I add on a fresh coat of ratskunk blood, and follow Proximus toward the arena. I find it impossible to persuade him of anything. Each time I try to bring up an argument for why he shouldn't fight, he seems to create a justification that only strengthens his will to duel. I soon give up, realizing that Proximus will do whatever he wants, and no alien woman is going to sway his opinion.

We step outside into several inches of snow, with more still falling in thick flurries. My mantle protects me as always from the chill, though I wish I had a hat. I see horned men with crude shovels clearing their storefronts, and on the main road horse-driven plows scrape across the roads to clear a path. The smaller roads are left buried, and as a result the traffic on the main roads intensifies. I can barely keep up with Proximus, and even clutching his arm, I nearly lose him several times.

I lose my grip on him when someone shoves in between us, and Proximus spins around at once. He shoves the man–or maybe it’s a woman, I can barely tell them apart–aside and growls at me. “Do I need to carry you, woman? You walk so slow.”

I look down at my legs, half the length of his, then back up at him. “What do you expect? If you really want me to move at your insane pace, then yeah, you’d have to carry me, but–”

There’s no “but,” because Proximus sweeps me off my feet in an instant, and he slings me over his shoulder. I try to protest, but he’s already moving and doesn’t seem to care that I don’t want to be manhandled.

I give up fighting. I feel too exhausted, and as soon as I go slack, I realize that we really are moving faster. There’s no longer any risk of us being separated either. His hand stays firmly planted on the small of my back, and his massive shoulder and frame carries my weight.

I look around at all the strange horned people, and other types of aliens, as he carries me through the city. Some of the weirder aliens are covered in thick layers of clothes or furs, but all of the teal horned people are in nothing but loin cloths. Where my hands touch Proximus’ body as he carries me, he’s hot as a furnace. He must have evolved to thrive in this cold with little to no clothing.

Because I’m hanging over his back, I don’t see the colosseum until he places me down onto my feet and points up at it. It actually reminds me of the colosseum in Rome, because it’s equally in ruins and falling apart. There’s a massive crowd of teal people pressing against some guards, which reminds me of being at the bridge once again.

This time, everyone is let inside, but the entranceway is narrow, and though it could fit a line three or four humans wide, it’s only really enough to hold two aliens standing shoulder to shoulder. When we reach the guards, Proximus identifies himself as a combatant, and one of the guards leads us toward a side door, which spares us from having to shove through the narrow corridor.

He escorts us through winding halls and chambers, until we find ourselves in a room which has arches that open into the main space of the arena. The ground is just packed dirt, and the roaring crowd is all standing, as there are no seats in the stands.

The guard gives a stiff bow to Proximus, then shuts the door behind him, heading back toward the entrance.

“We wait here,” Proximus says.

The roar of the crowd picks up, and Proximus turns toward the arch. It’s large enough for him to walk through without crouching, but we don’t step through. We walk just underneath it to get a full view of the arena, while still feeling mostly safe in our own little space.

In the center of the arena, I see two aliens staring each other down, horns locked. It looks like their mouths are moving, but I can’t be sure from this distance.

“They agree to terms before battle,” Proximus says.

“Is that what you and Scipius will do?” I ask.

Proximus nods, then points. “They are fighting with ancient weapons.”

I squint, expecting to see some kind of club with a spike on it, but instead I see glowing violet pulse in each fighter’s hand. They break their horns from each other, turn around, and press their backs together. They raise their weapons, until the glowing barrels are just between their eyes, looking like a third purple eye from this distance.

The crowd roars as they begin to take wide, slow steps away from each other.

“Guns?” I ask. “You’re going to duel like this?”

Proximus shakes his head. “Skullspear or bare hands for Scipius and me. We are not cowards.”

He sneers at the two men. I find it hard to think of anyone willing to fight to the death a “coward,” but Proximus doesn’t seem to agree with me.

I count their steps to myself, and my heart beings to pound as they take the 8th and 9th step. I hold my breath, but they keep going after ten. Just as I relax, they both spin to face each other on the 12th step. A purple bolt of energy explodes forward from one gun, piercing through the dim darkness and casting a violet light over the snow.

Before I can track the bolt, another shoots out from the other fighter.

I squint from the intense brightness, and when I open my eyes fully again, I see the man on the right on the ground. His purple blood is staining the snow, but he’s still moving. Another bolt fires up from his gun, and it hits the man on the left square in the chest. He falls to the ground, but does not move at all once he’s down in the snow.

The first man who was hit writhes around, his blood expanding outward. Soon, he stops moving entirely.

“They both died?” I ask.

“Yes,” Proximus says. He points to the one who died last, “But he won. He’ll die with greater honor, while the other dies in shame.”

The fact that they are teal aliens shooting plasma pistols doesn’t soften the impact for me. I just saw–and not for the first time since landing here–men die before my eyes. In brutal ways, and fighting for nothing. I feel intense frustration, and I grab Proximus by the arm, digging my nails into his arm.

“You can’t do this,” I hiss. “It’s insane. You could both die, how stupid would that be?”

“This outcome is unlikely,” He says, “As we will be fighting with more honorable weapons.”

Reason doesn’t get through to him. Logic is useless. I think of one thing that will get through to him.

I step through the arch until my feet touch the snow, and I bend down to grab a handful of it. I rub it onto my neck, and as it melts into water, it sends a horrible shiver down my spine. I ignore it and rub that icy water all over my neck and chin. I pull the stretchy teal off my body enough to get some water down and rub my upper chest, trying my best to get enough ratskunk blood off to let me real scent through.

I think it's not working, but then I see Proximus’ pupil noticeably dilate.

“Stop,” he grunts, and he grabs me by the wrist, “Not here!”

I look up at him defiantly, and then I lick my lips. “You like it too much, huh?”

He jerks my arm and pulls me in toward him, until my face is just inches from his. My heart pounds, and despite the ice-cold water which is now dripping down between my breasts, I feel like I’m on fire as those cold violet eyes stare me down. His jaw clenches, and he buries his face into my neck. He inhales deeply, and his hand grabs me by the small of the back, pulling me against his body. Even through the mantle I can feel his intense warmth.

Giving him a whiff of my scent started as a ploy to get him to listen to me, but now it feels like neither of us is in the mood to listen to anything. I find my hand on his muscular back, and I run it over his rippling muscles. I remember what’s about to happen, and I try to not lose myself completely in him, even as his lips move up my neck, dangerously close to kissing me.

“Proximus,” I whisper, “If you lose, if–”

And that breaks the spell. He pulls off me and pushes me off him. “I will not lose!”

He jabs a finger at me, then steps two or three paces back. “Keep your scent away from me. Or do you want me to be distracted and lose the duel?”

He reaches into his loincloth and throws me the leather thermos filled with the ratskunk blood.

“Proximus,” I say in a pleading voice.

He shakes his head and takes another two steps back, as if I were a dangerous animal ready to strike. “Put it on.”