Fourteen
Orol’s good humor had dissipated by the time they’d arrived at the sunrise gathering.
Scales wasn’t waiting for them. That was one tiny piece of good news amidst a certain-to-be-shitty planet rotation. Orol wouldn’t have to immediately face his friend, knowing he’d have to end his lifespan. He could mentally prepare for the confrontation.
It would happen. The organizers expected Scales to attend and security was braced for his arrival. Males in body armor, carrying guns, were positioned in every corner.
Orol stood protectively behind his female as she gazed at her sister. The other female smiled, looking blankly into space, her eyes unfocussed.
“She’s happy and she’s safe,” Rhea whispered, the love in her voice pulling at Orol’s heart.
His sister would continue to be safe. He squeezed his female’s hip, offering her the reassurance he couldn’t verbally give. Any damage to Paloma would damage Rhea and he’d never allow that.
He’d kill his friend to protect her and her sister.
Not that the creature in the fighting ring had been his friend. The Scales he knew would have never attacked innocent spectators. He would have considered that action to be dishonorable, behavior unfitting of a warrior.
His friend was lost to the darkness, swallowed up by the beast inside him, his inner killer. If that happened to Orol, he would want a being to end his life.
Before he hurt his female or any other being he loved.
He slid his hands over Rhea’s thighs, her curves soft and her guns hard under his palms. The combination reassured him. He doubted she could end a modified humanoid’s life with those weapons but she could make a warrior pause for a moment or two. That would allow her to escape.
She could slow him down if he lost control.
“Wings.” Novac had arrived, claiming the spot beside him.
Orol struggled to conceal his dislike for the male. “Novac.”
“When you win that lush prize.” Novac nodded at Rhea’s sister. “You’ll have little need for any other female. You only have one cock.” His laugh was brittle. “I’ll pay a good price for your old slave.”
The male wouldn’t touch Rhea. Orol splayed his fingers over her stomach, drawing her back into his hard form. “She’s not for sale.” Rhea was irreplaceable, the only female he wanted physically, intellectually, emotionally. “Have you seen Scales this planet rotation?” He steered the topic away from his mate.
“I haven’t seen him but I heard they had him restrained all rest cycle.” Novac’s grin held malice. “He managed to bust through his first cage, kill three of his guards, before they dropped another cage on him.” He gleefully relayed the information. “Your friend has to be exhausted. That should increase the chance of you winning. I’ll end this planet rotation even wealthier than I started it.”
Orol’s lips flattened. Novac didn’t care about lives lost or friendships ending, only about the credits he might win. “Your greed will kill you.”
“On the contrary, my wealth protects me.” The male rolled his eyes. “I’m a credit-rich patron. No one here can touch me.”
“Scales doesn’t care how many credits you have. He’ll kill you as brutally, as quickly, as he would kill any other being.” Orol felt obliged to warn Novac. The male had stopped Rhea from using her gun during his last battle, saving her life. He was owed that warning.
Novac wouldn’t take his advice but that wasn’t Orol’s responsibility. By giving it, he considered them to be even. His debt to the male was paid.
“You have no idea how the universe works, Wings.” The male, as predicted, dismissed the warning. “Beings like me will always be protected while beings like you will always die.”
Orol didn’t care enough about the subject or Novac to reply.
The male blathered on and on about what he’d do with his winnings. Orol ignored him. He focused on his female and on monitoring the space around them.
Moments passed. He considered leaving. They’d made an appearance, fulfilled the organizers’ stipulation. He could avoid Scales, allow security to deal with whatever chaos his friend created.
He might not have to be the one to kill him.
Beings murmured behind them, a wave of excitement surging through the crowd. Orol inwardly groaned, realizing an early exit wouldn’t be possible. He turned, putting his body between the source of the commotion and his female.
Scales had entered the chamber, surrounded by guards. At first glance, he appeared subdued, his head lowered, his shoulders rounded, but Orol saw the way his gaze moved from left to right, the clenching and unclenching of his fists, the haze over his eyes. The warrior was one wrong word away from exploding.
“Your friend is no threat to anyone.” Novac, the master of wrong words, mocked. “Look at him. He’s already beaten.”
“If you think that, you’re a fool, Novac.” Orol shook his head. Scales was far from beaten. He was a danger to everyone in the chamber.
“This fool will help you win.” Novac swaggered toward Scales.
“He’s going to die.” Rhea’s voice was audible only with Orol’s enhanced hearing. “We should leave before that happens. You might get caught in the crossfire.”
Her concern was for him, not for herself. That warmed his heart and also worried Orol. She might put herself in danger trying to protect him.
As she had put herself in danger trying to protect her sister, initially fighting him, stabbing him in the gut while he carried her. She acted, not caring if she died, earning his admiration and his protection.
But leaving the chamber now wasn’t an option. The organizers had intentionally restricted openings to the chamber. The space was surrounded by the same clear material that kept Rhea’s sister safe. And Scales stood between them and the only exit. The warrior showed no signs of moving, as though deep in his killing-clouded brain, he realized he had his prey trapped.
Orol backed up, forcing Rhea to do the same, keeping her behind him, putting as much distance between her and the threat as possible.
Other beings weren’t as cautious. They crowded around Scales and Novac, chattering about the warrior. Scales grew more and more agitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Orol ignored the commotion around the males, concentrating on his friend and Novac’s one-sided commentary.
“Sleep well, Scales?” Novac gibed. “It couldn’t have been comfortable locked up in that cage.”
Scales huffed, scanning the chamber.
“They’re treating you like a beast because you are one.” Novac clucked his tongue. “You’ve lost your mind. I hate the poor as much as the next being but I don’t go around killing them.”
Claws protruded from Scale’s hands.
Novac didn’t heed that warning. “That’s why they had to restrain you.” The male moved closer to the warrior. “Are you listening to me?” He waved a hand over Scales’ face. “Can you hear me? Or did they inject you with—”
Scales raked his claws over Novac’s throat, his attack faster than human eyes could track. Blood gushed. Novac grabbed the wound, his eyes wide with disbelief. He tried to stem the flow with his fingers, slow his death.
His actions and his wealth couldn’t save him, not this time. He fell.
Before he hit the floor, Scales had killed two more beings. Attendees screamed and rushed away from him. One male used a female as a shield. Scales slashed her into two with his claws, gouged the male’s eyes out, popping them in his palms.
He took two deep breaths and flames spewed from his mouth. The warrior burned both of them to the bone, blackening their corpses. The scent of charred flesh flavored the air.
Guards shot at Scales. The projectiles bounced off his reinforced scales, irritating him, redirecting his ire to those males. He sliced them to pieces and burned their bodies.
“We have to stop him,” Rhea murmured.
“We act only if he attacks us.” Orol dropped the Master-slave act. No one was paying them any attention. They were frantically trying to escape his battle-crazed friend.
Credit-heavy beings dressed in luxurious garments trampled their societal equals, searching for exits that didn’t exist, pounding against walls that were designed to keep the low credit beings out.
“If we act now, we’ll have the guards to help us,” she countered.
More males streamed into the chamber, armed with guns, only to be mowed down by Orol’s friend. They were human and humanoid, no match for the enhanced warrior.
“The punishment for harming a fighter outside the ring is death.” Orol wouldn’t risk Rhea’s life to help beings who had cheered when fighters died. “Until we are told otherwise, that rule holds.”
“Then we do nothing.” She sighed.
“We do nothing.” He forced himself to watch, the blood, the carnage calling to him. Darkness swirled inside him, the urge to kill growing stronger. “That could be me.” That truth pained him.
“It will never be you.” Rhea petted his wings, her hands on his body soothing him. “I wouldn’t allow that.”
“How would you, a mere human, stop the darkness?” He wanted to believe in her abilities. “I’m a modified humanoid and I’m fighting it.”
“That’s easy.” She leaned against him, her scent driving away the aromas of death. “I’d fuck it out of you.”
His body hardened. That would work. “We mate. We don’t fuck.” It was important that she knew the difference between the two. “Fucking can be done with any being. Mating happens with only one.”
“Your fucking can’t be done with any being.” She smacked him between his wings. “Not unless you want a projectile in your groin.”
He grinned, not doubting she’d do that. “You’re the sole being for me, Tiny Warrior. There’s no need to worry.”
“I’m not worried,” she grumbled. “You should be worried. I—”
“The Host is approaching.” He stopped her flow of words.
The small male headed toward them, walking calmly through the chaos, his expression unruffled, his appearance impeccable. Attendees shouted at him, tried to grab his arms. He twisted his body to the left and to the right, avoiding their hands.
“Enjoying our festivities, Fighter Wings?” The Host stood beside him.
“The entertainment is…unusual.” Orol showed none of his emotion.
“It was unplanned.” The male adjusted the long cuffs of his chest covering. “We wish to inform you that the rule about harming another fighter outside the ring has been temporarily lifted.”
They were giving him permission to kill his friend. “Should a slave harm the fighter—”
“A slave is an extension of her Master.” The Host sniffed haughtily. “The rules applying to him would apply to her.”
Rhea was no slave but she was a part of him. “What would be the status of the prize?” Would Rhea’s sister be safe?
“The prize will be awarded to the last remaining fighter. That hasn’t changed.” The Host watched the screaming, hysterical beings around them, his disdain for them palpable. “If there isn’t anything else you need from us, Fighter Wings, we should attend to our guests.”
The male didn’t wait for an answer, walking away from them.
“This extension of you is ending this.” Rhea ducked under Orol’s right wing. She clasped guns in both of her hands.
That was as sexy as the blue sky. His cock bobbed. And killing Scales with a projectile would be quick, impersonal, relatively painless. “You’ll end this from here.”
“Why would I move closer?” Rhea looked at him as though he’d made an extremely foolish statement. “If I can see my target, I can shoot him.”
“Can you see him?” Orol gazed at her target. Scales was moving quickly, spinning, slashing throats, burning bodies, operating at modified humanoid speed.
“Barely,” she admitted. She aimed, fired, fired again, fired a third round. “Shit.”
His tiny warrior’s shooting was impressive. The projectiles pinged against Scales’ bald head. But the male was only vulnerable in his eyes and mouth and she was unable to down him.
She did get his attention. Scales changed direction, killing every being in his path.
Rhea continued to shoot. “He’s moving too quickly to target.” She stepped forward. “Reducing the distance between us might help.”
Reducing the distance between them might get her killed. “No.” Orol pulled her backward. “You stay here and shoot. I’ll slow him down.”
He ran toward his friend, his talons extended. Scales saw him and bellowed, increasing his speed. Flames lit his wild eyes.
Orol saw none of the male he once knew in those eyes, no hint of recognition, and that pained him as he never thought it would. They’d fought beside each other for many human lifespans, shared adventures, were brethren and now, the warrior viewed him as a stranger, an enemy.
Talons met claws, the impact jarring both of them. Sparks flew. Orol pushed against Scales, his muscles straining. Scales pushed back.
A projectile whizzed over Orol’s right shoulder, bounced off Scales’ eyelid. The warrior flung Orol backward.
They circled each other. Scales’ nostrils flared once, twice. Flame shot forward. Orol leaped to the side. A projectile pinged off the back of Scales’ head.
“That’s my mate, expressing her frustration.” Orol told Scales. “You know her as my slave but I wish you could have met her as a fellow warrior. You would have liked her.”
Scales’ eyes didn’t flicker. His expression remained the same. The words, Orol’s voice had no meaning for the beast inside the other male.
He lunged forward. Orol turned. He wasn’t fast enough. Claws grazed over his arm, stripping skin. Pain coursed through him. Blood streamed between his fingers, dripped on the floor.
“Blast it,” his female cursed. Projectiles hit Scale’s back in rapid succession, the sound echoing in the chamber. None of them pierced his tough hide.
“She cares for me.” Orol had suffered worse wounds and Scales, if he was still sane, would realize that. His friend would find Rhea’s defense of him humorous, would have teased Orol about that.
“I don’t care for you,” she muttered.
“You do.” Orol was confident about that. Rhea might be able to lie to others but not to him. “She does.” He said it again for Scales’ benefit.
The warrior swung at Orol. Orol caught the claws with his talons and slowly, slowly, slowly turned him. Scales’ boot heels ground against the floor. Projectiles rebounded off each of his eyelids.
The warrior could blink faster than the projectiles hit him.
Fraggin’ hole. Dread twisted in Orol’s gut. Rhea had unparalleled skills with a gun and even she couldn’t stop his friend.
They were going to die.
Scales would win, kill him, kill his female.
“Rhea, leave,” Orol ordered. “I’ll distract him. You save yourself.”
“I’m not leaving you.” His mate was delightfully stubborn. “Or my sister.”
She’d mentioned him first. That wasn’t a declaration of love but it might be all he’d ever get from his tiny warrior. And it was enough. He knew how much her sister meant to her. “Rhea, please.”
“Never.” She shot Scales, her efforts futile. “We’ll defeat him. We have to.”
They wouldn’t. Scales threw Orol backward. Orol landed on his ass. Scales chased him, struck both of his shoulders, his claws puncturing skin, flesh, wings. Orol howled, shoved the warrior off him, jumped to his feet.
“Orol.” Rhea’s voice was edged with an agony he felt to his bones.
Physical wounds he could tolerate. Death he could endure. It came for all warriors.
Hurting her was one thing he couldn’t accept.
Orol drew himself upward. “We’re ending this, my friend.”
Scales’ nostrils flared once, twice. His lips parted. Orol flung himself toward the warrior. A projectile skimmed along his hand, shaving off his skin, adding to his agony. He drilled his talons through the back of Scales’ throat. Brains splattered against the wall.
Flames rushed over Orol, pain unlike anything he’d ever endured accompanying the heat. Orol covered his face with his wings. The movement knocked Scales to the floor.
The air around Orol cooled.
“Orol.” Steps sounded behind him.
His damn female was coming to rescue him.
“Stay back.” He spread his wings once more, protecting her, and he gazed at the scene before him.
Scales lay motionless on the hard white stone. A pool of crimson formed around his head. He faced the ceiling, his red eyes open, unseeing.
Dead.
His friend was dead. Orol staggered to the warrior’s side and dropped to his knees, the impact jarring his body, causing more pain to surge through him. “He was my brother.” Grief welled inside him. “And I killed him.”
He tilted his head back and howled, his talons extended, the darkness gripping him hard. Orol wanted to hunt, to kill, to hurt others as he was hurting.
“He was no longer your brother.” A comforting weight pressed against his back, between his wings. It felt good, right. “And he wanted you to end his life. He hinted at that the first planet rotation but you refused to listen.” Slender fingers caressed his wings and some of his rational thought returned. “But you didn’t kill him. I did.” A voice, his female’s voice, flowed over him, pushing the darkness farther back. “If you’re going to hate anyone, hate me, not yourself.”
“I killed him.” He felt the flesh against his talons. “And I could never hate you.”
Orol gazed at his friend’s countenance, still in death.
He would miss that ugly face. He would miss it so damn much.
Moments passed as Orol struggled with his emotions, as he remembered the battles they’d shared, the gibes they’d exchanged. When he needed Scales, he had always been there for Orol, often with a wise-assed comment and a closed-mouthed grin.
Now, his friend, one of his brethren was gone. Forever.
Because of him.
Orol’s female petted his feathers, mouthed against his nape.
Because of the fraggin’ darkness.
“If I ever become like that—”
“You won’t.” She was adamant about that; he almost believed her.
“If I do—”
“I’ll end you.” Her voice was husky. “It would destroy me but I’d do it.”
He didn’t want to destroy her. “You could ask Kralj, my boss, the Ruler of the Refuge to do it.”
“No.” She gripped his wings. “You’re mine. I’ll do it.” She shook them. “But it won’t come to that. All your friend had was the fighting.” She kissed his skin. “He didn’t have a mate and he didn’t have a settlement to protect, a boss to appease. You have all of those things.”
“I have you.” Orol studied his friend. Scales had never met his mate. His lifespan might have been different if he had found that being.
“Fighter Wings.” A pair of immaculately shined boots appeared before him. “You will wish to recover in the privacy of your own chambers.”
Orol had much to recover from. Loose flesh hung from his face, from his arms. His entire body throbbed with pain. “The prize—”
“The prize will be awarded to you during a sunset gathering.” The Host’s tone indicated he was bored. “You are no longer needed here.”
He was ordering Orol to leave. Hurting, grieving, wanting to snap at someone, anyone, he was tempted to tell the male to frag off.
But that would only upset his female more. She required comforting, reassurance.
As he did.
“We’re returning to our chambers.” Orol swung Rhea into his arms, ignoring the agony that movement caused him, needing to feel her body against his.
Her face was blank. His appearance must be horrifying.
But he was alive. They were both alive. Orol glanced down at Scales. “Give my friend a warrior’s disposal.”
The Host pursed his lips. “We always do, Fighter Wings.”