Page 33 of Caged

Sylas narrows his eyes but sheaths his sword with a practiced ease. I want to fan myself because it suddenly got really hot in here. Really hot because I have a gladiator the size of an outhouse, rippling with muscles and who wields a sword like it’s part of him.

So hot.

He holds out his hand to me. I take it.

“Then it is time to go, Remek. I appreciate all you have done for my mate.”

Ginka stares at him for a beat. “I did it for you too, Gryn. And because you make my Alex happy. But do not make her unhappy, or I will find you.”

Sylas barks a laugh. “I have no doubt you would, Remek.”

Ginka leads the way back down the stairs and through the kitchen to the second rear door, the one I always use. The flatbed hover transport, piled high with supplies, is backed all the way up to the door, and an Oykig leans against it, taking a sniff from a tube of dohan, the soft drug of choice for many in Tatatunga.

I can feel Sylas tense behind me.

“These are my passengers?” he asks Ginka, eyeing us with interest.

“Yes, we are,” Sylas growls, feathers rattling.

“You have the credits, gladiator?”

“How about you take us to where we want to go and keep your head on your body?” Sylas says, looking entirely nonchalant about his threat.

The Oykig goes still. As a reptilian species, he can’t blink or change his color, but it looks like he is taking Sylas seriously.

“As you wish,” he says with a hiss and what I hope is a scared look at Sylas.

My massive gladiator helps me into the back of the transport, and I give Ginka a wave before his wings block her out. With a lurch, the hovercraft moves off, rising up to join the flowing tide of other vehicles all moving in marked air lanes above Tatatunga.

Sylas ushers me between the piles of vegetables and containers until we’re hidden. He circles around three turns, tramping down on bags of alien flour with a concentrated but puzzled look on his face. Then he helps me into the depression.

“Nesting again?”

He shakes out his feathers and averts his gaze. “Maybe.” A muscle clenches in his jaw at the admission.

I’m beginning to realize how little Sylas knows about himself and how much of his life has simply been killing. I should be worried, but somehow, I’m not. For the first time in a long time.

“It’s very nice.” I pick up a smooth blue vegetable, shaped like a zucchini. “And it comes with fresh vegetables.”

“That is not a vegetable,” Sylas says, somewhat haughtily. “It’s an aphrodisiac fruit if I’m not mistaken.”

I drop it quickly, and it rolls away. He looks rather pleased with himself before squaring his shoulders and continuing with his guard duty as wind rushes past us and the hover transport heads over the city to the border beyond.

“Hang on, how do you know about aphrodisiac fruit?”

He doesn’t look at me. “Maxym told me about it.”

“And how would Maxym know about it?” I press on, determined to see if I can get Sylas to crack.

“He is the one usually picked for the female nightly activities.”

“Female…nightly activities?” My voice rises an octave.

Sylas stares straight ahead, like a statue.

“Wealthy females pay for our…company.Lying with a gladiator is considered a right in some of Tatatunga’s society circles,” he says, the muscle really jumping in his jaw this time.

I feel sick. “Did you…?”

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