Chapter 9 The Empire – Amara
THE EMPIRE
AMARA
WELL FUCK. NOW I’ve done it. I didn’t mean to flirt with him, but evidently I just couldn’t resist, and now I’ve gone and confused the guy.
Ok, maybe not ‘confused’, but I’m definitely leading him on.
Is he stunning? Yeah. Is he fun to talk to?
Yeah. Is he easily the most captivating person I’ve ever met?
Yeah. But I still can’t let him distract me from the reason I’m here in the first place.
I finish another set of knots and clip the thread, trying to ignore the sensation of Vexar’s eyes burning into my face.
My only hope is that he’s still delirious from blood loss and this will all blow over soon.
Honestly, he might not even be staring anymore.
It could just be in my head. I should check.
My eyes pop up and lock with his. Oh shit. I drop my gaze back to my hands as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest. He’s definitely eye-fucking me, and instead of feeling weirded out, I’m … I’m a little turned on.
What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be turned on; I should be wary as hell. But I’m not. For some weird reason, I feel completely safe around this giant murder machine. Like really safe. Even though I shouldn’t. Obviously.
Nothing about my situation is ‘safe’ right now. I’m basically standing at the base of my own gallows waiting for the guards to tie the noose, and all I can think about is how safe and horny I feel with this guy. Ugh, why is being human so weird?
I wipe my brow with my forearm and reposition the light, trying to keep my focus on my task.
I’m making decent progress, but we still have a ways to go, and I’d like to finish this before the guards come back.
The big bastard might be determined, but if I hadn’t pushed him to let me help, I’m sure he’d still be stabbing himself repeatedly with nothing to show for it.
Needing to steady my hands, I rest the side of my palm on Vexar’s side. He sucks in a sharp breath, and every visible muscle in his body tenses.
“Do you need a break?” I ask, forcing myself to look away from his chiseled abs.
A part of me feels guilty for looking at him like that, but I can’t help it.
He’s shirtless, and it would be impossible not to admire the obvious lethality of his body—every hard-earned ridge and valley, every scar—it’s impressive as hell.
“I am fine. Please continue.”
“Are you sure? You seem…” Overstimulated? Nervous? All of the above?
“The pain is fine.”
So why is he so jumpy?
“Wait,” I grin, “are you ticklish?”
He snaps a quick, “No,” and I can’t help but laugh.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell the other gladiators about your secret weakness.
” I glance up, still laughing, and his impossibly green eyes meet mine.
For a moment, everything seems to stop. Then it feels like I’m being dropped out of a fucking plane.
My stomach jumps, heart rattles in my chest, and every nerve in my body stands at attention.
It’s so overwhelming, I have to drop my head between my arms and bite back a moan as waves of what can only be described as painful euphoria rush through me.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice coming out in that deep rumble that only increases the thrashing of my heart.
Whatever doubts I had about Vexar being the cause of my sudden ‘heart-problems’ are quickly evaporating, and I don’t know what that means. It’s weird, that’s for sure, but it probably doesn’t matter. I’m not going to live long enough for any heart problems to really be an issue.
I palm the medical shears still stuck between my boobs and say, “Yeah, I’m good.” I just wish this weird reaction was less distracting. My body is ramped up.
A thought occurs to me, and I start to ask, “Does your species have ph—” Nope. If I ask about his pheromones, he’s going to assume I’m lusting after him. I mean, I sort of am, but still.
Changing the topic, I nod to his wound and ask, “How did this happen?”
He considers me for a moment, like he’s trying to decide how to answer. “The fight was over before I noticed the blood. I do not recall being struck.”
“Are you trying to impress me or something?”
“No, I am being honest. The fight was very fast. That is how I fight best, fast.” He smiles, showing a hint of fang, and I can’t look away. The sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his soft lips have me in a chokehold.
“Do you do all things with such speed?” I ask, realizing the innuendo a little too late. I almost slap a hand to my mouth, but Vexar interrupts my shame.
“Some things are good fast, but…” he trails off as his eyes run down my body and back up, before he quickly looks away. He clears his throat and presses a hand to his chest. “Sorry.”
Fuck me…
Sweat beads on the back of my neck, trailing down my skin like a caress that does nothing to cool the fire in my veins.
I need to get a hold of myself. There’s a reason I’m here, and it’s not so I can eye-fuck this handsome alien. Time to change the subject. “So, what brought you to this dusty hellscape?” I ask casually as I start in on the next stitch.
Really, Amara? That’s what you’re gonna go with? Dusty hellscape? I press my eyes closed, wishing I was better at flirting and simultaneously hating myself for wishing that. I’m an enslaved nurse who’s going to be dead in a few hours, and he’s a wounded gladiator. Whatever this is, can’t happen.
“You mean, Calidus?” he says, a sly grin curling his lips.
Shit. He knows I’m trying to flirt.
“Yup,” I say, keeping my eyes low as I throw the first knot of the suture with more force than I need to.
“It is a requirement … of sorts.”
“A requirement?” That piques my interest.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his hand brush over his chest before he scratches the short scruff on his chin. “It is complicated.”
“Oh, come on. You can’t tempt me with a backstory and then hold out at the last second. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a TV or read a book?”
“Why is that?”
I point the forceps at him. “Don’t try to change the subject.”
“Fine,” he relents, “if you must know, it is … I am not sure of the word.” He pauses. “The direct translation would be ‘obligation’. Yes. An ancient obligation for some members of my family. My path has always led here.”
“And …?” I prompt. It’s clear he’s hesitant, but I hold my ground and he breaks.
“It demands that any King or Queen of Vhorath prove themselves in battle before taking the throne. It is a right of passage.”
I laugh. “Right. King Vexar.”
“I am serious,” he says, his tone matching his words.
King.
The heat in my blood turns to ice. Not a slave. Not a gladiator. A king. I slowly set down the needle-driver and forceps. “King? As in, you are a king?”
A pained look crosses his face. “Not exactly. I am still a prince.” He goes silent for a long moment. “Does that bother you?”
“You being a king … or, sorry, a prince?” I ask, my voice grating through the seized muscles in my throat.
He nods, and my thoughts start firing at a million miles a second. He’s a king. Not a slave. Not some guy fighting for a better life. He’s someone in power. Does he know I’m a slave? He has to, right? Then again, he did call this my “job”. Unless he’s playing dumb…
My stomach drops, and whatever feeling of safety I had is overridden by rational thought. He might not seem like a monster, but what do I know? I’ve known him for an hour, max.
And yet, my gut is telling me he isn’t lying. That he isn’t a monster. I mean, he did sound really sincere when he called this my “job.” And why would he say that if he already knew? What would be the point? And why would a king or prince opt out of medical care?
So either he’s lying to me and is just really, really good at playing dumb. Or he has no idea that I’m a slave, and despite being a prince, he was left to die in his cell…
A sickening feeling creeps up my spine. None of this feels right.
“What’s your … uh … kingdom?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm and failing.
His brow furrows. “The Vhorathi Empire.”
Empire. Not kingdom. I clench my hands together and watch my knuckles go white. “Where is this empire?”
The lines between his brows deepen, but he still looks so damn kind. So gentle and sincere. Like he thinks I might have hit my head or something. “Here, Amara. The Vhorathi Empire is here.”
Nausea rises in my throat as I remember the woman the Magistrate brought.
The ‘Queen’. But no matter how hard I think about it, I just can’t imagine Vexar being related to that woman.
His eyes are too kind. Too gentle. Too trustworthy.
Maybe I’m being foolish, but I’ve always trusted my gut, and my gut is rarely wrong.
“You’re really a prince to this … empire? You’re not just messing with me?” I ask.
“Why would I lie about that?” he asks earnestly. Then he points to the large, scrolling tattoo that covers most of his chest, and when I show no sign of recognition, he deflates a bit. “It is my family lineage.”
At this point, it’s clear he thinks I’m some sort of idiot, but I think that’s a good thing. If he knew why I was here, he wouldn’t be surprised that I don’t know any of this. He would expect it. Slaves aren’t usually given history lessons, right?
“So Calidus is part of the Vhorathi Empire?” I ask, still needing extra confirmation.
“Yes.”
Over the next few minutes, I learn there are hundreds of star systems in this empire, there are no other royal families nearby, and he has never been to the Coliseum before.
“How do you not know any of this? You live here,” he asks.
A part of me wants to tell him, but the other part isn’t interested in what will happen once he knows about my situation. The last thing I want is pity … or to learn that he really is a monster and I read him all wrong. So instead of answering, I deflect.
“I guess this explains why you were so pissed when I wouldn’t help you find the thread. Let me guess, you’re used to people doing whatever you tell them to, right?”
He scoffs. “I was asking for your help.”
“Your version of ‘asking’ kinda sucks.”
His lips pinch, no longer amused by my snark. “You could have just said my title bothers you.”
Shit. I went too far. I shake my head. “Sorry. It’s not that. Really. I’m just … surprised.”
He eyes me suspiciously before grunting a sound of acceptance and brushing a hand over his chest again.