Page 10 of Caged

“Yes, I saw it being done.” I cough.

He lets me go, looks around furtively, and pockets the discs.

“Go back to the safe house and wait for me there,” he says in a low voice.

I turn away from him, but it’s not over yet as a big green hand with zombie sausage fingers clamps on my shoulder.

“Wait,” Ixor says with an inflection in his voice I haven’t heard before.

Fingers pinch in my hair, and I spin back to him with a cry of pain. He’s holding a small, slate grey feather.

“Where did you get this?” he asks.

I hesitate, but I know there’s no point in lying.

“I met one of the gladiators when I was leaving.”

The holo screen chooses this moment to return to what has to be a live feed of the games. My Gryn is in the air, sword flashing, his vital signs showing up next to him.

“You met Sylas?” Ixor asks. “And he didn’t kill you?”

Sylas. His name is Sylas.

“I guess so?” I grit my teeth.

Ixor follows my gaze. “I guess you also left an impression on him. Those are the best odds I’ve seen on a gladiator of the Gryn for a long time.”

He looks back at me and his eyes glitter with interest. “Perhaps you have more uses than I previously thought for such an ugly little runt.”

I should be ready to dodge his grasping hand when it comes, but I’m far too confused as to what he means about Sylas and his odds.

If there’s anything I’ve learned in my time off Earth, it’s that nothing in this galaxy is what it seems, including Ixor.

Including the massive gladiator on the holo screen currently hacking off lumps of some slimy worm, brown goo covering every inch of his glistening, muscled form.

Whatever this is, I can’t let Ixor use it against me or him. Sylas might be good in the arena, but I’ve seen Ixor work, and there’s a reason he’s the most wanted bounty hunter in the galaxy.

He doesn’t play fair, and he doesn’t care about anything other than his own skin.

Which means if I get Sylas involved in any of this, we’re both in trouble.

SYLAS

The cage door slams in my face. The restraints slither from my neck and I drip innards silently onto the floor.

I smell like one of Klynn’s armpits. The vrexing ziggurag was particularly gooey.

“I need to bathe,” I call after the guards. “Can’t fight if my feathers are like this.”

One of them looks back and barks a laugh.

The other opens the sluice and a wall of brown water flows through the cage. I open my wings and beat them hard.

At least bathing, even in this unorthodox manner, takes my mind off my still aching cocks. I’ve had a hard on since I saw my female and even dealing with a ziggurag hasn’t eased it off. I’d take care of myself, but the last thing I want to do is attempt to handle what will likely go off instantly, like an untried warrior.

“For vrex’s sake, Sylas.” Maxym looms out of the darkness. “Why did you have to get yourself put in the hole this early in the games?”

“Because it’s what I do,” I retort. “And you’re risking your own time down here if you’re found.”

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