Page 53 of Gladiator's Captive
Ry moved in front of us, his face suddenly hard, his back straight and something intense and dark in his eyes. This was not the man I had met, quiet and brooding, but with a good, soft heart. No, this was some other man, hard and cruel. A facade he had to wear for whatever danger lurked in the sprawling chaos of the city below.
Janet took my arm and we both stepped right into Ry’s path. She put on a brave face, but as we got closer and closer to the chaos and the noise of the streets below, I could feel her shivering and trembling at my side.
The streets of Tartarus were just as full of chaos and confusion from the ground as they were from up the observatory. Aliens in all shapes and forms walked, hard faces and harder gazes. I needed no one to remind me that this was an outlaw’s town, one of the last remaining places where all the unwanted in the Galactic Empire could go and hide.
Criminals, murderer, smugglers, and thieves lived here under one roof. Led by one dangerous, ruthless man.
I understood why Rager wanted to leave.
Ry walked in front of us, slicing his way through the packed crowd. As he walked on, people moved to make way, most of them without even making eye contact. Like they were scared of him.
Finally, after a series of narrow, bodies-packed streets, the crowd became so thick that even Ry’s presence wasn’t enough to clear a way for us. Shouts and screams filled the air, so loud they made my ears ring.
A quick glance from Ry made us inch closer to him, so close we touched his broad back. As Ry shoved his way through the crowd, familiar noises reached my ears above the clamor. The sound of metal on metal like screams through the night, the sound of men grunting, crying for their lives.
The sounds of battle. The sounds of violence and useless deaths. The sounds of the arena.
My skin crawled with horror as we followed Ry to the front of the crowd. I could see that as we went on, the spectators were getting bigger, screaming with more anger at the fighters. They didn’t wear the ratty clothing of the miserable creatures I saw lurking in the shadows of the lower city.
No, those were the wealthiest citizens, those with money to lose or win on bets. Those with status.
Those whose money would pay for our passage.
Oh, Rager, what have you done?
But the wealthy citizens of Tartarus lost all interest once I saw what lay beyond them. The arena was just a vast circle of bare sand, nothing compared to what Villea had to offer, but it made no difference.
The men fighting on it had the same focused, desperate look, no matter where they fought. Theirs lives hung in the balance, and they knew the opponent they were facing was deadly. Rager moved across the sand, holding a single sword instead of his twin ones. His skin gleamed with a thin layer of sweat as he moved with a deadly grace, slashing in wide, controlled arcs as the two humans he was facing swung their swords at him, shouting mindlessly as they did.
He was the strongest fighter, no doubt there.
I still held my tongue, knowing that the smallest distraction could cost him his life. The next move, Rager kicked squarely in the middle of the first man’s chest while slashing with his sword with the other. Both men fell to the sand, their weapons rolling away in a cloud of dust.
Rager lost no time. He walked up to the first man who was holding his arm close to his chest, a long gash spilling blood all over the sand. Rager grabbed the man by the scruff of his sweater and dragged him to where the other one lay, unconscious. The clamor of the crowd grew and grew, their bloodlust every bit as sickening as it was in Villea.
Rager brought the first man to his front, rising his sword high. His eyes, cold and shining, went to a place I hadn’t noticed. A man sat in a wide chair, the only chair present, Sayk standing at his side.
I recognized Wylder at once.
Cold blue eyes were set on Rager as the Muharib turned to him. Wylder scanned the crowd as they shouted. This was the moment that decided the fate of the loser in the combat. If Wylder was the judge, the crowd was the jury.
They wanted death. No mercy for the vanquished.
Sayk stood stoic behind him, his face expressionless, but his eyes glinted with disapproval. He didn’t like these massacres any more than I did. In a blinding flash, Rager’s story came back to my mind. Those words he spoke of a home long lost, of a people long gone. Of the despair he had felt on the lonely sand of the arena. The wound to his soul.
And now, he was going to kill again for the amusement of the crowd. All because he didn’t want to see me parted with a necklace. I shook my head. I cared about the necklace, yes, but it was nothing compared to what I felt for him. Rager was the only home I needed.
No, he can’t kill those men. This will destroy him.
I took a step forward, inching inside of the perfect circle in the sand. Ry’s hand locked on my arm, preventing me from taking another step.
But I had attracted his attention anyway. Rager’s gaze turned to me, emerald and perfect. Blood splattered his handsome feline features, a red, damp strand of hair falling on his brow. He was the picture of the man who had galvanized crowds for a decade in a city that was as blasé about death as it was about life.
His expression slacked as he registered my presence. I saw the change in his eyes, the moment he decided not to kill again.
“Rager!” Wylder spoke loudly, reclaiming the attention. “You heard the verdict of the crowd. It’s death for both of them.”
Rager turned his gaze to Wylder, then to the crying, defeated men at his feet.
