Page 2 of Bound

There’s no sign of the black clad figure.

Fenek’s bulk rounds the corner. His face is a deep teal as he puffs and blows, feet stomping as he moves towards me.

“Assassin,” he rasps, voice hoarse with the unexpected exercise. “Assassin!”

RYCH

“I told you I don’t serve gladiators.” The bar keeper glares at me. “You’re trouble when you’re sober and worse when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not a gladiator. Not anymore.” I glare at him. “You’ll take my credits if you’ll take theirs.” I jerk my thumb at the three thick-set Habosu who are watching this exchange over their tankards of mead-beer.

My mouth practically waters at the thought.

And the suggestion I might have the credits to pay sticks in my throat.

“Theydon’t smash up my bar. Get out, go find somewhere else,Gryn,” the owner spits at me.

I bristle, all my wing feathers pricking up before dipping down again. I’ve been out of the dome for less than a nova-week, and the lack of respect is infuriating. Especially when the dregs of the universe like the Habosu get more of it than I do.

It doesn’t help I can’t access any of the credits I made while I was a gladiator. The vrexing dome has kept every single vrexing one of them. I ball my hands up, claws slicing into my flesh.

A chair scrapes as one of the Habosu gets to his feet. I feel like the level of stupid increased in this small bar.

“He said he wants you to leave,Gryn,” he growls.

“Stay out of this,” I snarl back. “If you know what’s good for you.”

The Habosu looks at his two friends, and they crack crooked grins.

“I always wanted to try my hand at a gladiator in the dome but could never afford the fee. Looks like I get to have a go at the low rent version,” he says, pulling out a pulsar pistol.

Vrex. It looks like the barkeeper is going to be proved correct and I won’t get the drink I’m after.

“I don’t want trouble.” I put up my hands, slicking my wings hard against my body.

“You didn’t leave when you were asked, Gryn. You are trouble,” the Habosu growls.

But he’s showing off to his friends, and his reactions, already far too slow for me, are made even slower as I launch myself at him when he fires first, the shot going over my head and scorching the shoulder of my wing.

I pull the pulsar from his hand, slamming my uninjured wing into one of his compatriots, a foot into the windpipe of the other, and tip my would be challenger over until his head hits the ground with a dull thud.

It won’t have done any damage.

“Absolutely correct,” I snarl at him. “Gladiator or no, I am your worst nightmare.” I crush the pulsar by digging my claws into the casing, my specialty in the dome, and his eyes widen.

“Gak you, Gryn!” I hear the bar owner over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. “You’ve really done it this time.”

I lift my head. My antagonist is dazed but alive. I’ve only broken a few sticks of furniture.

“I’ll pay for the damage.”

“You’ll pay for what you’ve done,” one of the other Habosu growls.

I drop my wing to look over my shoulder at him, only to see the third Habosu impaled on a spike of wooden chair. For a moment, I think he’s dead, until he groans and rolls to one side.

“Vrex.” I shake my head and get to my feet.

Tatatunga might be lawless, but these Habosu are going to do what they can to get me imprisoned for such an injury, even if they started it and I was acting in self-defense.

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