Page 16 of Claimed By the Orc

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ABIGAIL

Gragash was alive. I clung to that thought as much as I clung to him, feeling his chest rise and fall, his heart beat loud and slow and steady now. It looked like we’d gotten through the fight, but this had just been the introduction. The true fight was still to come, and looking at my sleeping Orc hero, I knew two things.

First, that he would fight any foe to keep me safe.

Second, that Captain Vaher would push him into worse and worse fights until one killed him.

Unacceptable. There has to be another way.I tried to think, which was difficult when I was looking at the worst outcome possible. Running was out of the question—I doubted we’d even get past the door. Despite the high-tech healing equipment, the room was more like a cell than a medical facility. Even if we escaped, where would we go? We had no friends aboard Lachrin, no allies aside from the Orcs in the hold of theBlessing.Which was another problem. Gragash wasn’t about to abandon his kin, but rescuing them would be the most predictable move in the universe. We’d be walking into a trap.

Gragash lay still, only his heartbeat and the slow rise and fall of his chest letting me know he was still among the living. I lethim rest, knowing I’d disrupted his healing too much already. There was no point in waking him up and worrying him.

I was no closer to an answer when the door’s lock disengaged with a loudclunkand it slid open. Beneath my head, Gragash’s heart sped up a little, but he gave no sign of waking.

A doctor strode into the room, tall and spindly, with skin cracked like bark. He looked like an old tree on which someone had hung a lab coat. I thought he was the same doctor who treated Gragash’s wounds, but I couldn’t be sure. He seemed cheerful until he looked up from his tablet and saw the state of the room.

“Ten Thousand Suns, what have youdone?”

I looked at the medical bed, its smartmaterial mattress gutted, the covers ripped apart and discarded. Screens showed various alerts, though apparently none serious enough to call someone to help. My cheeks warmed as he stared at us, at the bed, back at us.

He threw up his hands and sighed. “This is how you repay me for fixing him? For letting you in to visit him? I expected you to fuck him, not murder my equipment!”

“Sorry, sorry.” I did my best to be disarming and charming, but the doctor seemed impervious. I guess that made sense for a doctor hired to tend gladiator-slaves’ injuries—having empathy for his patients would make his job a soul-crushing nightmare.

I blinked.He had enough sympathy to let me visit Gragash. He didn’t even try for a bribe, not that I have anything to offer.There had to be a reason, perhaps something I could lean on. We needed help, even if was from a slave-doctor.

Trying to think of him as a source for a story rather than an accomplice to slavery, I gave him a sheepish smile. “Gragash got carried away, Doctor, I’m really sorry. I’m sure his owners will pay for repairs, though.”

“They’d better.” I recognized that tone—the Akedian grumbled because he liked to, but unless I missed my guess, he was looking forward to telling this story. That was a motivation I understood.

Better, it was a motivation I knew how to exploit.

“You must get the most fascinating clients coming through your surgery, Doctor,” I said with a wide-eyed, innocent smile, keying my implants to record.

“…andwhat I thought was a parasite was actually their king!” Doctor Zsisk finished with a laugh. “Which is how I came to need another job in a hurry, and couldn’t be too picky.”

I smiled, and nodded, and sipped the weirdly textured water he called ‘tea.’

“You should write a book someday. You’ve got some great stories.”

I wasn’t lying, not really. The doctor might not be as good a storyteller as he thought he was, and his stories were trite, but I’d read worse books. He’d probably make money on a tell-all autobiography, assuming his former clients didn’t kill him first.

He warmed to me quickly once I started listening to his stories, and even gave me a tunic to wear, replacing the clothes Gragash had torn from me so delightfully. It was a simple, disposable thing, maker-printed and unflattering, but at least I wasn’t naked when Vaher and Ty’anii came to check on their investment.

The quick back-and-forth between Ziska and Vaher was incomprehensible to me, but Vaher seemed happy enough andpassed across a credit chip. I took that as good news for Gragash—the doctor had assured me he’d make a full recovery, but I didn’t know if he was the type to lie to avoid a scene. Lying to his paying customer was a lot less likely.

Ty’anii grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, giving me no choice but to go with them when they left. I tried to protest, then fell silent as her claws pricked my skin.

“What a fucking shitshow,” Vaher said. As soon as the door closed behind us, a scowl replaced his friendly smile. “That was supposed to be an easy fight. Just a warmup, they said. Something to give the locals a taste of Gragash. Instead, I’m paying over the odds for a lung replacement and muscle repair and… whatever a ‘pynloss procedure’ is. Probably medical jargon for ‘soak the customer for all he’s got.’”

He stalked ahead through the arena’s slave hospital. Dozens of small rooms like Gragash’s opened off the broad, sterile corridor. Most were open and unoccupied, and I saw no sign of anyone else. Was it this empty when I arrived? I couldn’t remember—Gragash’s wounds had my full attention then.

“Too quiet,” Ty’anii said, echoing my fears. “Where is everyone? Place was busy when we came in.”

Vaher paused and looked around, lips tightening. “Fuck.”

He drew a pair of small pistols from under his coat, tossing one to Ty’anii. As though that was a signal, a Drall stepped out into the corridor ahead of us.

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