views out onto the desert landscape of Tgesh Tai, but as part of his contract, he had negotiated for this set of rooms beneath the surface. Originally intended for the slave overseer, they had been carved out of the rock, and their rough walls reminded him of home.
No, not home. He would never be returning to Hothrest. The thought caused the usual blend of guilt and longing, but he pushed it aside with the ease of long practice.
The main room consisted of a seating area equipped with furniture large enough for his body, covered in velvety pinks like the mosses that occupied his home caves. Grabbing another bottle of ice water from the small kitchen area, he collapsed on the long couch with a sigh. Even though it had been an easy fight, each year he felt the effect of his efforts a little bit more. He rubbed his bad knee. The old injury had been flaring up more often recently.
The door alarm chimed.
“Enter,” he growled. He had no desire for company, but he knew from long experience that it was better to take care of whatever problem was facing him now rather than put it off.
The door panel slid aside, and Sadari entered. She was a tall, slender Ostroth with green scaled skin and a smooth scalp. Crossing the room with her usual graceful step, she knelt in front of him, keeping her head and eyes lowered.
“Relkhei sent me to you,” she said softly. “He is most pleased with your decision to fight the winner of the death match.”
Fuck. It didn’t take long for word to get around. Sadari was one of the concubines Relkhei employed to reward his fighters. Baralt had availed himself of her services once before, and he knew that she was talented. His kotra was still half erect, and for a moment, he was tempted. He put a hand to her head, smooth and dry and pleasantly textured, but he found himself remembering the silky softness of the slave’s cheek and knew that this was not what he wanted.
“Thank you, Sadari. I prefer to conserve my energy until after the fight.”
They both knew it was a lie, but she accepted it as docilely as she accepted everything else, and once again, he remembered the little slave snapping at his finger. Had he changed so much that he had forgotten how to appreciate the female with spirit?
Sadari bowed her head once more, then rose gracefully to her feet and walked to the door. The door alarm sounded again just as she reached it, and Varga appeared in the opening. Sadari shrank back almost imperceptibly. Most of the concubines were afraid of the big Sorvid warrior even though, as far as Baralt knew, he had never given them
