Maxym
MAXYM
Cleo is filled with worry about her employer and her Cirmos friend. I keep getting blasts of it, and then they cut off as if they were never there.
The thoughtbond is a strange phenomenon which I seem to know innately, and yet it is more of a surprise than I expected. It’s also strangely comforting, not that I get some of her odd thoughts, but the connection we have.
However, I want to nest for my mate so badly it’s physically painful not to be able to do it. By the fire, I was able to half pretend I’d made something for her with a few pieces of fabric and a small snack, but it hasn’t alleviated my desire to nest. All of these things mean my feathers are permanently pricked and my body right on the very edge.
I want to snarl at everything and anything. I want to pick up so many bright and colored items we see because they would be perfect for my nest.
But I can’t and it makes me rage from within.
We make our way through the back streets of Tatatunga. Pryax has provided us with a map cube, and I’ve worked out a route where we will mostly be hidden from any sky drones, which means on the ground, we are only at risk of the Bogarok and their patrols.
And they have plenty of patrols. Groups of ten or more march down the deserted main streets. I see the occasional window in a dwelling swing shut, so there has not been an evacuation. Tatatunga is hunkering down, waiting for this invasion to be over so they can go back to business as usual.
Nothing can destroy this city, not even the Bogarok.
Cleo grabs a wing, and I’m pulled into a disused courtyard. She’s shaking her head at the cube.
“There’s supposed to be an exit here.” She looks at the blank wall ahead.
“We can go over.” I look up.
“And risk exposing you. Not a chance,” she grumbles.
I like the way she thinks tactically.
“That’s not all you like,” Cleo says absently as she taps the wall.
And falls straight through.
“Vrex!” I race to where she was standing and shove my hand against the…in an instant, I’m tumbling forward into a void.
“!” 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 his long 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, and no one threatens 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.
“Thank you for ensuring my underwear isn’t going to strangle me,” Cleo mutters as I allow her to enter.
“Where are the weapons?” I ask.
“If they’re still here, they’ll be in the basement.” Cleo opens her closet and pulls out items of clothing.
I prefer the figure hugging dress she’s wearing, the one Pryax provided. It shows every inch of her blooming body, especially the swell of her stomach, filled with the young growing within her.
My desire to nest and mate ramps up, warring with the desire for violence which hasn’t abated since the Voltes. The silence of the dwelling also isn’t helping. So, when I hear the scraping sound, already too familiar, I’m out of her rooms and down the passage, sword in hand.
Something has to die today. My soul demands it.