Page 29 of Caged

“I’m Maxym,” he continues, ignoring my raised feathers and the snarl I release. “Fellow gladiator in the dome to Sylas.”

“Nice to meet you,” Alex says, her voice muffled in my wings.

“Calm down, Sylas,” he says. “She’s youreregri, anyone with eyes can see it. I’m not interested in the slightest.”

“Stay-the-vrex-back,” I snarl. It fills the room.

He holds up his hands and moves across the room to where there is a shattered chair and the remnants of something ceramic. I’m reminded of the Remek female’s complaint about manners.

“How did you find us here?”

“You’re hard to miss, even when you’re trying to be hidden. I have my ways,” he says slyly.

“And yet, you’re the one who isn’t supposed to leave the dome.” I raise my eyebrows

He shakes out his feathers at me with supreme insolence. “I didn’t do what they say I did, and you know I didn’t. Rules were made to be broken,” he says, defiant as always. “I leave the dome when I want to, sentence or no sentence.”

“Have you come to take Sylas back?” Alex asks, moving out from behind my wings and standing boldly by my side.

“On the contrary, tiny mate of Sylas.” Maxym reveals far too many teeth at her. “I’ve come to suggest he gets the vrex out of Tatatunga.”

ALEX

Sylas and Maxym are so different as gladiators. Whereas Sylas is heavily scarred, Maxym has very little evidence on his skin of their mutual profession. He’s a little shorter than Sylas and bulkier. His eyes are haunted though, like Sylas, but instead he’s more guarded, more prepared to pretend he’s something he’s not. His wings are darker, and it reflects the darkness I can see in him in the same way Sylas reflects the light.

Maxym wants to appear carefree, except he is anything but. All these Gryn seem to have tortured souls.

Sylas is absolutely not impressed at his attempts to be friendly either. But then this is the male who just did things to a room in Ginka’s apartment which should not have been possible.

His nest.

It was like a party, a Bedouin tent and a disco all rolled into one. He’d even put little glittery things all around the bed, which was made into a shallow cup to contain us both. Sylas had spent some considerable effort and had done it all while I was sleeping.

I genuinely don’t know what is happening, but my entire being is telling me I need to stay with him. Is this love? I don’t know. But leaving Sylas would tear me apart.

“What do you mean I need to get out of Tatatunga?” Sylas fires at Maxym, who gingerly lowers himself into another chair.

Given the state of the other one in the far corner, I suspect he’s already had issues with the furniture in the same way Sylas did.

The Gryn are big males, even if they aren’t exactly heavy.

“The resistance wants you.”

“The vrexers who attacked the dome and my mate? Why?” Sylas growls, and starts to pace.

“I don’t know. I happened to overhear the procurator shouting about it,” Maxym says. “He didn’t expand on any reason.”

Sylas stops pacing, glares at him, and starts again.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” he snarls. “Least of all a group who wants to take me by force.”

“Which is why I suggest you leave. We can cover for you. By the time the procurator realizes you’re missing, you can be long gone, far away from his clutches and that of this resistance, whoever they are. The dome owners might even think they have you,” Maxym says, his feathers shivering. “And the council.”

It seems to work. Sylas stops pacing in front of him, studies his fellow gladiator, brow furrowed, for a while before his eyes find me and soften.

“What do you think, little feather?” He stalks past Maxym, and I have a hulk of muscle and feather standing in front of me like a wall.

“I think either Ixor will think I’m dead, or he’ll come for me, and you too.” Boldness rises within me. “I know where he keeps some credits. We could take those and leave. He might think he owns me, but for all I’ve done, he owes me instead.”

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