A new ache started in her chest. They were men and they were her cargo. Living, breathing, cargo. Bronze chests left bare, dark hair past their shoulders, heads thrown back, the thick columns of their throats working to make those haunting howls.
“They’re out of sorts today. Their handler says they’re melancholy over being separated from their mate, but I’m not convinced.” Owens spoke from near her shoulder. He’d shifted to stand at her side, looking over the hangar like a feudal lord surveying his land.
“Their mate?”
He chuckled again, a sound she was coming to despise. “They have this odd practice of sharing their females. They have quite a complex social structure. We weren’t expecting it from this mix of DNA, but…”
Samantha didn’t follow any of what came after
sharing their females
. That thought stopped her overwhelmed brain. Her head wanted her to be appalled, and she
was
appalled that he talked about them as if they were nothing more than animals, or a science experiment, but her reaction to what he was saying could be more aptly described as...fascination. Fascination and guilt. While she stood there captivated by the raw emotion in their howls, they were imprisoned and suffering.
Her stomach churned and she knew she was in over her head. She wanted to ask why Roma was calling the men Dogs. Why they’d put them in cages. Why the men with her weren’t freaked out by the howling that was scraping
her
insides raw.
By the time her brain re-engaged, Owens had gone and Sevti was leading her toward the cages.
The weight of his hand on the center of her back urged her forward. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to prepare you more. Even scrambled messages are risky.”
“
Messages
are risky,” she hissed. “What part of this
isn’t
risky?” She knew her outrage at the whole situation was bleeding into her voice and they needed to keep quiet, but she’d heard the change in his tone. His earlier calm had been icing over a sticky, stressed center.
“They’re slaves, Samantha. We’re helping them get to freedom.”
“I know the Alliance denies citizenship to the non-earth races, but slavery?” She managed to lower her voice. They were still walking toward the hellish looking cages. The loading crew had temporarily disappeared through a door marked
Crew Only
, but the workers in their crimson uniforms could return at any moment.
“They’re genetically engineered fighters. You’ve heard of the Arena Games?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, just continued on in a rush of words. “Roma wanted gladiators, only better. Stronger. Faster. More lethal. They force them to fight. To slaughter each other. They’re considered property of The Roma Company.”
“How is that—”
“They claim they’re a result of a genetic manufacturing system, property. And they used enough animal and non-human alien DNA to get the Council of Earth Allied Planets to declare them non-human…animals.”
Samantha didn’t exactly have one hundred percent human DNA herself. She shuddered at the idea of being deemed non-human just because her grandmother had been Cerrillian. It was bad enough to know she’d lose her pilot’s license if anyone learned what her father had done—but
slavery
. She fought the urge to tug at her sleeves, to make sure the distinctive bands of color along her arms stayed covered. She was a mixed-breed on the wrong side of the Alliance-Gollerra border. Why had she thought this risk worth taking? “Why haven’t I heard of this? I thought the gladiators were—”
“It’s not like Roma is going to advertise it. But we’re a long way from the core, Sam, and most people here don’t give a damn.”
“But—”
“We don’t have a lot of time and I have to tell you.”
If he was going to tell her he’d lost his mind, she could only agree.
Sevti kept his pace, but dabbed at the fine sheen of perspiration across his forehead with the arm of his uniform jacket. “Owens is suspicious.”
She wanted to shout
of course he’s suspicious, you infected fifteen of his people with a virus
but she managed to keep her mouth shut and listened.
“He’s sending two of his men with you to accompany the Dogs.”
She stopped, body jerking to a halt that ripped her out of Sevti’s hold. Her boots were suddenly lead, fused to the floor plating. “What am I supposed to do with passengers?” What was she supposed to do with genetically engineered fighters in her cargo-hold? Her heart pounded out a fast tattoo in her chest and her legs had turned rubbery.
“They’re not just passengers.” He wrapped his hand around her forearm and squeezed as if he thought the gesture was needed to convey the seriousness of the situation. “They’re two of his goons, handlers from the arena. These men are hot-tempered and arrogant, used to dishing out abuse with impunity. Steer clear of them as much as possible and stay out of the way when the resistance team boards. Keep your head down and you’ll be fine.”
She couldn’t imagine anything less fine. She was well aware of the seriousness of the danger she’d landed in. Samantha looked over to the nearest cage and the man inside. The tips of his pointed ears peeked up through a shoulder-length fall of dark hair. They twitched, but his attention focused in the direction the workers had gone. The prisoner’s broad shoulders and wrists were marred by silver ropes of scar tissue that made her ache to look at them.
He might be a victim, but that didn’t mean he was an angel. They fight to the death and
share their females
, she reminded herself. But if they cared so little for life and for their mate, why would they infuse their howls with such grief?
When she started forward again, urged on by Sevti’s insistent tugs, the Arena Dog jerked around to press against his cage directly in front of them. He gripped the unrelenting bars tight enough to make his knuckles whiten and the muscles in his arms bunch. Thunder clouds and lightning flashed at her from the depths of his silver-gray eyes.
Her mouth turned into a desert and tiny bumps rose across her skin. A steady low growl rumbled up from somewhere in the man’s chest. His facial features weren’t dog-like, but they weren’t wholly human either. His face was all sharp angles and wide, flat nose.
The rest of him seemed more human, if overly large. He hunched over, too tall for the cage that could have held her with more than a dozen centimeters to spare. Bruises in a rainbow of hues mottled his ribs and chest. Knee length black pants hugged him tightly and rode low across his hips. A pair of black, ankle high flex-boots completed the outfit.
Sevti leaned close putting his lips near her ear. “You can’t tell them.”
“What?”
“The Dogs. They don’t know what we have planned and you can’t tell them.”
It occurred to her that maybe Sevti hadn’t gone crazy. Maybe she was the one who’d lost touch with reality.
Sevti tightened his grip on her arm. “The Dogs have led simple lives. They’re naïve. They don’t understand lies and deception. They might give it away. We can’t put the resistance at risk. You have to keep them in the dark until our team makes it to you.”
Samantha pulled her arm free of his grasp. “Okay. I get it.”
But she didn’t. Not really. The Arena Dog was clearly used to violence. How could Sevti call him naïve?
Gaze locked on the lethal looking man behind the bars, Samantha strode straight toward him—the Arena Dog with the stormy eyes. Behind her Sevti called out, “Don’t get so close. They’re dangerous, Samantha.”
Slowing, she closed the last meter more cautiously as Sevti’s voice faded out of her awareness. The world drew down to the bubble of stillness where she stood face to face with a man in a cage.
“Hello.” The word whispered across her lips.
The man’s ears twitched and his features softened for an instant. His nose flared and his head tilted as he studied her. In a flash of movement too quick to follow, his hand shot out and he grabbed her wrist. She gasped, but managed not to struggle or panic.
At least on the outside.
Inside her heart raced like an over wound crank. He gripped her firmly and pulled her forward, crushing her breasts against the bars and threading her hand through one of the gaps.
The heat of his palm branded her skin. She couldn’t look away from the flashes in his eyes, flashes she couldn’t interpret. Something about those eyes called to her. They held intelligence and maybe even a fascination as powerful as hers.
She flexed her fingers, accidentally brushing the sharply defined muscles of his abdomen. They jumped beneath her touch but he held steady, as implacable as a glacier, as volatile as a sun. This close, she could see the sadness behind the thunder and lightning of his eyes.
He lifted her hand and pressed the tender inside of her wrist to his nose. The touch sent a tingle along her nerves. The warmth of his breath on her skin was beyond intimate.
Giving in to instinct, she leaned in and breathed him in. The ordinary citrus tang of a commercial cleanser common throughout the sector surprised her. Beneath that a hint of something wild and utterly masculine teased her senses.
The scrape of boot heels behind her startled them both and his attention flicked to something over her shoulder. He released her then snarled and threw himself at the bars.
Samantha jumped and stumbled back. Her surroundings snapped back into focus and she realized Sevti had been calling her name. He pulled her away from the cage as a brutish hulk of a man barged past her. The man jabbed a stun-stick into the cage. The stun-bolt crackled as the Arena Dog’s body jerked. Was this why they used such a ridiculously designed cell? All the easier to torment the men inside?
A chorus of howls went up from the other Arena Dogs. The steely-eyed man who’d held her wrist so tenderly crouched in the corner of his cage, tossed back his head and howled.
Loud, terrifying, heartbreaking.
“Shit-for-brains pilot.” The new arrival, dressed in work trousers the color of rotting leaves and a simple shirt, towered over her. Tufts of short brown hair stood up in clumps atop his head making him look as if he’d received a shock from his own weapon.
“You didn’t have to hurt him.” She ground it out through clenched teeth.
He scowled. “You’re cracked. These Dogs are trained to fight to the death. Trained to make it gory for the arena fans.” His face had colored up in angry red splotches. “They’d as soon eat you as hump you.” He shook his head. “Shit for brains.”
A second man stalked into view. “Funny how the brainless always choose that insult.”
The idiot looming over her stepped aside. “She should be thanking me, Drake.” He gripped his belt, adjusting it on his hips. “That Dog had a grip on her.”
“And you played the hero, giving you the right to berate the lady. Is that it, Resler?”
“Yeah. I mean no. I mean...” The man shifted his feet. His jawed tightened, a muscle twitched as he locked his jaw, biting off whatever he would have said and making it clear that the other man held the authority.
Sevti spoke up, filling the void. “Gentlemen. Let me introduce you to Samantha Devlin.” He introduced Ivor Resler and Jansan Drake, the two men Owens had chosen to accompany her. Just great.
“Mr. Resler is one of the guards in the arena and Mr. Drake is a trainer.” Sevti’s smile slipped as he continued. “The title is whip-master, I believe.”
Drake was lean with close cropped hair and a narrow chin strap beard. He dressed shoulder to ankle in soft, black synth—comfortable and practical without looking it. Bracers circled his wrists and a coiled whip made of brown leather hung from his belt, providing the only contrast.
“Let’s not stand on titles. My apologies, Sam.” He extended a hand. “For my rude colleague and for any trouble our Dogs were causing.”
She gripped his hand firmly, noting the roughness of calluses that lent credibility to the whip he wore like an accessory. The oil he used to care for the leather tinged the air and wrinkled her nose.
Drake looked her up and down, subtly. Not rude but not indifferent either. The personal scrutiny bit at her like a sand burr against her skin.
“We should get out of the loading crew’s way.” His eyes narrowed and something cruel glinted in the soft brown depths. “These three Dogs have caused my boss a good deal of trouble. He wants them gone as soon as we can get them loaded.”
“Of course,” Samantha said. She offered Sevti a restrained farewell then watched him stride away. She hadn’t felt so adrift since she’d been left on a nowhere planet, staring at the empty platform where her father’s ship should have been waiting.
“You’re lucky, Sam.”
Drake’s comment pulled her attention back to him and the men caged behind him. “Am I?”
“You picked the right Dog to be careless around.” Seemingly unaware of the verbal slap he’d delivered, he strode over to the cage, wrapped his hands around the top bar and leaned forward. “This is Mercury.”
The man inside tensed, his gaze locking onto a slender green code-key dangling from Drake’s neck. It was clearly a taunt. The code-key might unlock the cages and, if Mercury were willing to try for it, the cord around Drake’s neck could serve as an improvised garrote. Resler moved around behind the cage, stun-stick ready and eager to inflict pain.
“Mercury is actually the least bloodthirsty of this lot,” Drake continued. “He’s the thinker. The others look to him. His leadership made their group one of the most successful in the arena.” An undercurrent of bitterness laced his words.
Samantha pressed her hands flat against her thighs, resisting the urge to tighten them into fists. “You call them dogs, but you credit him with leadership?”
He straightened, tucked the cord beneath his shirt and met her gaze baldly. “I trained them. I know what they are and what they’re capable of and I know my job. I’ll stick to my job and you’d better stick to yours. Do that and I’m sure we’ll all get along.”
With a flash of teeth, Drake’s expression shifted. His whole body softened from hard-ass to swagger. “I sense you’re feeling sorry for them and that’s dangerous, Sam. Mercury and his pack were champions of the arena until they decided to incite a pointless insurrection. Last week they made it over the arena barriers, got into the crowds and attacked a group of our high profile patrons.” Drake strode toward the next cage, motioning her to follow. “This is Diablo and over there...” He pointed at the third cage where a brawnier male with shoulders as wide as a shuttle and sad eyes howled softly. “That’s Carnage.”