Page 11 of Chained

I heave out a breath, doing my best to remain uninterested. All I want is to find the little female who made my body sing and my head clear for the first time in vrexing nova-months. But in the absence of her…

“Fine,” I growl. “Show me.”

I follow the captain through the training area, through the gladiator quarters, emptier since my fellow Gryn found their mates and were able to escape this place, and then on up higher in the dome to the armory. A place kept well away from us (even if the poor security and an inability to keep a Gryn away from anything he really wants means we’re virtually always able to access it if we wish).

There’s a scent in the air, something familiar, as we enter the passage which takes us to the armory. I find myself speeding up rather than hanging back, something the captain takes as my enthusiasm for the weapons.

“I’ve got you and Klynn exclusive access,” he says.

“Not Klynn,” I growl as the scent gets stronger.

“Don’t worry, there’s no way I’m putting the pair of you in the armory,” the captain grumbles. “Not after last time. It took forever to get the place cleaned up.”

I think I’m probably hallucinating. Her scent is the one thing I cannot get out of my head. It haunts my dreams, makes me indulge in self-care on a regular basis. It gives me hope.

But she cannot be here, not after what I did.

Only when the captain pushes through the heavy doors, it hits me like a hammer or a ziggurag tail. It’s so great I’m almost on my knees when I see her.

The female.

My mate.

Myeregri.

“You!” she says hoarsely, glaring at me, sword in hand.

“You.” I grin, my cocks instantly hard.

“I wasn’t told a gladiator would be here,” she fires at the captain.

“I’m trying to encourage Maxym in advance of the games. He likes new weapons,” the captain replies, making me sound like a youngling.

I pull myself up to my full height and set my wings. I am no youngling.

“I was promised an inspection of the items which will keep me alive,” I say, probably overdoing the imperious nature of my response, given the way she narrows her eyes.

“Depends how close an inspection you want,” the female retorts, not lowering her weapon. “Because a real close one can be arranged.”

Vrex! Her fire! Her ferocity! The swell of her belly is just noticeable under her clothing, and my cocks feel like they’re going to bust out of my pants at the mere thought of what she would look like unwrapped.

“I’m reliably informed by the dealer that Cleo is adept with these weapons and can provide you with a full history of their forging.” The captain’s grizzled face has a look of confusion as he attempts to work out what Cleo means.

Cleo. My mate. My fate. MINE.

CLEO

Of course, the first fighter I had to encounter on my first day in the dome managing the weapons HAD to be him, didn’t it?

Because the universe doesn’t move in mysterious ways, it moves in bloody annoying ones. In this case, built like an outhouse, stupidly handsome, abs to die for, and cinnamon scented feathery ways.

I had hoped to avoid Maxym. My hopes are now dashed on the rocks of my inability to accept the inevitable. He’s a gladiator, I’m the armorer—we’re going to meet at some point.

“Captain!” One of the Zarvu guards labors into the armory, coming up short when he sees Maxym, who is a brick outhouse compared to the stocky guards. He eyes the gladiator warily as Maxym growls a storm at him. “You need to come. There’s a flood in one of the guest quarters.”

“Not my problem,” the big Xnosson bull says.

“It’s coming from the effluent tank.”

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