Baited (Gladiators of the Gryn #2)

Izzy

IZZY

I ’m following in the considerable wake of Madame Birrix as she makes her way out of the pleasure house and into the house ground transport. She enters, then turns and fixes her gaze on Riklinn who hovers outside nervously.

“You’ll do an excellent job,” the Madame says to her. “I have every confidence in you.”

From the color Riklinn has turned, it doesn’t seem she has the same confidence in herself. I pull her in for a hug.

“You’ll be fine. If the madame can do it, you can do it,” I whisper in her ear before releasing her.

“I heard that,” Madame says.

“You were supposed to,” I reply.

She glares at me before her face splits into her famous smile. Mostly because if you see it, chances are something horrible will happen, but I’m long past caring. My life can’t get any worse.

“Our transport to Sartak is waiting, young female,” the madame says.

I give Riklinn one last hug and get on board. The door closes, and I wave as the transport lifts off and joins the stream of traffic above Tatatunga.

“You didn’t need to come with me,” I say to break the silence.

“Correct, but you need me.” The madame is checking her make-up and hair in a screen, which she puts into her voluminous bag.

She also has several other pieces of large luggage compared to my single one, which contains everything I own. Save my credits of course, the ones Yelii stole.

“I thought Sartak wasn’t as bad as the procurator made out.” I lean back in my seat, watching the other transport traffic go by.

Flying makes me think of Blayn, and I have to dig my fingernails into my hand to stop the tears. They’re not going to help him after all.

“It’s not, but it does need…handling. You’ll do better with a guide,” she says.

I’m not going to disagree. It doesn’t matter I’ve been on another planet for a nova-year, I’m well aware I don’t know anything, or hardly anything. I touch the new scar behind my ear. Not being able to read or write hasn’t exactly helped my education on an alien planet either.

“Is it bothering you?” the madame asks.

“No, it’s fine,” I say as we pass a hovering advertising board and I can read it. Not that I’d ever need something to soothe dry tentacles, but apparently someone does. “Thanks,” I add.

“I can understand why you might have not trusted me, .” Madame stares out of the window. “But you need to trust me now.”

A sigh blooms in my chest. What other options have I got?

“I guess…”

“You are in love with the Gryn?”

“Yes.” The word hiccups out of me.

“And he says you are his mate?”

“Yes, his eregri .” I hope I haven’t mangled the pronunciation. Saying the word makes my heart jump into my throat.

“And you mated with him?”

Unbelievably, because I’m speaking with a pleasure house madame, and I was a pleasure worker, my cheeks are still heating with embarrassment.

“Yes.” I hold up a hand. “And before you say anything, I know it wasn’t part of my job.”

“You were supposed to get him used to being touched. And if anyone needed a mate and mating, I’d say that particular Gryn did.”

She shuffles her clothing as the transport dips, pulling away from the other traffic and following a new flight path towards a large open area which is buzzing with larger transport vehicles.

I hold her gaze, wondering if I should say something about the knotting. I decide against it.

“Where are we going?”

“Spaceport,” she replies, as if this is an easier conversation. “We’ll pick up an intercontinental transport from there.”

“How long will it take?”

“About three nova-days.”

My stomach chills. “He’s a long way away,” I hear myself whisper.

“The procurator is a shrewd operator. Opening a dome somewhere like Sartak doesn’t take anything away from the dome here in Tatatunga, but it does increase his income considerably,” Madame says, with something in her tone which could be awe.

“But then he does also profit from indentured killers, regardless of whether they want to kill or not.”

The madame rolls her eyes. “I know your species is new in this quadrant, and none of you are here by choice, but the dome and Trefa go hand in hand.”

“So, I should park my sensibilities?” I blurt out. “Blayn has a family, he told me, but he can’t remember them, so he can’t find them. It’s wrong.”

The madame strokes her chin. “Why doesn’t he remember them?”

I give her a long, even look while folding my arms over my chest. “You’ve met him. Whatever they did to him in the dome or before they bought him, it’s scrambled his memories. It scrambled him.”

“And I suppose you think you unscrambled him?” The madame looks smug.

“Far from it,” I say, the words twisting in my chest. “But he let me touch him and that has to count for something.”

Her harsh features soften.

“Right answer,” she says. “If you thought you could change the nature of that beast, I’d be concerned about you. But you seem to understand what you have and what he is, and that way you can’t get hurt.”

“Blayn would never hurt me,” I reply. “I’m not sure he wants to hurt anything other than himself. What he has done has been because he was forced into it.”

“As it ever was on Trefa,” the madame mutters. “The Gryn are, from what I’ve heard, not just gladiators but warriors. Perhaps it’s about time the way the dome gets its indentured occupants’ needs reconsidered.”

The transport slides to a halt outside a brushed metal building, and she exits as bots enter to take her luggage. I keep a tight hold on my bag and hurry after her as she makes her stately way through the throngs of other species until we reach another transport, much larger and this one has compartments. We’re led through to one by a slim Oykig and shown inside with a flourish.

“Home from home.” The madame snorts at me as we settle into the space which is about double the width of my room back at the pleasure house.

I sit down on the bed-cum-sofa and stare out of the window as we lift up into the Trefa sky.

For all the madame has done for me, why am I still scared I’m not going to find the same Blayn when I get to Sartak? And once I find him, what do I do next?