Page 75 of Chained

“So,” the voice snarls in my ear, dripping with menace, “shall we get started?”

MAXYM

I want to know where my mate is, but given what the Bogarok mind control has been doing to the others, I also know I can’t risk taking off my helmet. Any original natural defense I had against it has waned, and given my reaction back at Retah’s dwelling, I can’t risk it.

I can’t risk becoming a mindless drone, not when I have even more of a burning desire to destroy this entire place with the Bogarok inside. Not when I have a mate to protect…and more importantly, locate.

I work my way up through the various layers of the dome to the gladiator quarters where the Zarvu have told me the Bogarok have set up a command center. If there’s any way of locating my sweet Cleo, it will be there, and I get the added bonus of being able to take out as many Bogarok as I can in the process.

My hope is Cleo has not been taken by the things, but given what happened to us, it seems unlikely. My head knows she’s a fighter, like me, but my heart beats double time at the potential risk.

She was mine to protect, and I failed.

As long as we were together, she was safe, and we are no longer together. I’m not sure she will ever forgive me, and I’m sure I won’t ever forgive myself.

I need myeregriin my arms. I need to scent her hair and feel the softness of her skin. Cleo makes me a better Gryn in all ways. It’s something brought into a stark reality now she is not with me. The rage I once felt remains within me, but it’s not the same, not as it was. It is something I can shape and mold to fit what I need to do, rather than driving my very soul.

Mating has given me something I didn’t believe existed, a quiet mind and a new purpose. Her.

The first few Bogaroks are easy enough to dispatch. The vrexing things stink to the stars, and I don’t hang around to see what happens when they’re found by their compatriots. Instead I duck into one of the ancillary service tunnels which is a tight squeeze for me, especially in the armor I’m wearing, but I don’t want to be discovered just yet.

Not until I know where Cleo is. Then I’ll hack my way through any number of disgusting Bogarok to get her.

I come out near the gladiator area closest to the public parts of the dome, the area the clerks use to deal with the running of the dome. It has tech which might be able to assist me. Even if my Cleo doesn’t have a tracker, her singular species should be something the dome can detect.

After all, the dome reserved the right to refuse entry, even after someone had entered among the hundreds of thousands of patrons. How else are you to find who you don’t want? I thank the stars I actually bothered to pay attention to Sylas on all those occasions I thought he was trotting out some conspiracy or other.

Because, as it turned out, he was right, in a strange way. His memories were stolen from him, like mine were, like all of us.Memories he wanted back and which made him a stronger male. A stronger warrior, and one I wish was by my side.

But like Blayn and Rych and now me, he had a mate to think of, and if he has any sense at all, he’ll be a long, long way from Trefa by now.

This is going to be my battle and I’m ready for it. It’s as if I’ve always been ready for it. My life in the dome has led up to this moment.

The battle for my mate, my Cleo, my everything.

I creep down the passage, which is devoid of Bogarok, as if they don’t consider this area important, until I reach the suite of rooms where the clerks are usually busy.

It’s an area of the dome I haven’t frequented. Gladiators are considered too stupid to understand the workings of the dome, but that’s because the clerks usually underestimate everyone. Rych and I have been here on occasion to obtain illicit passes (his ability to pilfer was legendary) and credit chips.

Keeping my breathing even, because in these close quarters, my size is a hindrance, I quickly look into the first room.

It’s empty, a few items overturned but otherwise unscathed. I sheathe my sword and pull out twin daggers instead. I dislike the place at the best of times, but I’m going to have to go deeper within in order to get to the area where I know the clerks monitor the dome.

Daggers in hand, I sidle through the next door, into the open area punctuated by working stations and consoles, most of which are a complete mystery as to their purpose. On the far side is a bank of vid-screens some of which are still flickering.

The movement I see results in an involuntary action, the blade flying through the air, followed by me. There’s a dull thud as the dagger hits its mark, and I descend, with chaos all around me, to find the small Oykig pinned to the floor by his green jerkin.

“What are you doing here?” I snarl.

He stares up in abject terror. A large scar through his scales runs from the top of his head and down onto his neck.

“I…I was hiding from the Bogarok,” he gibbers. “And the others. I’m sorry… I’ll come with you if you want.”

“The others?” I query.

“The other clerks. They were rounding everyone up,” he says, tongue flickering wildly from between his lips like most Oykig do when stressed. “Including the other gladiators.” He exhales and goes limp.

Oykig have no eyelids to indicate if they are unconscious, and as my blade hasn’t pierced any important parts, I give him a shake. His head wobbles and then life returns to his body.

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