Page 41 of Bound

“I am not a warrior,” Rych says.

“You protect your mate. You are a warrior,” Red states.

“I need food for my mate and somewhere to stay for the night,” Rych growls, not taking his eyes from her, nor replacing his sword.

“Food I can do, but I don’t recommend you stay here tonight. That idiot might not be prepared to challenge me in front of a crowd, however he will return.” Red sighs.

I hadn’t realized I was tired, but at her words, the familiar ache flows through my joints. Rych presses himself against me with reassuring warmth.

“We will accept the food,” he says. “And should the Habosu return, I will deal with him.” I feel his body vibrate with the words.

Red gestures for us to enter, and with Rych at my back, we walk into her place.

It’s cavernous and barn-like, but I’m grateful for the warmth inside. I stare up into the rafters trying to work out what the marks are up on the beams.

“I occasionally host the Sarkarnii,” Red says, noticing my gaze. “They play hard as well as work hard.”

“This place is a Sarkarnii hide out?” Rych asks. “Bunch of vrexers! I always wondered where they went when they visited.”

“We’re out of the way enough and the locals are too frightened of them to say anything, but we’re within reach of Tatatunga,” Red says with a smile. “Whether I’ll see them much again is a different matter.”

“Scaly vrexers have got themselves their own planet,” Rych says with a smile.

“Maybe that is in your future too, Gryn,” Red replies with a knowing nod.

RYCH

This whole place puts me on edge. Even the knowledge the Sarkarnii occasionally use it as a base doesn’t help. Those scaly vrexers don’t care where they stop, just as long as they can shift, eat, and are not bothered whilst doing those two things.

And very few species would ever bother a Sarkarnii without good cause. Not unless they want to be flame grilled.

Same for the Gryn, save for the occasional suicidal Habosu. I should be proud of what we are, but my need to protect my mate, to keep Chrissie from the violence and death—it is overwhelming.

As is my need to nest for her. I wanted to last night but couldn’t procure anything to decorate the room in which we stayed in the short time we were there. My whole being feels like I’m being spun dry with the need to show her what a good male I am.

How beautiful a nest I can build.

If I don’t get a chance soon, I have concerns I might lose my Chrissie to another male. Concerns I know are irrational, but I can’t control them.

I set my wings and try to concentrate on what the Voltes is saying. It is something about food, which is good. At least I can feed my mate, even if I cannot nest for her.

“Sit.” Red points at a table which is reminiscent of those in the dining hall of the dome. Long and large, with bench seats.

Chrissie perches on one side, and I fold up my wings to sit next to her.

“What do you think?” she asks me. “Where are we going to go if we can’t stay here?”

I growl under my breath. “We will stay here. I am not having you lacking in your rest because of some pathetic Habosu.”

“I don’t want you to get into trouble,” Chrissie says.

“My little mate, Iamtrouble,” I growl.

I’m rewarded by the scent of her arousal, something else which makes me want to nest. I pluck at the fabric covering the table, enjoying how it feels under my claws and consider if it would make a good nest.

“All Gryn are trouble,” Red says, carrying two huge platters with ease from the back of her establishment. They steam, and the smell of meat surrounds us. “Gladiators are the worst.”

Chrissie slips her hand into my feathers, and I feel my jaw weaken.

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