VERONICA

The next few hours are chaos.

Gren is gone from the camp. The ropes binding him have been found utterly chewed through and snapped. One-horned Pashov had been assigned to watch him and was found passed out in the sand, a large wound on his head and a bloody rock nearby. He's all right, though everyone looks worried.

Willa's gone, too. The last time anyone saw her was near Gren, so it's not hard to put two and two together.

Then, the afternoon just gets worse.

There's a low rumbling and it takes everyone a minute to realize that the ship has been launched and is sinking into the waters of the ocean, flames pouring out of it. In the confusion, no one knows who set it off early or why. Mardok is devastated. Harlow, too.

And then we find that both Marisol and Lauren are missing. Marisol and Lauren, who were helping out with the stripping of the ship.

Everyone's numb after that. In one afternoon, we've gone from twenty survivors to sixteen. The cheerful hope we had for our survival has disappeared into a dull sort of misery. We huddle around the fire that night while the sa-khui tribesmen go looking for Willa and Gren, and others comb the beach looking for bodies.

There are a lot of tears. I'm not ashamed to admit that some of them are mine.

Ashtar never leaves my side. I'm strangely grateful, because it means I don't have to deal with any of this alone. I have a shoulder to cry on, a friend to hold my hand, someone to make me feel safe. The others don't, and for the first time in all of this mess, I'm glad I'm the one that resonated right away and not someone else. I don't know if I'd be able to handle this on my own.

Everyone is reluctant to go to sleep. I start nodding off by the fire, and Ashtar slides an arm around my waist. "I am taking Veronica to our tent," he declares. Yesterday, I would have been utterly embarrassed by such a statement. But yesterday, we weren't grieving the loss of three women. And Gren, I mentally add, and then feel guilty that I didn't include him right away.

Zolaya is watching us by the fire. He looks at me, questioning Ashtar's statement. I can tell he's in Protective Dad mode, looking at me with the whole “just say the word and I'll step in” expression on his face. I nod and lean into Ashtar. I don't mind sleeping with him tonight. I prefer it, actually. I won't be alone and I'll be safe. I don't think it'll be sexual. I think he just wants to hold me close.

I am totally fine with being held all night long.

When we leave the group, no one catcalls or makes jokes. All the spirit has left our little group. I know how they feel. I'm not altogether grieving, because I didn't know them well enough to be anguished that they're gone. I'm closer to Bridget, or Hannah, or even Steph. But our group has been broken. Our spirits have been trampled. This place is no longer an adventure. It's unsafe and scary.

I manage to not trip over my own feet as we walk through the sand in the darkness, though I do twist an ankle. Ashtar grabs our bedrolls, picks one of the tents in the back of the group and then flings our bedrolls inside. "Come, Veronica. Close the tent behind you."

I duck inside and do as he says, and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the near-total darkness. The only light is that of the blue gleam in his eyes. "What if there are sand-scorpions in here?" I whisper.

"I will kill them and then we have a snack," he says confidently.

Yippee. I kneel down on my furs and crawl under the blankets. Sand clings to my boots and gets in everything, but I don't care. I'm too tired. The moment I lie down, Ashtar reaches over and pulls me against him.

I stiffen.

"No mating tonight," he tells me. "Much as I would like to, you are sad and missing your friends."

"Aren't they your friends, too?"

"A gladiator has no friends."

For some reason, that breaks my heart. I can only imagine why he doesn't, most likely because he'd find himself in the arena with them sooner or later. I find his hand and squeeze it in the dark. "I'll be your friend."

He just pulls me closer. "You are my everything."

My cootie purrs and I don't care. I get a thrill of joy at hearing him say that. I put a hand on his chest, resting my head in the crook of his shoulder, and next to him I feel small and dainty and perfect. I'm not clumsy and blah, not when I'm Ashtar's Veronica. Maybe that's why our cooties paired us together. Who knows. "Thank you for today."

"What did I do today?"

"You stuck by me. Protected me. I didn't realize I was feeling vulnerable and alone until you showed up. So…I wanted to say thanks."

He grunts. "You act surprised. You are my mate, Veronica. Even if you do not want to acknowledge it yet, my heart does, and I will not let any harm come to you. Ever."

I squirm with pleasure at hearing that. "I…thank you." I'm not sure what else to say, but I feel like I should say something. "I appreciate you, just so you know. I'd really feel lost if you weren't here."

"I want you to know that I am at your side, always. Do not be afraid to ask me for anything." Something gentle brushes over my cheek—his fingers.

Nodding, I try to relax against him. I keep thinking of Gren and Willa, though. God, poor Willa. I wonder what Gren is doing to her. Did he hurt her? The wound on Pashov's head was pretty brutal, so I can only imagine Gren's strength. Just thinking about that wound makes my body itch in response, and my hands feel cool and tingly. I give them a little shake and focus on poor Willa instead. Willa always joked that she was a farm girl, but I don't think she'll have the strength to fight back against someone like Gren, who looks like his entire species was built to destroy. I hope he just wanted to escape from this place and happened to take her with him. I hope he didn't take her with him to hurt her…or worse.

"What species is Gren?" I ask softly. "Do you know?"

In the darkness, I feel him shake his head, his chin brushing against my hair. "I have seen many types of aliens, but I have never seen his like. I have heard that some slavemasters paid quite a bit in credits so they could cross-breed and splice several species together to produce one super-gladiator, but I have never fought against such a creature. If I had to guess, though, I would say he is like that."

I shudder, burrowing against his warm, protective arm. Part of me feels pity for Gren, that he's just a hodgepodge of parts stuck together to make a killing machine for someone else's pleasure. I think of Willa and how she was the only one of us not completely and utterly terrified of him. And now look at what that's cost her.

For some reason, I find myself thinking of Pashov's head wound again. It was a nasty gash, and when Vektal saw it, all he said was “Again?” but I could tell that there was concern in his voice. I didn't approach to help, but for some reason, I feel like I should have. It's odd, but I feel like I could help. I don't know how, just that I do. My hands tingle and feel cool again, and I tuck them against Ashtar's side to warm them. It's not an unpleasant sensation, just odd. Maybe my cootie's messing with my circulation because it's pounding so hard.

And it's definitely pounding right now. The steady thrum has risen to a dull roar in my chest now that I'm lying next to Ashtar. His cootie's “singing” just as loudly to mine, and I can feel the vibration of his body against mine. Part of me wants to explore what this means, but I'm not sure I'm ready yet. I run my hand up and down his chest, noticing that he feels just as smooth and skin-like as any human, despite the scale pattern on his golden flesh. He's careful when he puts his arms around me, and I remember the horned spikes sticking out of the backs of his arms, spikes that he makes sure never touch me. His hand touches mine, and I feel the claws tipping his fingers.

Why do I feel safe with such a deadly alien? The body next to mine is nothing but hard muscle. He's got fangs. Claws. Spikes. Horns. He's been a gladiator—and therefore a killer—for a long time. I should be as terrified of him as I am of Gren. Funnily enough, it's the opposite. I feel truly safe around Ashtar. He's different from me, but not in a bad way.

"What are your people called?" I ask him, because I realize that I've never inquired about them until now.

"Mine are the drakoni."

"Huh." I smile to myself in the dark, running my hand up his chest again and imagining the scale pattern there. "Sounds a bit like dragon."

"Mmm."

"Mine are humans."

"I know. I have seen humans before."

"You have? Where?" I sit up and look over at him, curious.

"Wearing slave collars and usually fawning at some lord's feet," he tells me, voice flat. "Do not forget where I have come from. It was not a good place."

"Oh." I swallow hard, because I hate the thought of Ashtar's former life and how awful it must have been. I think of those poor humans, chained up for someone else's pleasure. That could have been me.

That was going to be me. I shudder.

He rubs my shoulder absently, as if to comfort me, and I lie back down against him. I don't want to think about that. I want to think about other things. Happy things. Things like the golden man next to me. "What are your people like? Do you mind if I ask?"

"I do not mind, but I also do not know if I have all of the answers you seek. It has been a very long time since I have been around any of my people. Like you, I was stolen in the night from my world. I was very young, though. I do remember some things, but not all."

"What do you remember?"

One claw traces along my jaw in the darkness. I should be alarmed, but instead, I find it strangely arousing. It's like he's powerful and dangerous and we both know this…just like we both know he would never hurt me. That claw is more of a tease than a threat. "I remember how my people mate."

A knot forms in my throat even as my thighs clench together. "Oh?" I choke out.

"Yes." That claw glides along my jaw and then down my neck, and I fight the urge to arch up against it. My cootie's humming a mile a minute. "A female challenges a male for his attentions. Our females are fierce warriors, and they will only allow themselves to be covered by a male that conquers them. So if a female is interested in a male, she attacks him."

"That's…unusual courtship." His claw is tracing along my collarbones, flirting with the neck of my fur-lined tunic.

"Is it? It is all I know." His voice is so, so warm against my hair. "If the male wins the battle, he wins the right to mount the female. She stops fighting then, knowing that she has been defeated by a strong warrior. If the male decides she is not his true mate, he can fuck her, but he will not give her his seed. He spills it onto her back instead."

"Um…okay." I want to ask if he's going to give me his seed, but I know that will be a loaded (ha) question. I bite it back. "What if she is his mate?"

"If she is his mate, it is very different," he murmurs, and his claw drags down the front of my tunic. My entire body is tensing in response, and it practically feels orgasmic. My hand clenches against his stomach, tightening against the flat planes like my thighs are tightening. "He claims her and sinks deep inside her. So deep." His voice is raspy with need. "He makes sure she comes, first. She is always first."

My breath stutters.

The claw teases over one breast, lightly gliding across my nipple, and it feels like he's on bare skin despite the layers covering me. "When he is about to come, he pulls his female against him and sinks his teeth into her throat. He gives her his fires. It is a special bite, one that can only be given once in a male's lifetime. With that, he's giving her a part of his soul, part of his very being, part of his essence. Once she has taken his fires—and come again, because he will make sure she is delirious with pleasure at this point—he can spend himself inside her." His claw teases my nipple, but it's not half as erotic as the husky tone of his voice as he describes their mating rituals. "After that, they are joined forever, spirit to spirit, essence to essence, fires to fires."

A moan rises in my throat. I want him to rip my tunic off of my body and show me just what he means. In this moment, I want him to give me his fires, to show me everything he has to offer. To join us forever. "Ashtar—"

"Shhh," he murmurs, and his thumb grazes over my mouth, silencing me. "Not tonight, my fires. Tonight, you rest. Tomorrow, when your head is clear, you can ask me for my fires then, if you so wish."

I shudder, brushing the tip of my tongue against his thumb-claw. I feel a tremor race through his body in return and I feel powerful. Sexy. "I don't know how to battle you."

He chuckles. "We can improvise."

At this moment, improvising sounds very, very good.