Page 3 of Pyne

Suddenly, she’s standing right in front of me, her eyes narrowed, lips pursed as she looks me up and down.

“Bacon.” She taps a manicured finger against her lips as she glares at me. “Look at your partner.”

I turn to look at him, taking his full measure from his knee-high black boots to his black leather kilt to the long, muscular tail that emerges from a hole in the back of the kilt, to that amazing naked green chest that would make a bodybuilder jealous. And his humanoid face. It’s perfection. Even the thin scar that slashes from above his top lip to his chin isn’t ugly. It just seems to call attention to how symmetrical every other feature is.

“He is going to be a fan favorite.” She holds up her hands. “I know. He knows nothing of baking. That’s not going to be as important as that chest.” She purses her lips and looks at me pointedly. “You’ll have to do the work of two, but he might be more of an asset than a liability.”

I want to argue, to inform her I don’t belong here, don’t belong in space, and certainly shouldn’t be a slave. But I’ve had that kind of tantrum before with previous owners. I learned very quickly at the end of a shockstick that I am, indeed, a slave, and a slave’s job is to do as she’s told.

Arisha laughs. “And you, Pyne, the viewers are going to love you and your… assets.”

Pyne’s tail lashes behind him, his blue eyes flashing with anger.

Arisha waves a dismissive hand. “How about this, Pyne? If you make it into the top five, there will be a bonus for you. Now, let’s get all of you settled into your quarters. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow!”

Before I can protest, a guard grabs my arm and drags me toward the door. I look over my shoulder at Pyne, who is being urged toward the door at the business end of a few guns. Our eyes meet, and in his gaze I see a mirror image of my own frustration and helplessness.

After traveling corridors and elevators, we arrive at a doorway. One of the male soldiers announces, “Here you are. Your room.”

Room? Singular?

He places his hand on the palm reader and when the door opens, sure enough—one room, one bed, one bathroom, like every hotel room I’ve ever been in.

Certainly, this isn’t right.

“Where is he sleeping?”

“Since he’s two heads taller than you and weighs twice as much as you, I’d say he sleeps on whichever side of the bed he wants.”

Chapter Three

Pyne

As I enter the room, my tail is still twitching in irritation. The nerve of the Cryosynes and that horrible Arisha person, changing what I’m here for, cutting off my comms with theDevil’s Playground, and making me feel likedrackif I didn’t want to rescue the human. And now, I’m being forced to share a room with her, although I must admit, she’s pretty and seems pleasant enough.

After taking a quick survey of our quarters, I note it’s small, with one large bed, a tiny bathroom, and not much else. Becca looks angry. The human females on the ship call themselves “pissed off” when their lips tighten into a single line and their nostrils flare like that.

“Well, this is cozy,” I mutter, trying to break the tension.

Becca glares at me, her brown eyes narrowing to slits. “Cozy? Cozy? I may be a slave, gladiator, but I’m notyourslave. Don’t get any ideas about what will happen in that bed, because you won’t be in it!”

Raising my arms, bent at the elbows with my palms facing her in surrender, I keep my eyes focused on the floor, signaling defeat like a prey animal to a predator. Having lived on the ship for over a standard year, I’ve witnessed several tiffs between my fellow gladiators and their human mates. It quickly became clear that although the males outweigh their mates by twice, they never, ever win arguments with human females.

I’m too smart to go head-to-head with Becca. Which doesn’t mean I won’t be sleeping in that bed tonight. We gladiators have our ways…

“Whoa there, spitfire. I’m a gladiator, not a barbarian. Besides, I like my females willing and eager.”

She scoffs, folding her arms across her chest. “Well, you can keep dreaming, buddy. Because this female is definitelynotwillingoreager.”

She’s so angry, if she were from planet Vulcanus, her scorching gaze would incinerate me on the spot.

I clutch my chest, feigning hurt. “Ouch. You wound me, Becca. And here I thought we were going to be the best of friends.”

“Friends? Ha!” She rolls her eyes. “Let’s get one thing straight. We’re partners in this ridiculous competition, nothing more.”

“Did you know your eyes sparkle likemarquetswhen you’re angry,” I tease, enjoying the way her cheeks flush with indignation.

“Marquets. Is that another name for steaming piles of sh—”

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