Dark Flight (Refuge Book 2) by Cynthia Sax

Author:Cynthia Sax [Sax, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-07-10T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

As Orol strode toward the ring half a planet rotation later, beings yelled, cheered, waved banners. They hung over the barriers, trying to get closer to him.

He ignored them, his attention on the slave walking behind him. Seeing her sister displayed had upset his tiny warrior but she refused to talk about it. Instead, she listed every fighter’s perceived weaknesses, examined Orol’s daggers, insisted he rest.

She was concerned about this melee. He wasn’t. The first battle was to filter out the weak warriors. The fighters didn’t target the strong. That would come later.

Orol entered the reserved viewing area. Guards stood at the entrance, nodded as he passed. More guards were stationed inside. Influential patrons sat on the tiered seats. Fighters had left their valuables in their assigned areas—their guns, their devices, their slaves.

A guard waved to his designated spot.

“Sit, slave.” Orol kept his tone brusque.

“Thank you, Master.” Rhea kneeled on the seat, her descent graceful, her beautiful face downcast.

Frag. He missed seeing her eyes, missed her smart mouth. Slave Rhea was no challenge for him.

Orol unfastened the chain from his ass coverings, clipped it to the seat. His female would be safe in the viewing area, would be able to watch the battle, watch him fight for her.

She was the reason he was doing this. The sister didn’t interest him and Kralj would have understood if he had returned with Rhea only. Orol believed her when she said she alone had the information the Humanoid Alliance sought.

But saving her sister would please his female and he wanted to please her. Very much.

Orol removed the guns from his holsters, set them beside her. Only blades were allowed in the ring—axes, swords, daggers, other primitive weapons. He laid her long gun in front of her.

“You won’t move. You won’t make a sound.” He gripped her chin hard, lifting her gaze to his, needing to look into her eyes one more time. “Do you understand me, slave?”

“Yes, Master.” She was scared for him. He saw that in her eyes.

“Trust your Master.” His voice was husky.

Her lips parted. Orol claimed them, the force of his kiss driving her head back. She matched him passion for passion, sucking on his tongue, mashing her lips against his, their teeth clinking together.

He ravished her mouth, imprinting his lips on hers, communicating how much he wanted her, needed her. Her scent teased his nostrils. Her taste filled him.

A horn sounded four times. He broke the embrace, turned from her, walked toward the fighter chutes. “Protect my things.” Orol stared at a guard, memorizing his appearance. He would hold the male personally responsible for Rhea’s safety.

“I’ll protect your things.” Novac was waiting by the entrance. “Especially that passionate little slave of yours. I wouldn’t have minded being part of that show.”

“Touch her and you die,” Orol growled.

“Die and I touch her,” the male countered.

He couldn’t lose. Orol stomped toward the chutes, the thought of that slimy bastard mating with his female casting a red veil over his vision.

Novac was obsessed with him.

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