Chapter 3
Mak, The Colony, The Pits
What the fuck?
Every Prillon warrior in the stands was climbing down out of their seats to position himself behind Captain Marz. If Marz chose to fight, things were going to get ugly.
The Trion male grinned, bowed to me, then to Gwen, and calmly walked out of the pits through the swinging doors Gwen had flung open earlier.
Our friend, Tane, looked up at me like I’d just shot him in the back with an ion blaster but didn’t move. In fact, every Atlan in the stands was seated like an unmoving mountain, waiting to see what I would do. Waiting for the call to fight for my right to claim the female. There weren’t many Atlans on the Colony. Most didn’t survive the Hive’s attempts to turn them into monsters. But there were at least a dozen in the arena, counting Braun, Tane and myself.
We could give the Prillons below a fierce fight if every Atlan here went into beast mode. It would be a bloody, sweaty melee. Atlan and Prillon alike, they were all hungry for a good fight. Poised like snakes, ready to strike. No one would die, but everyone would bleed. All over the black-haired temptress who had just chosen a monster as her mate. The other males here were far more honorable than I. More deserving. I didn’t deny it. I was a smuggler by trade, a pirate by choice. I chose my battles and my loyalties. And I was not Coalition. I shouldn’t even be here.
Fuck. What a mess.
“What the fuck, Mak?” Braun hissed, turning to look at me. “You?”
Everyone in the pits was staring at me now, but no one else said a word, waiting to see what I would do.
Braun’s eyes were wide and his entire body tense. As if he were stunned by the lieutenant’s answer.
Well, my friend could join the fucking club for that, because I doubted anyone was more stunned than me.
Gwen chose me.
Me.
ME.
Holy fuck.
My heart pounded and I questioned if I’d heard her correctly. But I had, because Braun had heard it, too. Everyone heard her call my name. Even the governor, who had a smug look on his face and his arms crossed as he watched me just like the rest of them. The bastard knew I couldn’t say no. Wouldn’t say no. She was offering me a miracle, and a way off this fucking planet. And the stares? I ignored all of them. I only had eyes for Gwen because she hadn’t looked away from me since she’d called my name.
My name. For a split second, I felt… special. Wanted. Desired, based on the need I saw in her eyes. Beneath the bravado, the intensity in her gaze, I saw hunger. Raw, unfiltered lust. The need for something she wanted me to give her. Not the four males who’d been fighting for her. Not anyone else in the stands. Hells, not even Braun.
Me.
I was growling before I could restrain the impulse, my fangs dropping in my mouth, eager to mark her, fill her with my seed, make her mine forever. But that was the animal side of my nature. Basic instinct. I was more than a Hyperion monster. I was a male with a mind and a will forged of iron.
I could take her. Fuck her. And keep the gods damned poison of my bite away from her. I would not be weak. I would not give in to the urge to claim her.
In fact, I highly doubted she wanted to be claimed. Not permanently. I knew the only reason she agreed to the governor’s terms was to get off this planet. To go on missions and feel useful. Important. Valued.
We were the same, her and I. I heard it in her voice when she argued with the governor, begging to be allowed off this rock, begging to fight the Hive. Go out into space. Get out of the cage.
I’d stood slowly when she’d called my name, holding her gaze. I watched her attention roam over every inch of me with blatant hunger. But the moment of surprised elation was over. Clarity fell like the sharpest sword. Why me? Why the fuck would she choose me? I was from Rogue 5 of all places. And half Forsian besides. I was the last male she should choose in this arena.
And perhaps that was exactly why she had chosen me.
Before her declaration, I’d believed only a handful of warriors on the planet knew of my true origin. I assumed they all thought I was an Atlan.
I’d been wrong. She knew I wasn’t Atlan. Knew I was from Rogue 5.
What else did she know?
Did she know the truth about me? About my bite? Did she know I couldn’t claim her as my own?
If she did, she wasn’t a fool for choosing me, she was taking a calculated risk. None of the rest of the males on this planet would allow her the kind of freedom I suspected she needed. No. These simpletons would get their hands on her, their cocks inside her, and turn into possessive, overly-protective, controlling mates. They’d want to breed her and keep her locked safely in her cage. A gilded cage, to be sure, but a prison all the same.