Page 1 of Pyne

Chapter One

Pyne

Present Day Aboard the SpaceshipThe Devil’s Playground

My black leather boots click on the metal floor as I stride to the hangar bay. TheDevil’s Playgroundhums with life around me, but my mind is focused on my upcoming cestus match.

“Pyne.” Captain Zar-Rynn’s deep, growly voice stops me in my tracks. I turn to face him, noting the concern etched on his feline features. “We don’t need the money that badly. Is there any way you’ll call this off?”

I sigh, meeting his golden gaze. “You know we always need credits, Captain. For food, shelter, supplies… especially with all the human rescues we’ve taken in lately.” My chest tightens as Ithink back to my own rescue a standard year ago, how this ship full of escaped gladiators and rescued human females risked everything to spirit me away from my abusive former owner. “I owe all of you my freedom. Let me do this, for the good of all.”

Zar-Rynn’s golden eyes soften. “Your life is your own now, Pyne. You owe us nothing.” He pauses, then adds, “I agreed to you fighting this match, but that was before we got the distress call from Fairea. Now that we’re leaving for another sector, it means you’ll be going to planet Cryosyne solo, with no backup. I don’t like it.”

The mention of the Sanctuary compound’s cry for help sobers me. We have to aid them. But there are many able-bodied gladiators on this ship. They can conduct this mission without me.

“It’s just a cestus match, Captain. More flash than blood. I’ll be back before the winter holiday festivities, with a nice stock of credits to boot.” I tip my head and pound my chest—the gladiator sign of brotherhood and respect.

“If you insist on going, at least let Pherutan the medic give you a tracker implant,” Zar-Rynn presses. “Humor me.”

I consent with a nod, knowing it’s wise not to leave anything to chance, no matter how harmless the Game Master claimed this match would be. Within a few standard minutes, the subcutaneous tracker is in place and I’m climbing into my prepped phaeton, running through final checks.

As the sleek vessel hums to life around me, Zar-Rynn’s parting words echo in my head. “Things rarely go as planned. Watch your back out there, brother.”

The journey is smooth and the emerald and sapphire planet is a welcome sight after the long stretch of space. I’m cleared to land by a pleasant-voiced comms officer, and soon I’m striding down the ramp into the modern hangar bay, my pack slung over my shoulder and excitement humming through my veins at the prospect of a clean, easy fight with a fat purse at the end.

But instead of the typical presence of a few guards positioned throughout a docking bay, I’m greeted by a full cadre of armed soldiers. Alarm bells blare in my head and I tense, ready to bolt for my pistol.

“Stand down,” a black-uniformed male barks. “There’s been a change of plans.” His voice is oily, with a touch of glee that makes my tail twitch.

Slowly, I raise my hands, my heart galloping against my ribs. “What’s the charge?” Fear sours my gut. Have they discovered my papers are forged and I have no right to claim free status? After tasting liberty aboard theDevil’s Playground, the thought of being forced back into slavery makes my blood run cold.

“No charges. Just a change of plans. Come with us.”

They surround me at gunpoint, then easily disarm me and take my commlink. I have little choice but to comply as they march me down an eerily empty corridor, unease coiling in my stomach with every step. Freedom was nice while it lasted.

Chapter Two

Becca

“Look lively. Grab your partner and line up against the two long walls.”

Look lively? What, exactly, does that mean? I shrug when I recall that the female to my right looks like a zombie. If looking lively is the goal, I guess I have an advantage over at least one person in the room.

And what, exactly, did the bright red, winged male mean when he said to grab my partner?

The group, which had been milling aimlessly in this small convention hall, quickly forms into duos. Most of the pairs consist of a male and female of matching species, but a few are mixed. When they’ve all paired up, I’m the only singleton.

Suddenly, I feel like I’m in one of my recurring dreams. Everything is hazy and disjointed, and I’m filled with a sense of urgency, searching desperately for something—anything—without knowing what it is. The confusion is overwhelming, leaving me with a lingering discomfort, an unsettling sense of not quite knowing what’s going on.

Why do I feel that they all had more advanced notice about this—whateverthisis—than me? I count nineteen pairs… and me. Everyone—even the gray-skinned, slack-jawed zombies—have taken care with makeup and hair (if they have hair, that is).

Me? Perhaps I was a last-minute addition to the mix. My long brown hair is pulled into a ponytail at my nape, my white chef’s uniform has chocolate smudges on it, and I’m pretty sure there’s a stripe of flour on my face, though I keep wiping my cheeks hoping to remove any telltale streaks. Access to a mirror would have been nice before they pulled me out of my job in the kitchen of the Grand Starlight Hotel, had me collect my clothes, took me up five flights in an elevator, and dragged me to this sterile conference room.

I was abducted from Earth over a year ago. You’d think I would be used to alien ways by now. Perhaps I am. Three things are certain: I should expect the unexpected, I’ll be shown no mercy, and whenever I get comfortable, I’ll be sold and shuttled to another owner.

I should consider myself lucky that I was in culinary school on Earth when I was snatched. As soon as my first owner discovered I had a skill, he put me to work in his kitchen. Although I’ve been sold three times since then, I’m glad tobe working in kitchens instead of bedrooms, which is what I understand most human abductees are used for.

The strident sound of footsteps marching down the hallway interrupts my thoughts. The doorway bursts open and a green male is forced into the room by eight soldiers, all pointing rifles at him.

---