Page 53 of Caged

ALEX

“YOU!” The female Lepke, with her features much daintier than Boran’s and her skin a mottled tan and green, fires out at Sylas.

All at once, he manages to look confused, worried, and…either terrified or embarrassed.

“I gave Boran credits.” He stumbles over his words. “I was unable to help myself. I had a…”

“That’s the problem, youdidhelp yourself, Gryn. To items I required.”

Rather than growl, Sylas looks at the floor and scuffs a boot, like a child being scolded. His wing tips fold over each other, time and again. Given the shop is filled with brightly colored materials, it doesn’t take a genius to work out what’s happened here.

I step in front of him.

“My mate was nesting. He needed materials,” I say. “It’s what he does, and it’s an instinct he can’t control.” I reach back and touch Sylas gently on his arm. “I am sorry if it caused you a problem. If there’s anything I can do to make things better, let me know, but don’t take it out on him.”

Her antennae are very still, unlike Boran’s. It’s difficult to tell how she feels at all. But I’m not backing down, not when my sweet mixed-up Gryn was only following his instincts. Instincts he clearly doesn’t understand at all.

Not surprising given the memory loss he’s suffered, the issue we haven’t discussed, and we should probably explore in the future.

“Yes, well,” she says. “We all have instincts.”

She looks around at her shop, and it strikes me how moth-like the Lepke are. Moths which like to chomp their way through fabric. I didn’t see it before, but I do now.

“And you did pay Boran for what you took.” She flashes Sylas another sharp stare.

“We’d like to give you more credits, if you have anything which will fit me?” I say in the hope we can build some bridges.

Uron looks me up and down with a critical eye, not that I can complain given it appears Sylas did steal a whole load of material from her in his nesting frenzy.

“What species are you?” she asks.

“Human.”

“Female?” Uron queries.

“Yes.”

“Interesting.” She gives me another long appraisal and then scuttles away into the back of her Tardis-like shop.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” Sylas rumbles.

I wrap my arms around his strong, hard torso and toy with his feathers gently, enough I feel some of his muscles relax but not too much to end up with a Gryn who can hardly stand.

“Why are you sorry? You did what you had to do, what you were compelled to do. I know you don’t understand why. Perhaps we should contact Haxrix, find out more about the Gryn she met, and if we can find them, find out more about where youcame from?” I say, pressing my cheek against him and listening to the slow thud of his heart.

“I’m not sure,” Sylas murmurs. “Do I want to meet them? What if they sold me to the farm?”

“Would you sell any of the other Gryn gladiators to the farm?” I ask.

“No!”

“Then you know the Gryn, the ones who are free—they didn’t either.”

Sylas makes a low noise in his chest, as if he’s contemplating my suggestion as not entirely one to discount. But then neither of us have any reason to trust others, but I just want everyone to see Sylas’ sweet, gentle side as I do. And I want him to stop seeing everyone else as a threat.

“Here.” Uron bustles back to us. “I have a few things which might fit you, given you have no fur to speak of.”

She busies herself hanging up various items, a long dress in soft purple silk, a couple of skirts in the same material but looking like they’ve been tie-dyed in a selection of gorgeous muted greens, purples, and reds. Matching tops and several jackets which seem to have been made from the softest leather.

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