WILLA

I know there are a saying about the kindness of strangers, but as I sit in the hold, naked, clutching a fur to my shivering body as I watch the others subdue the “monster,” I wonder if this is their idea of kindness.

"Jesus Christ, I thought he was going to eat my face." The pregnant blonde woman clutches at her rounded belly and staggers away a few steps dramatically. She's pale, but she looks more annoyed than frightened.

At her side, one of the blue aliens hovers over her. He's the tall, lean one with the hard face and scars, the one that smacked the beast man in the head with his spear. "Liz, this is why I tell you to stay back, my mate. This male cannot be trusted."

"No shit, Sherlock," Liz breathes, and then wraps her arms around his waist and snuggles against his chest as if she didn't just insult him. "Sorry, babe."

The big blue guy just holds her close, but the expression on his face wouldn't butter a damn biscuit.

"What's going on?" someone beside me asks. It's the squinty one, the one without glasses. She peers at her surroundings and then looks to me for the answer. Others turn to watch, curious. I haven't counted heads yet, but I've been observing—one of my skills, I suppose, if a gal has a skill set—and I've heard the word “sixteen” come up several times. That must be how many ladies we have here. Sixteen gals, and now they're freeing up the men in them pods.

"There's a gentleman that woke up," I tell them softly. "And he's right pissed."

"That's not a gentleman," someone else corrects. "I saw that guy. He's got fangs and red eyes like a werewolf." She shudders dramatically.

"A werewolf? What the hell?" Someone starts crying.

I just keep my observations to myself. Way I see it, the guy was just scared and trying to get himself free. I can't blame him. When I woke up, I freaked out and did the exact same thing, although in a slightly less ornery sort of fashion.

Except no one held me down and hogtied me, I guess because I'm a girl and he's a big guy and all. Still doesn't sit right with me. He looks a little intimidating, yes, but looks shouldn't matter.

"He's got fangs?" someone else whispers. I don't know all their names yet, but I reckon I will soon enough. This whisperer is a blonde.

I want to point out that they all have fangs—all except the womenfolk—but I don't say a peep. I'm observin'. If the angry guy's chompers are a bit bigger than the rest, well, maybe they've got a touch of envy. I watch the fallen guy as he lies on the floor, chest heaving. He's stopped struggling for now, but his eyes are red slits and I can tell he's watching everyone. He's taking in his surroundings, figuring out where he is.

For a moment, his gaze fixes on me, and it’s piercing in its intensity. I'm determined not to show fear, though. So I offer him a faint smile and then break eye contact, just in case he views a staredown like a challenge, kinda like Uncle Dick's pit bulls used to.

Way I see it, he's been tied up and beat because he's scary looking. I did the same song and dance and was handed a blankie and some trail mix by the fire, but he's being treated worse'n a dog. I don't like that. So while these people are nice and they promise that we're safe and everything's fine and dandy, I smile and nod and I tell myself not to get too comfortable.

Oh sure, they're nice now, but Mama was nice when she wanted something. And Mama was the prettiest gal in three counties, so appearances don't count for squat, far as I'm concerned.

Actions are what count.

I reckon I'll have to wait and see what kind of actions these people take over the next few days, and then I'll figure out how I escape.

"This isn't so bad, is it?" the girl next to me says, her voice a soft whisper of hope. Her name's Tia and she's just a little bit of a thing with big, dark curls and big, dark eyes. She huddles next to me under the furs, sharing body heat, as if I can somehow protect her from this new world we're in.

"Seems all right," I tell her cheerfully, and tuck her closer to me. Okay, so I have a soft spot when it comes to scaredy cats. Sue me. Truth is, I don't know if what I'm speaking is wrong or right. These people do seem nice enough. I think they mean well. They've fed us and kept us warm. They've given us clothing and it looks as if they don't mean to separate me or the other girls from each other. There's been lots and lots of plans discussed, and none of them mention going back to Earth or taking us home.

We're stuck on this frozen planet forever. And while that's not my favorite, I find I can cope with the news better'n some of the others. Some girls have been weepin' and moanin' all afternoon like that's gonna change things. Some, like Lauren, have decided to be leaders, and she's been all supportive and sweet to everyone, doin' the best she can to be someone the others can lean on.

I think that's a real good idea.

Me, I don’t rightly know what I’m going to do with myself just yet. There’s part of me that thinks I should smile and nod and do what I’m told, like a good girl, and see where that leads me.

But I learned early on not to trust, though, and I’m struggling with that idea. I can’t be like Lauren and assume that everything’s going to be just fine all because these strangers told me that. Actions speak louder than words. I sit up in the swaddle of furs on the ground that make up my bed and yawn, stretching my arms as if working the kinks out of my back. A few others glance over at me—the big blue guys are all on high alert and watching us as if they’re worried we’re going to hurt ourselves. I look around at the small band of survivors. There are twenty of us in all that were pulled out of them pod things, and about a dozen or so of our “helpers.” They called themselves sa-cootie or something, but I don’t suppose what they call themselves matters much if they aren’t as nice as they claim to be. I lift one arm over my head and then bend it, pretending to stretch my triceps, and as I do, I look around at my fellow survivors. Most of the girls are huddled together like puppies, but a few sleep alone. Off to one side, I see the red twin brothers sitting by the fire, their bodies uncovered and gleaming in the firelight. Nudists, apparently. In the middle of the group, the big golden guy sleeps between two women. He has his arm around one rather plain-looking girl—I think her name was Veronica. And of course, Tia cuddles up against me. I continue looking around, yawning. Most of the blue guys aren’t sleeping. They hang out by the walls, talking quietly amongst themselves and watching us. The two women—the pregnant ladies that woke us up—are sleeping, though, and I’m guessing that the big guys sleeping next to them are their respective spouses. While I’m not sure about these people as a whole, I do like that the guys seem to be good to their women.

Then, I see him.

In the shadows, a pair of red eyes gleam. I know by the hulking shoulders and the slitted, too-bright-in-the-darkness red eyes that it’s the beast guy. One of the blue aliens watches over him nearby, arms crossed over his chest. The beast guy is still tied up, and he can’t be comfortable. I frown to myself, wondering if I should lie back down and forget I saw anything, or if I need to speak up.

I hesitate, because I’m scared. But…I’ve also been the trapped one before, and I think of all the times I wanted someone to come and rescue me. So I get to my feet and ignore Tia’s murmur of protest, wrapping one of the furs around my new clothes. Even with a few layers on, it still feels too cold. I tiptoe over the sleeping bodies, heading toward the captive and his guard.

“Hi there,” I say with a winning smile on my face as I approach. I glance down at the growling, tied-up red-eyed man (can he be called a man?) and then focus on his guard. “I’m Willa. What’s your name?”

The guard gives me a polite nod. “Hassen. You should go sleep, Wil-lah.”

“I will.” I smile brightly at him. “I just wanted to make sure our friend is warm enough. He doesn’t have a blanket.” And I gesture at the bound man at his feet. “The floor is cold.”

Hassen just gives me a puzzled look. “He is covered in fur. Why would he need a blanket?”

“Bless your heart,” I murmur sweetly. “Because it’s cold and he might not be used to such weather?”

He scratches his chest, thinking. “Perhaps it is best to leave him alone, Wil-lah.”

I look over at the beast guy and he gives a low hiss, but it seems to have less oomph to it than before. He’s either tired…or he doesn’t mean it. So I just keep smiling and ignore it, and decide I need to catch me some flies with honey. “So you’ve lived here all your life, Hassen?” When he nods, I can’t help but ask. “You have a human mate?” I heard the others talking about that—how all the men here were brought because they were already mated and wouldn’t be a problem for us. “Is she not here?”

He puffs up proudly, and a big grin creases his face, making him almost handsome in the darkness. “I do. My Mah-dee. We have a son, Masan. They are back home.”

I hug the blanket to my shoulders and smile at him. “How did you and Mah-dee meet?”

“I stole her sister.” His grin turns wicked, and when I look startled, he laughs and launches into a long story about humans in the snow, one that talks with her hands, and how Mah-dee apparently put the moves on him and won him over. It’s clear he’s madly in love with his wife, and I regret my earlier “bless your heart” comment. He’s just a guy trying to do the right thing for his tribe. I can’t be mad at that. It’s clear from the leathers they wear that this is a very different society than the one back home, and so I need to think differently too.

Hassen continues to talk about his mate, but I admit I’m really not paying attention. I’m smiling in all the right places and giving appropriate little chuckles, but I’m really watching the beast guy. He’s gone very still as I stand here and talk to Hassen, and I’m pretty sure his nose is twitching, as if he smells something. I can’t tell if he’s shivering, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going to give him a blanket, damn it. So when Hassen finally pauses for a breath, I tilt my head at the beast guy. “You think he has a mate back home?” I ask, turning the conversation towards him.

“Him? No.” Hassen rubs his blue chin. “He is what Mardok says is a glad-hater.”

I try to digest that, repeating it in my head until I realize what he means. “Oh. A gladiator? A fighter?”

Hassen nods. “Mardok spoke of them earlier. They are used for fighting and only fighting. He would not have a mate, Mardok says. He would know since he comes from the sky caves.” And then he nods sagely as if all this is totally logical.

Sky caves. Right. I act as if this makes perfect sense to me. “Ah. So he’s stuck here with the rest of us because he was going to be a slave?”

Hassen nods again.

I bite my lip, because I bet this isn’t beast-guy's first rodeo, judging by how fiercely he fights to get free. “If he’s been a slave in the past, don’t you think it would upset him to be tied up again?”

Hassen narrows his glowing blue eyes at me, his genial expression shifting. “You do not suggest untying him? In a room full of soft, frightened females who have no way of defending themselves?”

I’m not sure I like his description of us girls, but he does have a point. The beast guy hasn’t shown himself to be super friendly as of yet and what if I’m wrong about him? Even the most docile dog will snap when cornered, and he’s likely feeling pretty cornered at the moment. I sigh heavily, realizing that I’ve lost this round. “Yeah, I guess I don’t know what I’m thinking. I want to give him my blanket, though.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s polite? It’s the least we can do, don’t you think?”

“It is not the least,” Hassen admits. “We can do much, much less than that.”

Obviously this figure of speech is not one he grasps. All right, then. When Hassen just shrugs, I decide I’m not going to keep asking and I’ll just do as I please. I shrug the blanket off my shoulders and move carefully towards the beast man. He hisses again, and Hassen puts a warning hand on my arm, reminding me that he’s close nearby.

“It’s all right, sugar,” I murmur, my voice low and sweet as I can make it. I give him a closed-mouth smile because teeth might be a sign of aggression. And I slowly, carefully reach a hand out to him, palm up.

He hisses again, but that’s all he does. The narrowed red eyes watch me, but he doesn’t seem to be bristling like when the others held him down. Then, he was barely leashed fury. This just seems…like he’s tired. Defeated. And that makes me sad.

So I put my hand slowly to my chest and indicate to myself. “Hi, I’m Willa. Do you speak English? Most of these other guys do.” When there are no response, I try for simpler. I tap my chest. “Willa. Willa.” Then I gesture at him, keeping my movements slow and soft.

“You waste your time, female,” Hassen begins. “He is not—”

“Gren,” comes the low, growling word, so deep I almost think I’ve imagined it.

Hassen shuts up.

I smile. “Hi Gren. I’m going to be your friend, okay? I think we could both use one.” And I very carefully ease forward and put the blanket around his shoulders. This time, he doesn’t even hiss at me. It’s a small win, but I’ll take it. There’s a person under all that fur and snarling, and I mean to make everyone realize it.

GREN

The sweet-smelling female puts her blanket on my shoulders and keeps talking. Her voice is soft and sweet, and she looks fragile, all curves and very little muscle. She is not a fighter. The others that keep me tied down, they are fighters. I see other gladiators here, kept separate from the cluster of females, but I am confused as to why this one approaches me. I do not understand her kindness. All I know is that the fur I now wear on my shoulders carries her scent, and it confuses me. I hiss again, and this time, the big blue male pulls her away from me.

Reluctantly, she goes, giving me sad looks even as she moves away.

Her name is Willa. I gave her my name, and I will memorize hers. I taste it on my tongue, over and over again. When the big blue guard comes to stand by me again, I bare my teeth at him, but I’m barely aware of him. I’m still breathing in Willa’s scent, remembering the quick brush of her small, soft hands against my shoulders as she put the blanket on me. She knew I was not clothed and must be cold. She has a good, kind heart.

I wonder if all these females are intended to be prizes for the gladiators. If so, I will fight harder than I ever have before, so I can take my prize.

I want Willa.

I have never wanted a female in the past. My cock rises the same as any other’s, but I knew such things would never be offered to me. The only females I have ever encountered came with shock-sticks and cruel smiles, and I would never touch my cock to one of their faces.

But Willa…

She is different.

Even now, I search through the shadowed forms huddled on the floor. I see her settling in next to another female, moving close to share warmth. She has fewer blankets than the others…because she shared with me.

I breathe deep of her scent, imprinting it into my memory.

If they want me to fight, I now have something to fight for.