Page 43 of Chained

“Maxym!” Cleo calls out.

She’s held in the arms of a Voltes, a pulsar pistol pointed at her head. The large, hairy creature bares its teeth at me.

“Drop your weapons, Gryn, if you know what’s good for the female.”

A creature like this forgets in the heat of the moment that I was a gladiator. I already know he’s alone as there are no more scents in here than his, and he has no other weapons than the aging pistol. And he’s up against a Gryn gladiator with plenty of inbuilt weapons which I’m more than prepared to use.

Before he can blink, I’ve slammed him in the side of the head with a wing, grabbed the pistol, crushed it, and pulled Cleo into my arms. The Voltes goes reeling back, blood streaming from hislong snout. The sight of the blood fills my head with a mist of ultra-violence.

“You dare to touch my mate?” The words I snarl are hardly even distinguishable.

The Voltes scrambles, looking for a way out.

But the only way out is through me.

“You dare…to touch…my mate?” I grind.

He whimpers. “I thought you were with the invaders.”

“I’m wanted by them because I am their worst nightmare.” I extend my wings, making myself as large as possible, dominating the space. “And I am yours too.”

I slash out, my claws catching him on his chest and flinging him across the dark space until he hits a wall and slides down with a low groan of pain, before scrambling away. I grab hold of Cleo’s hand and steer her to the door at the rear. Pushing it open a crack, the alleyway into which it leads is clear, and I shove her through.

“No one touches you, andno onethreatens you without losing something precious, like their life.”

Cleo stares at me, then she looks down at her map cube. “It’s this way,” she says dully, taking a step to the side and heading down the alley, turning a sharp left into another.

I follow, my anger still seething inside, willing a Bogarok patrol to appear so I can appease my need to fight.

“We’re here,” Cleo whispers, as I almost walk into her, peering around a corner.

I gently pull her back.

“What are you doing?” she says in a harsh, low voice.

“I go first,” I say. “Always.”

“Except when the locks are keyed to my DNA,” Cleo says, pressing her hand against the wall.

There’s a click and the wall caves in to reveal a doorway.

“Then I go first,” she says.

“No,” I growl. “You do not know if the Bogarok are inside, locks or no locks.”

I tuck her behind me and push through the door.

Inside the dwelling, all is silent. There’s no heat and no scent of food, which there was when I visited last. Behind us, Cleo closes the hidden door.

“Retah likes to have escape routes,” she says. “Makes sense for his business. He knew he was likely to be a target.”

“Then hopefully he will have taken similar precautions for his safety this time.” I rasp. “Because the sooner we can get out of here, the better.”

We move through the dwelling. The place seems empty, the food preparation area smells of Cirmos, but it is dark and hasn’t been used for a while, the burners cold to the touch.

“Let me get changed into something more suitable,” Cleo says as we pass her quarters.

I push open the door and check the interior.

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