Captive (21 page)
Addy caught another glimpse of the patch. “If you don’t want to think about home, why hold on to Donald?”
Max drew his sword, pointed the steal blade at her chest. Her heart stopped.
“Since you’re obviously not tired. You take the first watch.” The gladimort plunged into the hoarfrost-covered snow at her feet. He turned and crawled inside their shelter. “Wake me in three hours.”
Addy stared at the weapon until her breathing normalized. It appeared the evening wasn’t the only dark and bitter thing she’d have to put up with.
R
egan stepped out of his bathing pool. Muddy grass squished between his toes. The sun warmed his wet, naked body and seeped into his muscles, which were still pumped up from today’s awesome training session. He’d been undefeated in every match since returning victorious from the Survival Race Championship. But what else had anyone expected? No gladiator from HuBReC’s Yard could compete worth a damn. He needed something to sharpen his skills. He needed a bigger challenge.
On the opposite side of the pool, a large body swished through the cattail weeds. Duncan emerged with a bottle of whiskey in hand. He hadn’t requested the alcohol. The old fart wanted something.
“Regan, me lad. Ye made a mighty impressive show in the Survival—”
“Cut the crap, Gramps. We both know who you bet on and why. You must have been pissed when my sword plunged into that bastard’s belly and out the other side. Heard you lost half your treasure.”
“And do ye believe every lie told to ye?”
“State your business, old man, before I plunge my sword into you.”
Duncan did that throat-clearing thing most people did when talking to him. He liked that noise, that sound of anxiety. Though it was a lesser fear on the terror spectrum, it was fear nonetheless.
“Aye. Well, I canna find Addy.”
“So my newest pet has finally left her kennel.”
And thinks she can hide. How amusing.
There wasn’t a man or beast he couldn’t track down.
“’Tis more than that. Yesterday a HuBReC doctor found Addy’s collar hidden in an examination room. Ferly Mor was so concerned, we left his symposium before he presented his research.”
Shock collars were deactivated in the exam rooms. If she cut it off and concealed it there, her master wouldn’t have been alerted. “Clever little minx, isn’t she?” Not only was the woman athletic and spirited, she was cunning, too. She had all the ideal genetics for breeding champion gladiators.
Then why the hell did the Hyboreans pair her with fucking Max first? He’d always hated getting that bastard’s sloppy seconds. Well, now that he was officially the Survival Race Champion, he’d never get anyone’s seconds again. “Since your master has failed to locate her, you’ve come to me.”
“Aye, but she isna’ alone. Another choker had been found with hers.”
“Whose?”
“It belongs to the alpha gladiator Max.”
Anger surged through him. Max was no longer an alpha. “That damn loser is hiding my broodmare?”
“I dinna think they are hiding. I fear the pair have escaped.”
“Impossible.” Though he knew it wasn’t.
“Have ye forgotten Max had escaped once before?”
Had he forgotten? Who the fuck could forget the most excruciating pain he’d ever endured? Because of Kedric and Max’s stunt, every one of Xanthrag’s gladiators had been mortally punished. He’d been starved, beaten, and mutilated to death four times until Max had finally been recaptured months later. Thank the spirits for that. He didn’t know if he could suffer another systematic snapping of every bone in his body.
Needless to say, those months of torture turned his childhood idol into his mortal enemy.
On the bright side, Xanthrag’s abuse had trained him to become the toughest Survival Race competitor. He could withstand more pain than any other human on the planet. Not to mention that after Max had been tortured and sold to the Hyborean subclass, he’d claimed alpha status in HuBReC’s Yard.
In reality he should thank Max, but he preferred breaking his spirit instead. He never got tired of that game.
“Aye, I suppose ye havna forgotten.” The twinkle in Duncan’s eye and his knowing tone sent fire through Regan’s veins. Heat spread through him and he could almost hear the water droplets sizzle on his naked skin. “Fear not, lad. Neither Max nor Addy belong to Xanthrag. I’m sure ye won’t be receiving your master’s wrath again.”
He barely felt his knuckles connect with Duncan’s temple, but the old fool dropped hard, knocked out with one punch. Regan claimed the whiskey bottle, stepped over the lump of a body, and left in search of an unwilling woman or two.
He craved a few spirits to break.
How dare that bastard steal his broodmare?
F
or five more days, they trekked through the snow. When they couldn’t jog anymore, they’d walk. When they couldn’t walk, they’d rest. At night, they dug their shelters and huddled in them, taking turns keeping watch.
So far no living creature had come close enough to threaten them. Neither had a living creature come close enough for
them
to threaten, except for the lemmings Max seemed to have a knack for finding in their shallow burrows.
It was amazing what a starving pregnant woman could eat raw.
Survival of the fittest,
she kept reminding herself. But as they trudged through each long, cold day and dug out snow each freezing night, she didn’t feel fit at all.
As soon as their makeshift shelters were finished she’d curl up next to Max’s warm body and fall asleep, sometimes before she shrugged out of her backpack. Then when Max woke her for her watch, he’d be out before his head hit the snow.
Constantly drained, they barely spoke.
Which was probably a good thing—because if she opened her mouth it would be to bitch. She was starving, freezing, and exhausted. Every fiber in her body ached with a pain she never knew could exist. She had blisters in places she didn’t think possible.
There was no point complaining about it. Max felt the same fatigue. What he didn’t feel, though, was pressure in his pelvis and back, a soccer ball on his bladder and sore boobs.
The bastard.
Her only saving grace was the Ice Mountains. Every day the majestic mountain range grew higher and higher until the peak touched the sky thousands of feet up. Hiking through its foothills these past two days energized her with new hope. They were almost to the base of their second goal.
Rays of sunlight on this clear morning caught the ice, and it sparkled like brilliant diamond walls. A gentle arctic wind danced about her, blew dusty ice kisses on her cheeks, and carried to her the faint scent of black licorice.
“Get down.” She grabbed Max’s arm, pulling him with her to the ground.
“What is it?”
“I smell Hyboreans.” She searched the foothills for signs of the aliens.
The muscles in Max’s arm relaxed beneath her gloved hand. “It’s the Tuniit village.”
She gave him a hard stare. “Who are the Tuniit?”
“Aboriginal Hyboreans.”
“They’re what?”
“They're a nation of spiritual Hyboreans. They still live like their ancestors did hundreds, maybe thousands, of years ago.”
She studied Max’s face under the week’s growth of stubbly beard. He was hiding something. As usual. “You said we were heading for the ice caves. You never mentioned a village.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t see the village from the incinerator plant.”
“Bullshit.” She flipped a clump of snow into his lying eyes. Too bad he was wearing goggles. “You didn’t tell me about Xanthrag’s house or the garbage chute until we were there. You didn’t tell me about the incinerator plant or Lucky until we were practically there. And you didn’t tell me about this village until now. Why do you insist on keeping everything a secret?”
He wiped the snow from his goggles before he stood and extended his hand to help her up. “I like having an advantage.”
She slapped his hand out of her way and stood on her own volition. “What advantage could you possibly gain by keeping me in the dark? It’s not like I’m going to leave you behind or anything.”
His gaze dropped to the snow before bouncing back to her.
Good, let him feel uncomfortable. “Maybe if I knew what our next move was, I could help you with it.”
“Here’s the thing,” he said. “This isn’t a democracy. There’s one leader. Me. You wanna know why?”
“Is it because you’re a self-centered, egotistical control freak?” She flashed him a plastic smile.
“It’s because I understand the rules on this planet. Your entire frame of reference doesn’t exist here. So to save me from having to argue with you and your Earth-generated ideals, I’ll just let you know the plan when we get there.”
“You’re an ass.” She hiked uphill past him.
“Tell me, woman,” he said, falling in stride beside her, “what would be your next step? Enter the village? Go around it? Sneak in at night to steal food and maybe some sort of transportation? You know nothing of these aliens.”
Her fingers clenched as she imagined wrapping them around his neck and choking the smugness out of his voice. “First, I’d get a look at these aliens. See who they are and what they’re up to so I could make an informed decision.” She crouched down, crawled to the snowy crest, and peered over.
Tiny clusters of icehouses sprawled through the valley below from the base of their foothill to the base of the ice caverns and continued east and west as far as she could see. Hyboreans, humans, and other beasts freely roamed between the icehouses. Two Hyboreans were cutting up a body of meat the size of a walrus. Another was leaving the village on the equivalent of a giant dog sled.
It reminded her of an Eskimo village. Or at least what she imagined an Eskimo village from the past might have looked like.
“Well?” Max asked. “What’s your plan?”
“We waltz into town in broad daylight, announce we’re here, ask for food, and trade for transportation.”
He regarded her with bright, green eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you think these Hyboreans won’t capture you?”
“The smoke holes. The smaller igloos have them. The big ones don’t.”
“Which means?”
“That if the humans were pets in the Tuniits’ homes, the big houses would have to have smoke holes, too.”
“Maybe the Tuniits don’t believe human animals belong inside their homes.”
“Maybe. But you told me these aliens were spiritual, which makes me believe they live in peace with man. You also said they live like their ancestors did hundreds of years ago. Since they live in snow houses, cut up their meat outside, and drive dogsleds, it stands to reason they don’t have any other technology like shock collars to keep people from leaving. Am I right?”
Max took his time before nodding his head. He didn’t seem very happy she had figured it out. He even had the nerve to look disappointed. Should she tell him she had known they were safe the moment his muscles had relaxed under her hand when he announced this was the Tuniit village?
Nah. Max’s easy-reader body language was
her
advantage.
“Well done,” he finally said. He stood, brushed snow off him, and adjusted his baldric before starting down the hill toward the village.
X
anthrag sublimated the door, and Regan followed his master inside the tack room. He hadn’t been in here since the day he’d left for the Survival Race Championship, so hadn’t seen the new hologram images playing on the wall. The final battle against Max caught his eye.
He could feel his heartbeat increasing as he watched the beaten and bloodied images fighting to the death. Damn, he looked powerful. And his skills and techniques were quite impressive, if he did say so himself. And though he hated to admit it, Max had been a formidable opponent.
He couldn’t wait for the next survival race so he could kill the bastard again.
When the fatal blow entered Max’s holographic gut, adrenaline surged through Regan as if he were right back in the action. He jumped and pumped a fist in the air. “Yeah! Take that, you bastard.”
His hologram double pulled the sword—now covered in blood and tissue—from Max’s body. The life slowly drained from the loser’s ugly green eyes. He’d forgotten that he stomped his crampon engaged boot on Max’s chest, and giggled as he remembered how hard he had to jerk his leg to get it out of the damn corpse.
Xanthrag’s heavy paw tousled Regan’s hair. The Hyborean’s pride and satisfaction smacked him and then vanished, as though his master had given him a mental high five before moving on to some other thought.
The new thought seemed agitated.
The mood swing seemed sudden, even for Xanthrag. Regan followed his master to the thermal suits hanging on the wall pegs. No wonder the Hyborean was agitated—some suits were missing their matching tops or bottoms. Someone would be getting his ass kicked for that.
As Xanthrag matched the garments, hanging them on the correct pegs, an icy chill sliced through Regan’s soul. The feeling came from his perception of Xanthrag’s anger.
One peg was bare.
Shit. Xanthrag’s gladiators knew better than to misplace their gear. Mistakes were never tolerated. Their master was neither lenient nor forgiving.
If Regan got punished again because of another gladiator’s stupidity, that would be the last mistake that gladiator ever made. He’d mangle their body past the point of reawakening.
Regan rummaged through the equipment boxes looking for the suit, but it wasn’t there. And neither was all the equipment. He counted fourteen pairs of boots and goggles. There should have been sixteen.
This was no mistake. This was theft.
Only one person would have the balls to steal them. But how the hell did he get in and out of the room?
Though Xanthrag made no real sound, Regan sensed an angry growl. It didn’t take more than a minute before Xanthrag’s servant ran into the room. Xanthrag lashed out with what Regan could only interpret as the snarls and growls of an angry smilodon ready to bite the tender neck of its prey.