About twenty males, all wearing loincloths, line the hallway. Some sit, some squat, some are perched on the few stone benches that must be centuries old. These males must be the rest of the day’s entertainment.
I see Stryker on the stone floor, Dax standing next to him as if he’s the male’s owner. They don't approach us or act as if they know us. It would call more attention to us, which we certainly don’t need right now.
Shadow leads us down a hallway, and it suddenly strikes me that all the males with me have probably been in this facility during their careers. They’ve sat where Stryker’s sitting right this minute, possibly about to enter a deathmatch, wondering if they would be alive or dead by sundown.
I’m so glad we’ve all found our freedom.
WarDog is in the lead now. His more acute sense of smell is pulling him toward the other Skylosians. We pass several rooms, actually more like cubbies, where perhaps the premier acts are allowed to wait before their bouts. Negrid, still in canine form, is in one, not only being verbally eviscerated by his master, but receiving some abusive kicks as well.
I clamp my teeth together, hard, when Shadow spears me with a quelling look. “Don’t say anything,” he whispers. “Your words will change nothing, and it will call too much attention.”
Earth was no picnic, but I have to admit the galaxy is a harsh place.
We find Montem in the next cubby. He’s a tall, muscular humanoid with canine aspects to his face—sharp cheekbones, high pointed ears, a swath of fur across his shoulders, and rounded brown eyes. His hands are pressed to the small of his back as he leans backward, moaning in pleasure. I wonder how long he was in his canine form. It must feel odd to walk on two legs again.
Both his and his handler’s attention is riveted on WarDog.
“What?” the handler asks roughly. “Want to sell your fighting stock? Highly unusual to approach a handler, especially at a match. Lucky for you I just won and I’m in a good mood.”
He didn’t just win anything. But I don’t say that. Nor do I mention that if this is his good mood I don’t want to catch him on a bad day.
I don’t let Shadow or any of the males speak for me. Ignoring the owner and stepping toward Montem, I ask, “He’s one of you, right?”
He nods, his eyes darting toward his handler. He may be in humanoid form, but he’s not a free male.
“Don’t be an idiot,” the handler scolds. “Of course he is.”
“He came to me this way. How do I get him into his humanoid form?”
The handler’s eyes narrow to slits. “If you don’t know the answer to such a basic question, you can’t be his owner,” he says.
“He’s mine!”
“Got his papers?”
“He’s a free agent.”
“So, what is he? He’s yours? Or he’s free? You can’t have it both ways,” the handler jeers.
Shit.
“I think I’ll take him off your hands,” he says as his jaw clenches.
“You and who else?” Shadow steps up and practically bumps him with his muscular chest. Steele and Aries step closer also. I have no doubt the three gladiators could overpower the handler in a heartbeat.
WarDog chooses this moment to step closer and put a soft mouth around the male’s thigh. Out of anyone on the planet, my guess is that this male knows what could happen if WarDog peels back his lips and grips his thigh with those long, white teeth.
“Tell me, male. How do we change the canine into his upright form?” Shadow’s tone is harsh.
“Try my controller. Most of the Skylosians were owned by the cartel at one time. They were all chipped with the same hardware.”
Shadow grabs the controller and asks, “Which button shocks and which allows the change?”
“Top button shifts, bottom shocks,” the male says, spearing him with an angry look.
Shadow presses the bottom button, obviously not trusting the handler to tell the truth. His hunch was right because WarDog shifts before my eyes. The handler roughly snatches the controller back.
WarDog doesn’t stand like Montem did, but lies on his side on the stone floor. It’s shocking to have a front-row seat to this metamorphosis. The fur covering most of his body disappears, replaced by tanned skin. Brindle fur, the color of WarDog, remains across his shoulders to the top of his pecs on his chest and tapers to a ‘V’ in the middle of his back.
He curls into a tight ball and groans for a moment. I’m used to every sound WarDog can make, but the male on the floor sounds different somehow, more . . . humanoid.
He’s in pain. Montem didn’t shift like this. He leapt to his feet before his change was complete. WarDog’s metamorphosis is slower and definitely more painful.
He rolls onto his back and slowly unfolds, allowing his spine and hips to fully straighten for the first time since I met him, and who knows how long before that?
His eyes are closed, facial muscles tight, but I can see his humanoid features and totally naked humanoid body for the first time. Perfect rose-colored lips that can’t hide the tips of his sharp canines. High, angular cheekbones that hint at what he looks like in his non-human form. And pointed ears much higher on his head than mine. I command myself not to look lower than his chest and have to struggle to obey.
He makes a sound. It’s an unintelligible growl. Is he more beast than man? Can he speak? Is he even fully sentient in this form? Montem is
