“Very good.” Master Napunsa clapped four of his little hands together. “Perhaps there is hope for you after all. Now run along, warrior. We will take good care of your possession.”
Her anger increased, but she did her best to hide it. Now was not the time to show the overbearing harem master exactly what she thought of being referred to as a “possession.”
“Good girl,” Baralt murmured, and she knew he was praising her control rather than her obedience. He flashed her a quick smile and left.
“Now, let’s see.” The harem master surveyed her critically. “What do you think, Tugtai?”
“Cloth of gold. Master Relkhei wants her to stand out, and you know he likes gold.”
“With that hair and that skin? Yes, that could work. Proceed.”
The two of them set to work—or rather Tugtai worked, assisted by two silent females, while Napunsa investigated Baralt’s liquor cabinet, then made himself at home on the couch.
An hour later, she had been primped, oiled, and perfumed. Far too many cosmetics had been applied to her face, but the results were undeniably stunning. And the dress… An almost Grecian-style gown of shimmering gold cloth fastened with gold ribbons, it was cut low across her breasts and high on each leg, and the result was equally stunning.
She caught a glimpse in the mirror and barely recognized herself. What Betty at the diner would have said if she could see her now. Unexpected tears threatened at the thought of the gruff but well-meaning older woman, and she blinked them back furiously.
But then Betty had been forgotten as Master Napunsa had fastened matching gold chains around her wrists and led her out of Baralt’s quarters.
As much as she wanted to yank the damned things away from him, she had to cooperate. She reminded herself of that fact over and over—as she was led into the arena, as she was displayed to the crowd, and most of all as she was presented to Relkhei, also clad in shimmering gold. It was an obvious statement of his ownership of her, and she suspected he had done it specifically to remind Baralt of that essential truth.
After he too had displayed her to the crowd, Relkhei let her retreat to the back of the box as he continued to wave to his fans like some depraved Roman emperor. A small group of sycophants also lingered at the back, including Mehexip. As soon as she was out of Relkhei’s hearing range, the agent sidled up to her.
“This is your fault, isn’t it?” he hissed in her ear. “You’re the reason Baralt is leaving the fight circuit. He was perfectly content until he won you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He has family obligations.” Her icy tone was more suited to a princess than a slave, but she had no reason to placate this odious little alien.
“I think you bewitched him with that whore’s body. Or did you fill his head with thoughts of home and family? Did you think he’d offer to buy you?” He laughed cruelly. “But he didn’t, did he? And once Relkhei is tired of you, I’m going to ask him to give you to me. He was very grateful when I told him that Baralt’s contract is expiring.”
“You told him?” If she was surprised, it was only because she hadn’t thought he had the intelligence to notice what was happening. “Disappointed to be losing your meal ticket?”
He frowned, but apparently the expression translated well enough for his face to darken. “Perhaps I will be able to use your body to make up some of that lost income. Assuming Relkhei leaves you in salable condition. I suspect he blames you as well.”
She managed to hide her shudder, redirecting her gaze to the arena and ignoring Mehexip. Was that why Relkhei wanted her in his booth? And if the fight master didn’t already blame her, she wouldn’t be surprised if Mehexip managed to convince him.
A gong sounded to silence the crowd, and she moved back to the front of the box. An amplified voice began announcing the match, but she ignored it, already scanning the arena for Baralt’s big white-furred body, until a name caught her attention.
“Did he say Varga?”
“Yes, he did.” Relkhei smiled mockingly at her. “Under the terms of our contract, I have the right to determine the opponent of his last match.”
“But he’s—” She stopped midsentence. Of course the fight master already knew that the two males were friends. That was undoubtedly why he had chosen Varga.
A second gong sounded, and the two fighters entered from opposite ends of the arena. Baralt looked reassuringly strong and confident, and her anxiety lessened—until she looked at Varga.
Varga was easily as big as Baralt, but his bluish-green skin was not furred, and it was easy to see the heavy, bulging muscles covered only by a brief, black loincloth. He was built like a weightlifter, but he moved with a sinuous grace that argued that his muscles were completely natural. Terrible scars covered much of his skin, oddly highlighted by hints of gold.
He looked big, brutal, and utterly lethal, and her pulse raced. Even if they were an even match under other circumstances, Baralt was suffering from the week of constant matches and his still-healing knee. Would their friendship be enough to prevent Varga from inflicting serious damage?
The two males came to a stop in front of the box. Baralt’s gaze went immediately to her, and she saw him snarl as he took in the matching outfits. Relkhei smirked.
“Baralt the Exterminator won the human slave at last week’s death match; however, he must prove that he can keep her by defeating the Juggernaut. She will be awarded to the winner of the match.”
“You can’t do that,” Baralt protested as the announcer finished.
Relkhei snatched her up next to him and raised her chained hands. “I most certainly can. My slave, my rules.”
“You cannot force us to fight to the death.”
“No. But I
