Everything in his brain screamed at him to stop what he was doing. To put her back in the box, pretend that he never saw her, and simply do his job. But, everything in his heart told him that he couldn't do it. That he couldn't let her suffer.

It was stupid of him to have even gone into the cargo hold, to begin with. He knew it. But, he'd always been a curious man and was never one who liked having important information withheld from him. Especially when that information was vital to his survival.

When he'd guessed that he was transporting gladiators, the thought had unnerved him. Trafficking life forms was a capital offense. It was something Aryk should have told him because if he'd been stopped and boarded by the USF, he would have been shot on the spot. At least if he knew what he was transporting, he could have jettisoned the cargo and made a getaway.

Of course, that had been before he'd actually seen the cargo.

Dumping the cargo was an easy thing to do. He'd had to do it a couple of times before when the USF was in pursuit. When it was just boxes and crates, it was nothing. But, knowing that he would be dumping living, breathing beings out into open space – that changed everything.

If only he hadn't come back to the cargo hold. If only he hadn't heard her banging on her crate to get out. Even if he'd seen the boxes, he could have rationalized that it was just boxes if he'd had to dump them to get away. But, hearing her beating on the inside of that box, hearing her cries – it made the fact that there were people in those boxes all too real for him.

It was no longer an abstract concept to him. It was concrete. He was hauling people. And he was hauling people to their deaths. The vast majority of people who went into the fighting pits never came out again. The percentage of people who fought their way out – like Aryk – was minuscule. That is if Aryk was even telling the truth.

The girl – Lyra – winced as he applied an ointment to a few of the cuts on her cheek. They were sitting in his ship's common room, his medical kit open on the table in front of him. Lyra's eyes were wide and filled with fear – and pain.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's okay," she replied. "It just stings a little."

"Yeah, it's going to do that," he said softly. "But, we want to make sure you don't get an infection."

The idiocy of the statement hit him as the last words fell out of his mouth. Yeah, he didn't want her to get an infection. He wanted her in tip-top condition before he sent her in to be slaughtered in the fighting pits. He tried to tell himself that if she were in tip-top shape and healthy, she might, at least, stand a better chance of surviving. Though, he honestly didn't hold out all that much hope for that.

He looked at the girl and couldn't figure out why they'd picked her for the pits. She was slight. Small. Almost frail looking. Her skin was soft and the color of alabaster. Her eyes were a deep purple and her long hair blacker than the far reaches of space. He could see something of a harder edge to her. Her clothes were a little frayed and worn, and she seemed to have a wariness about her that you only got when you had to fight for your own survival. He guessed she wasn't a girl who'd lived a pampered existence, and maybe lived life on the streets. Which told him that she was probably tougher than her delicate appearance would indicate.

Living life on the streets was one thing though. It developed a certain kind of toughness in you. It wasn't the kind of toughness though, that meant you'd survive a fighting pit. That was two different types of tough and he wasn't sure this girl had that in her.

But, she was in obvious pain and he just couldn't let her suffer. It wasn't in him. The fact that they'd beaten her so roughly infuriated him. A man who raised his hand to a woman was the lowest form of life in Dariux's opinion. He'd seen it all too often growing up. Had seen men beat and even kill women and it never failed to enrage him. He'd found himself in more than a few scrapes defending a woman who was being abused.

Dariux applied more ointment and small bandages to the worst of the cuts as his eyes drifted down to her hands again.

"Why are you gloved?" he asked softly.

He could see the debate in her eyes. Could see that she was torn between being honest and hiding her truth. For some reason, the Syndicate didn't want her to touch anybody. It was a curiosity to him. Something in his mind wasn't adding up.

Dariux could tell that she didn't want to tell him. Was afraid to. He just didn't know why.

"I need you to take your shirt off," he said softly.

Her eyes widened as she looked at him. "W – what? Why?"

"Relax," he said. "I just need to see to your wounds."

She looked at him, uncertainty in her eyes. She was obviously a girl who didn't trust very easily. But then, Dariux thought that a stranger asking her to take her shirt off probably wasn't the quickest way to earn that trust either.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I only want to help you. I need to see how bad you're hurt."

Lyra looked at him and bit her bottom lip, fear etched in her every feature. Slowly though, he could see the debate in her mind turning. She knew she needed his help. She raised her hands and fumbled with the ties on her cloak, the bioelectric gloves not allowing her to get a grip on anything.

A knot in his belly, Dariux raised his hands. "May I?"

She hesitated a moment and then slowly nodded, her deep purple eyes taking in his every movement. He leaned forward and unfastened the clasp holding her cloak on and let it spill down onto the chair around her. He swallowed hard as he took hold of the bottom of her shirt and started to lift.

"Raise your arms, please," he said.

She hesitated again, but Lyra complied and grimaced in pain as she raised her hands. Dariux slipped the shirt off and tossed it onto the table behind her and felt his breath catch in his throat as he took her in for the first time.

Her frame was slight, but she had full breasts and generous curves. Her cool alabaster skin was marked by thin tiger stripes that were a pale red color. Multiple dark, discolored bruises marred her perfect skin, only adding more fuel to the rage burning already burning inside of him.

Dariux had thought the girl was human – she looked human – but the stripes on her body told him that she was an Astriqan. She was also beautiful. Absolutely stunning. And looking at her naked body ignited a fire in him and he felt a familiar tightening in his crotch.

Dariux quickly tore his eyes away from her, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable than she already was. He cleared his throat and picked up his medscan unit. Lyra studiously avoided his gaze as he ran the scanner over her body. Dariux studied the images on the screen, relieved to find that nothing major had been damaged.

"Nothing broken," he said, setting the scanner back down on the table. "And no internal injuries, which is good news."

She gave him a small smile, but folded her arms over her breasts, trying to maintain some semblance of decency and dignity.

"There's plenty of bruising and a couple of scrapes I need to clean," he said. "You're going to be sore for a while – they worked you over pretty good – but, you should be fine."

Yeah, fine until they throw her into a fighting pit, anyway. The thought crossed his mind, but he tamped it down, forbidding it from crossing his lips. Dariux busied himself with cleaning and salving her wounds, applying a numbing cream to the worst of her bruises, hoping it brought her some relief – and doing his best to avoid looking at her beautiful naked body while fighting against his hardening cock begging for release.

When he was finished, he sat back and cleared his throat as he handed her shirt back to her.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," he replied, looking away as she tugged her shirt down over her torso.

Dariux got up and made them both a cup of coffee – mostly just to distract himself from the girl. He couldn't be entertaining the thoughts running through his mind. It had been a while since he'd been with a woman, but this was not a woman he could be with. He told himself that when he got the job done and got paid, he'd go and hire a companion. But, this girl was off limits.

He returned to the table and set the mug of tea down in front of her. She took it with a word of thanks and lifted the mug, inhaling the aroma with a smile.

"I haven't had a good coffee in a long time," she said.

"It's one of those things I don't skimp on," he replied. "I can't function without it."

She took a sip of coffee and set the mug down, looking at him. Her eyes bored into his and Dariux felt like she was seeing into him. Through him. There were questions in those deep purple eyes of hers. Dariux yearned to reach out and touch her. Longed to feel her lips pressed against his. To feel her body pulled to him, the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.

He scratched at his jawline and tried to banish those thoughts from his mind. They were counterproductive and weren't going to get him anywhere. The girl was off limits. Period. She was cargo, nothing more.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You're a smuggler, right?"

"What gives you that idea?"

The ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I was abducted," she said. "Legitimate transport ships don't usually traffic in life forms."

A laugh burst out of his throat. She was sharp, he had to give her that.

"Yeah," he said, the smile still on his face. "I provide a service to very discerning clients who value their privacy."

"Can I ask where you're taking me – us – then?"

He let out a long breath and ran a hand through his hair again. Dariux looked at her, knowing he shouldn't say a word. Knowing he shouldn't have let her out of the box to begin with. He didn't think it would do any good to trouble her mind with the knowledge that she was being taken to her doom. But, another part of him thought she deserved to know the truth.

"Please?" she asked gently. "I already know it can't be anywhere good. I was abducted, after all. But – I just need to know."

Dariux looked at her and saw the earnestness in her eyes. Saw the fear and uncertainty. He sighed and looked away, unable to meet her eyes any longer.

"I've been paid to take you – all of you – to a specified location out in the Roverthian system," he said slowly. "I've been paid by the Gladius Syndicate."

She cocked her head and looked at him as if she didn't understand what he'd said. Dariux had assumed everybody knew – or at least had heard of – the Gladius Syndicate and what they did. The operation they ran. But, this girl clearly didn't – which only reinforced the idea in his head that she didn't deserve to be caught up it all.

"The Syndicate," he said. "Runs a string of illegal fighting pits in remote locations. They bring in people who then fight – to the death."

As impossible as it seemed, she looked somehow stunned and unsurprised by the news at the same time. There was more to the story and more to this girl than met the eye. Dariux was sure of it. And he was betting it had something to do with the reason her hands were bagged.

"Somebody paid an awful lot of money to get you into the pit," Dariux said.

She nodded and held her hands up. There was certainty and a resolve in her eyes that hadn't been there a moment ago. It was as if she'd come to a decision – or at least, an acceptance – in her own mind.

"This is the reason why," she said, looking at her hands. "This is why somebody paid to have you drag me out to these fighting pits."

"What is it?" Dariux asked. "Why are they afraid of your hands?"

"Because with my hands, I can drain a person's life energy," she said and sighed. "And also use that energy as an offensive weapon. I can send that energy from my body into theirs. Or somebody else's. They obviously think I can do well in these fighting pits because of my – abilities."

Dariux let out a low whistle. It all made total sense now. He understood why she'd been sedated and gloved. And he understood why such a small, delicate girl was heading for the fighting pits – because somebody stood to make a fortune off of her. With abilities like that, she'd win a lot of matches. Unlike Aryk though, Dariux didn't think Lyra would ever win her freedom – they stood to make too much money to ever set her free.

Knowing that – knowing the fate that awaited her – filled Dariux with the blackest rage he'd ever felt before. And it was probably because he knew he was powerless to do anything about it. He had a job to do, and if he failed to do it, he would be the one in the fighting pit. Or just straight up dead. Which was a death sentence for his mother.

Either way, not handing over the girl wasn't an option. It couldn't be.

A red tear raced from her eye, running down her cheek, and Dariux had to resist the urge to reach out and wipe it away. He couldn't afford to get involved with this. Couldn't afford to get involved with her. That would lead nowhere good for him and he knew it.

"I'm going to die," she said softly.

"Your abilities – "

She shook her head. "I won't use them," she said, her voice firmer than iron. "I will not let them turn me into some freak show just for their amusement. I'd rather die. I will die."

"Don't say that," Dariux said. "You could win your freedom."

The words sounded hollow, even to his ears, and he cringed. But, he didn't want to see her without hope. He wanted her to at least try to fight her way to freedom. To not give up. More than anything, he didn't want her to give up.

She sniffed loudly and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Sitting up straight again, that look of steely determination was back in her face.

"How long until we reach our destination?" she asked.

"A couple of days," he said. "Give or take."

"Then I have a couple of days to convince you," she said.

"Convince me of what?"

"To not turn me over to this Syndicate you spoke of," she said. "To not send me to the fighting pits."

"Look," Dariux said. "I should probably put you back in stasis in your – "

"Please?" she asked. "Don't? Just – please, talk to me. And if I fail to convince you, I'll go back into the box."

The argument was over before it even started and Dariux knew it. In the back of his mind, he knew he wasn't going to put her back in that box. Not until he had to. And there was some part of him desperately searching for a reason he didn't have to.

But, he also knew that if he didn't, he'd be signing his own death warrant. Still – he had a couple of days to decide. A couple of days to figure a way out of this mess.

He knew he should have never opened that damn box.