“The man is out of his mind,” Kalek said, hissing as he stopped in front of us, his breathing heavy.

  “What are you talking about?” Braga demanded.

  “Shandar is determined to fight. He refuses to listen to reason.”

  “What? Is he trying to get himself killed?” Braga slammed his hand against the wall.

  “What’s going on?” I couldn’t help but ask, seeing the concern on their faces.

  Kalek shifted his eyes in my direction. “Shandar is fighting in the Pen tonight, which means he has a death wish. He’s a fool or he’s trying to impress the chancellor.”

  “Zatar won’t give a shit about the game even if he hears the news. What will that matter?” Braga closed his eyes, his upper lip curling. “He’s battling for continued control of the ship, making certain that the soldiers understand he is the true leader.”

  “That may be true, but he’s allowed the wrong man to face him. Shandar is out of practice, weak in his abilities. We should not allow this.”

  “You have no choice in the matter. Shandar would cut you down for your words, brother,” Braga snapped. “Who is the opponent?”

  “The human who calls himself Killer,” Kalek spit out, laughing. “He’s the strongest of the humans and he has nothing to lose, his freedom to gain.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would he do this?” I demanded the answer. The look shared between them indicated more secrets that they were both unprepared to tell me.

  “The human can’t win, but there is nothing we can do. Shandar’s leadership has been questioned since he set foot on this ship, accepting this blasphemous mission. This is his opportunity to shut down the rumors and the contention. He knows what he’s doing, but the Gods above need to be by his side,” Braga said between clenched teeth before heading down the hall.

  “If he loses this battle, the Cenzans are the ones who lose the war.” Kalek’s voice reverberated, trailing behind us.

  Braga’s hand was firmly wrapped around my leash as he bolted into an open doorway and onto a balcony. I was shocked seeing the number of Cenzans surrounding us, encircling an area below. The chants were empowered, some even raising their fists. He allowed me to look over the ornate railing onto what reminded me of a dirt floor, two doors opening into the stadium-size area. The dark and dingy area was highlighted by the same amber lighting, accentuating the starkness, casting an eerie glow. There were two stations housing weapons: swords and sticks, knives in various sizes, the steel gleaming even in the shadows. The scent of testosterone was strong, rippling throughout the arena. There was also another stench, one that assaulted my senses.

  Blood.

  Standing at the height I was, the enormous area was overwhelming. A wave of acrophobia jetted into my system, forcing a white-knuckled hold on the cold metal. The roar of the crowd was deafening, driving every conscious thought to the edge of reason. There was nothing else but open space. This was a killing zone.

  “This is the Pen,” he stated quietly, flanking my side, his grip on the railing firm.

  “Why do this? Why torture people?”

  “Because so much of our world was destroyed by predators. This is what little entertainment we have left, even though I’ve only seen two challenges in my lifetime. Tonight is also a celebration of my life, giving thanks to our abilities to survive. You’re a significant part of the festivities.”

  Festivities. Dear God, these people craved the violence, the bloodshed. Yes, his words were haunting, depicting a harsh life and while I might never be able to understand the significance of these games, I did comprehend the importance. I shuddered and glanced around the circular room. Every soldier was dressed in a different uniform, the various colors no doubt depicting their ranks or maybe their hierarchy. I swallowed, unable to think clearly, to put this into any kind of perspective. The scent of food also permeated the entire closure, rich and decadent, stimulating my senses. This was insanity at its finest, barbaric behavior that had ceased on Earth eons before.

  I had to laugh at my rationalization. Had it really ended on Earth? My imprisonment and near torment came to mind, blasting my concept of humanity. We were the same, just for different reasons. I heard the scattered breath as it left my body and tried to concentrate on the comforting touch Braga was giving me, a form of protection from the aliens who would just as soon tear my body to shreds as seek my redemption.

  “Everyone is here,” he offered, sweeping his hand in a solid arc.

  The seats were positioned behind massive tables, every surface covered with jewel-colored goblets, gilded platters full of various meats and what appeared to be fruit. The scent of chicken and beef wafted into my nostrils and I realized I was famished, my mouth watering. Bottles of various colored liquids were everywhere, males and females drinking, feasting and toasting, as if this was nothing but a party.

  “Aren’t you terrified of the food?” I managed to whisper the question, cognizant that these creatures had no doubt been storing food from our world since the day of their arrival.

  Or before.

  “We have secure facilities providing what our ships have needed. They were commandeered from day one of our arrival.”

  They’d thought of everything. We’d been such fools, taking them at their word, providing them with details of our lifestyles and locations of our food supply.

  “I’m sure you’re hungry. Come, sit and eat.”

  The area in which I was standing was secluded and while not private, there were only three cushioned chairs, a narrow table draped in the most exquisite shade of plum positioned directly behind. Located directly in front were several braided cushions, the appearance of the enclosed space designed for a king. I was no doubt required to remain on the floor, a good little slave, prepared at any moment to please my masters.

  I could feel eyes on me, dozens if not hundreds of people studying my every move, the very fact that I was in such a regal location and with one of the officers. I’d never felt so small, almost helpless. Braga seemed to sense my discomfort, his hand coming to rest on my lower back as he moved behind me, his breath tickling my skin.

  “What do you think?” Braga whispered the question in my ear.

  “I have no idea what to think. You’re entirely different than you portray yourselves to our world.”

  “True enough, sweet slave. This is what you would consider our dirty little secret. We’ve been hosting these kinds of games for centuries, our warriors considered heroes on our world. There are hundreds of children who grow up in the lifestyle, training their entire life for this kind of moment. Sadly, the art is dying given the low birth rate.”

  “And how many die in these events?”

  He chuckled and pulled me away from the railing, pushing on my shoulder until I eased onto the pillows. “Death is considered an honor and their families are compensated in a significant manner.”

  “Does life not mean anything to you? Low birth rates. People riddled with disease. Deaths from your wars. Why can’t you live in peace?”

  He sighed, his expression contorting. “Life is precious in our world, so much so that we’ve survived only by our will to live. I hope one day you can truly understand.” He shook his head as he glanced over the railing. “Let’s just hope that Shandar does know what he’s doing. We can’t lose him. We just can’t.”

  Kalek entered the area, storming in as rage continued to encapsulate his entire being. He shifted onto one of the chairs, immediately placing his hand on top of my head, stroking as he would a cat meowing underneath his feet.

  Braga moved toward the table, pouring three glasses from a studded pitcher. He handed Kalek a glass before placing one in my hand. “Whatever happens, you can’t respond in any manner. Do you understand? Nothing. Not a sound, not a cry. You are here to observe only.”

  I nodded, holding the glass in both hands. The taste was sweet, fruity but to me, the entire situation was far too disconcerting to enjoy. I had mixed emotions, fear and worry but this time, for their leader. My master. I hid behind the glass, observing the joyous festivities. There wasn’t a single Cenzan who wasn’t gleeful, happy with the upcoming event. I suddenly had no appetite, no desire to partake in the event in any manner. I could only watch, listen, and learn. I was even hoping Shandar wouldn’t be killed. He’d already gotten under my skin, slithering his way into my heart.

  Within minutes there was another rumble, only this time the sound emanated from the walls, drumbeats booming in a constant rhythm. The audience was quieted, finding their seats, their hands full of food and drink. I was revolted and anxious but a fraction of my mind, even my spirit held delicious anticipation. I could see everything from this position and as the lights brightened, two spotlights forming on the massive doors, I held my breath.

  I couldn’t understand the initial words as an unseen announcer rallied the crowd.

  “They’re getting ready to introduce the players.” Braga’s whisper held far too much excitement. He was caught up in the melee, the expectation of another victory for their species.

  A puff of white smoke and a thunderous boom was followed by a human entering the arena, his arms in the air. He wore little more than a loincloth, the material barely covering his ass and groin. He wore no shoes and held no weapons. What struck me was his expression—one of glee. He expected to win. The fool. No matter how the battle went, Shandar would somehow survive. All I was able to understand was his name as the announcer screamed, the members of the audience booed.

  “Killer!”

  “He’s not well liked,” Kalek said casually, fisting my hair. He tugged my head, leaning over until he was able to kiss my lips, immediately thrusting his tongue inside my mouth. “But a perfect opponent. Shandar no doubt kept him alive for his brawn alone.”

  I wanted to be disgusted, to push him away, but I was drawn as before, a juiced level of energy sending jagged current into my cells and muscles. He slid one hand into my dress, pinching and pulling my nipple. I was breathless, my pussy clenching. A loud boom drew his attention away and he rose to his feet along with the rest of the crowd, everyone lifting their glass in appreciation.

  “Shandar!”

  The screams and cat-calls were tremendous, the rumble of the crowd’s feet bouncing off the floor and shaking the entire area. Even though Braga was standing, his hand was firmly planted on my shoulder, refusing to allow me to stand. But I could see him, my new master in all his glory.

  Shandar was magnificent, his powerful muscles somehow glistening as he paraded around the room, his arms over his head in a victory stance. The costume-like attire was exactly as I would have imagined, highlighting a true warrior, a man who’d won many battles in his life. He wore arm bands of steel, gold in color, matching the armor covering his chest. He was a gladiator, prepared for any maneuver the human might wish to dole out.

  “They will choose their weapons now,” Braga said absently, his eyes never leaving Shandar.

  “I predict it will all be over in a single round,” Kalek stated before taking a gulp of his drink.

  “Shandar will allow a show, my brother. At least two.” This time, Braga was grinning. He finally sat back in his seat, his fingers toying with the leash. “Are you hungry, little slave?”

  “No.” How could anyone eat during this?

  “You will eat as required.” Kalek’s order was followed by a toss of an apple in my direction. I caught it easily, avoiding throwing the piece of fruit back at him.

  The announcer made another statement then the crowd was silent, not a word, not a laugh or cough could be heard. The participants were selecting weapons. Knives. The shape was long and irregular, jagged on the edges and capable of gutting a man. I knew well enough about various knives and their capabilities; certain guards in the imprisonment camp used them as their weapon of choice.

  I closed my eyes as a single thump of the drum was following by a keening cry from the defender. I couldn’t watch, but the sounds, steel hitting steel, animalistic grunts and groans threw my mind into the past.

  “Fi-o-na.” His grin was laced with evil, his eyes drifting to my breasts. Secured on his side was a razor-sharp knife, the one he always carried, the one I’d seen him murder more than one prisoner with. He licked his lips in an exaggerated fashion as he approached.

  He’d caught me in the shower alone, hugging the stained and ragged towel over my wet body. I should have known better than to come in by myself, but the day in the heat and sun had been brutal, leaving me drained and filthy. I huddled against the chipped tile wall, trying to keep the terror from my face. He fed on fear like a vampire, sadistic in his desires as well as his methods of torture.

  “Come here, little girl. We can make your stay much easier.” He smiled as he closed the distance, ready to take what he believed to belong to him.

  “You’re flushed.” Braga’s face was close to mine, his gentle words yanking me out of my damning vision. I hadn’t thought about the asshole guard in at least a year, or what I’d been forced to do in order to survive.

  “I’m fine.” I gulped almost half the drink as I tried to focus. The fight between Shandar and Killer was vicious, but I could see only a single cut across Killer’s arm. They moved around the arena as if choreographed, lunging their weapons, snarling when missing. Braga kissed my cheek and remained sitting on the edge of his seat.

  The battle went on for several minutes, the crowd rumbling their disapproval. I was drawn to the way Shandar handled himself, practiced and regal, lithe in his movements, tumbling when necessary, jumping backwards when the edge of Killer’s blade came close.

  “He’s doing better than I expected,” Kalek chortled before grabbing the pitcher, refilling yet again.

  “You never had any faith in his abilities. He was taught by the best,” Braga snickered.

  “His father. I admit, King Drateq was masterful during his youth. The scans I’ve watched in the archives were amazing.”

  I shot a glance at Kalek. His father is the king? When Kalek caught my look, he narrowed his eyes. I turned away but now began to understand what the hell was going on. Shandar was prince of his people. He was a true leader. Then why was he on this dangerous mission? I was right. They intended on staying, on building a new regime. The thought left me shaking.

  Round one ended and round two began within seconds. The weapons of choice were swords and I was captivated by the way Shandar swiveled the handle, grandstanding as he took long strides around the perimeter, his eyes never leaving his opponent. The crowd was on their feet, pumping their fists, chanting in encouragement. The fight seemed faster, more aggressive and Killer was getting tired, stumbling and almost succumbing to Shandar’s blade.

  Killer made a wild swing, the tip catching Shandar’s breastplate, the clanging sound sending jitters into the audience. They were amused that Killer was even bothering. With every passing second, my adrenaline increased, pushing my heart rate and pulse into a frenzied state. I was panting, craning my neck in order to see every move, every detail. And soon, I found myself happy when Killer failed with a planned attack.

  I heard the whooshing sound as Shandar sliced the blade, coming down from over his head, the edge catching Killer across the chest. Killer held his ground, throwing his arms out to the side, almost losing his grip on his sword.

  “An excellent round,” Braga said. He ran his fingers up and down my arm in a sensual fashion, brushing the tips aimlessly in circles. I was in a haze of lust and excitement, panting as my eyes scanned the fight.

  “It will be over soon,” Kalek commented.

  I dragged my tongue across my dry lips, able to see the anguish on Killer’s face. He wanted his freedom. He risked everything for this one chance. Shandar couldn’t kill him. But I knew the outcome. I could feel the energy increasing in the room, the surge of desire to see blood spilled. The chanting echoed, and I could no longer stand the noise. Covering my ears, I cowered down, rocking forward and backward. You need to see. You must watch. The little voice refused to allow me any peace.

  The swords clattered together then another whoosh. I threw myself onto my hands, glaring at the world below. Killer had lost his sword. On his knees, his chest heaving, he stared up at the mighty victor, a look of utter hatred on his face.

  Shandar took careful steps closer, his breathing labored and raised the sword over his head with both hands.

  The crowd was silent once again, waiting. Hungering.

  Hesitating, Shandar widened his stance, glaring down at what would be his victory.

  “Do it!” Killer screeched.

  I held my breath. No. No! He couldn’t kill this man. Shandar couldn’t take away his life for a wretched game.

  Rising onto the balls of his feet, Shandar was preparing, the sword gleaming, the crowd on their feet.

  Just as I knew Shandar was ready to strike, I could see his mind, could read his thoughts. And I knew he could read mine. All time seemed to stand still but I was on my feet, racing to the railing the second the audience issued a series of screams and chants. But he heard my cry.

  “No!”

  I was aware of being yanked from the edge, forced over Kalek’s lap, my dress jerked up around my waist. I heard his condemnations regarding my behavior before he whipped me with his hand, moving back and forth across my naked ass.

  I’d seen the look of hurt in Braga’s eyes, my disobedience reflecting on him as my master. And I knew I deserved to be punished.

  The spanking was harsh, the pain coursing throughout my body as his massive hand peppered me with smacks. The crowd continued to roar, angry and harsh. But I didn’t care.

  I felt the sting of a leather strap, moving from the top of one thigh to another, stealing my breath. He continued my punishment for some time, alternating with rubbing my skin. I knew Braga was speaking, trying to explain various rules and requirements. But I wasn’t listening.

  The pain turned into anguish and I accepted without flailing or fighting back, and the reason was simple. Shandar had heard my beleaguered cry, begging him to save Killer’s life.