The Alpha Gladiator (5 page)

Through the night he contemplated
the dilemma as he held his female close.
 
The responsibility of what he needed to accomplish weighed heavy on his
shoulders.
 
When the collar on Aleirah
’s neck buzzed,
he sat up and stared at it just before her eyes flew open in panic and her
fingers came up to claw at the thing.
 
She gasped for breath and Ravage realized it was strangling her.
 

“
Aleirah!
”
Fear poured
through him.
 
Fuck!
 
Was he going to watch her die? His heart
pounded with terror. He tried to pull the metal away from her throat, but it
was so tight he wasn’t able to get any traction with breaking it and without
hurting her.

“No!
 
Stop this!” The collar had to be activated
remotely, which meant it was controlled by someone.
 
No doubt it was that fucking Felix. Ravage
silently vowed to tear the mother fucker apart with his bare hands.
 
“Don’
t kill her!
”

The door swished open and he looked
up see the lanista.
 
In his hands was a
small device.
 
By now, Aleirah
’s face had
turned from red to an ugly purple color, and she writhed on the bed, clawing at
the collar.
 
Helplessness drove Ravage to
let his wolf through, and his fingers started to curve into claws when
suddenly, Aleirah sucked in a ragged breath.
 
Her body slumped to the bed as she gasped and coughed, able to breathe.

“Just
like that, I can take her away from you,” Felix said smugly.
 

“You
almost killed her!”
 
Ravage took a
threatening step toward him, mindless of his nudity. Felix held up the remote
and mockingly shook his head.
 
Ravage
halted.

“I
have no desire to harm a woman, even one as temperamental as she.”
 
Felix smiled. He gestured to the guards
behind him to come forward. “How fortuitous you care about her. Perhaps on your
first win in the arena, you’ll get the chance to have her again—”

“You
said wives could stay with husbands,” Ravage snarled.

He placed himself in front of her,
ready to attack and
defend
his mate, but Felix held up
the remote control once again.
 
Ravage
hated the helpless feeling that coursed through him.
 
Anger welled up.
Potent.
 
All-consuming.
 
He debated for half a second if he could get
to Felix before the asshole hit the button, and actually let his claws come
through a fraction in preparation for an attack.
 
Then the guards rushed toward them, intent on
getting Aleirah, and Ravage pounced.
 
He
caught one man across the throat and blood sprayed across the wall
. Ravage turned
and punched another man in the face.
 
He
was ready to turn into full wolf until a ragged gasp of his name had him
halting and spinning.
 
Aleirah was on the
ground, clawing at the collar once more.
 
He dropped his defensive position to go to her and he was knocked across
the back of the head.

Ravage fell forward.
 
Aleirah slumped over as the torture stopped
and Ravage watched through bleary eyes as she was led out of his cell.
 
Pain radiated through his skull and he
absently wondered how many times someone could get hit in the head before
serious damage was inflicted.
 

“
Get up,
” Felix ordered coldly.

Ravage sucked in a deep breath and
pushed to his knees.
 
He glared up at the
lanista, pouring all his hate into the look, just as the force field went back
up.
 

“Honor
states wives stays with their mate,” Ravage said in a low tone.

“Yes,
I did say honor dictated that, but if it’s one thing I’ve learned in the twelve
years I’ve run this ludus, it’s that honor has no foothold in the fight between
life and death.”
 
A little smirk turned
the corners of his mouth.

“You
hurt her and I will tear your throat out,” Ravage vowed.

Felix laughed at him and turned to leave.

“
Wait!
” Ravage surged forward, hand out, only to cry out
as it touched the force field.
 
The tips
of his fingers were dark with burn marks. Ravage cradled his hand.
 
“Give me back my mate.”

“You
don’t seem to understand that you are not Alpha here,” Felix said coldly.
 
“You are nothing but a drudge that needs
training in order to survive in the arena.
 
Let me tell you how this works.
 
There are eight levels of fighting in this arena, each one more advanced
than the last. If you win at Kappuah, you will be labeled a gladiator and
advance to Sennex Prime.
 
If you win
there, you win your freedom.
 
You have no
bargaining chips here.”

Ravage thought quickly.
 
If he won but his men did not, he would lose
them and be separated from Aleirah.
 
Once
again, Felix turned to walk away.

“What
if we all fought?” Ravage demanded.
 

Felix
halted and looked at him questioningly.
 
“What do you mean?”

“You
said it yourself.
 
Ten of my men are
whelps.
 
The equivalent
of teenagers really.
 
They know
how to fight but haven’t yet had formal training.”
 
Ravage took a deep breath.
 
“Put all of us in the arena, against your
best eighth level champions.”

Felix
snorted.
 
“I would lose out on a
multitude of revenue.”

“Up the admission fee.
 
Hail it as the greatest fight of all time.
 
You said it yourself, Lycanis warriors are
legendary.
 
Surely people will be
flocking to Kappuah to see this amazing display of savagery.”

Felix
folded his arms and stared at Ravage.
 
“I
can … see the marketability.”

Satisfaction
sliced through Ravage.
 
He waited on
tenterhooks as Felix thought over his proposition.
 
Finally, the lanista nodded.

“Ten
teenagers
would
need years of
training since they wouldn’t generate that much revenue if put in the arena as
is.
 
That would cut into my profits.
 
This, however, would be something new. I
think the people will enjoy having a different type of fight.”
 
This time when Felix turned away, Ravage let
him.
 
“Be prepared for training first thing
in the morning.”

“
Wait!
 
Aleirah—
”

“You
will get your mate when you demonstrate you are sincere in training and
winning.”

Felix
walked out of the cell without looking back.

Chapter
Five

Ravage stood with his men inside a
mock arena, under the scrutiny of the gladiator trainer as the man marched up
and down the line.
 
He was a big man,
muscular, with a long scar dissecting his face.
 
It didn’t take much of the imagination to figure out how he became
marked.
 
The trainer studied each man,
looking him up and down.

“I
can smell Aleirah on you,” Fray murmured, keeping his voice low.

“We
are mated,” Ravage replied.
 
“You must
protect her at all costs.”

Fray nodded.
 
“Yes, my Alpha.”

The trainer paused beside Ravage,
and he had to fight the urge to allow his wolf out, to cleave the man in two
with his bare hands.
 
To rip all the
fucking people of Kappuah to shreds.
 
It
would be easy, except he didn
’t know where Aleirah was being held. So for now,
he’d keep to the plan tentatively forming in his head. The trainer gave one
last look over Ravage before turning his back and marching the other way.
 

“The
gladiator games are the highlight of the people’
s weekend,
”
the trainer said loudly, addressing them all.
 
“And they are the only things to matter in your life from now on, until
you either succumb to the wounds you’ll receive inside the arena or if you’re
lucky enough to survive the eight levels of Kappuah and find freedom.”

He stopped in front of the youngest
of Ravage
’s
men, a mere pup at only fourteen years.
 
He’d been at the adult’s camp during the mating celebration since he was
too young to participate.
 
Now he stood
in this line, trying to appear older than his years.

The trainer laughed mockingly.
 
“What I see before me are ones too wet
behind the ears to be worthy of the name gladiator.” He waved his hand
dismissively.
 
“I have no wish to waste
time training those who’ll piss themselves before succumbing to the blade.”

Ravage
felt the sting
of the insult down to his soul, and apparently so did his men.
 
Fray growled and took a step forward, his
intent to attack clear.
 

“No,”
Ravage whispered.
 

Fray frowned at him but obeyed.
 
Ravage looked toward the trainer, who watched
him speculatively, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
 
Ravage couldn
’t help but think he’d somehow
played right into the trainer’s hands.

“You
will call me Magister,” the trainer said.
 
“I will train you.
 
Push you.
 
Judge you.
 
And maybe, you will survive long enough to see your next birthday.”

Magister clapped his hands once and
a dozen men walked out of the ludus housing.
 
They were large men, muscular.
 
Dressed for fighting.
 
Each man had anger and determination gleaming in their eyes.
 
They were all from different worlds, some
species Ravage recognized, but most he did not.
 
Not that he cared.
 
The Kappuah
assholes did not know the true nature of the Lycanis warriors, or if they did,
chalked it up to nothing but legend.
 

“These
are the fighters you’ll face upon the end of training.” The Magister told all
of them, but his gaze stayed on Ravage.
 
“You’ll have one week to prepare for their blades.”

“They
look like children,” one of the gladiators said mockingly.
 
The others laughed at the Lycanis warriors.

Ravage looked forward to showing
them some myths were based in truth.

* * * *

The days were endless, training from
sun up to sun down.
 
Under the hot,
baking sun, the Magister put fake swords and shields in their hands since all
technology was banned in the arena.
 
It
would be too easy a kill if weapons like blasters were allowed.
 
Men had to fight using only their hands, or
with ancient weapons like swords and axes.
 
Anything else was illegal, and if caught with anything other than the
most basic of implements, punishment was death.

Ravage had trained to fight as a
wolf.
 
Using something other than his
claws was proving to be a challenge.
 
Even with wooden swords, the bruises were numerous and deep.
 
He learned swiftly when to duck and how to
take a hit.
 
He and his men didn
’t train with
those that they were to fight, although they were in the same training field.
 
Instead, they trained alongside others that
had been recently stolen as well, taken from their homes in the same manner as
he and his men.
 
Ravage saw the anger
burning in their gazes and wondered if there would be a chance to use the hatred
they felt.

“Ravage!”
the Magister called out, bringing a halt to the training.
 

Ravage stood up from his crouching
position, waiting to hear what the man wanted.
 
The magister walked between him and the man he
’d been sparring
with and looked him over from head to toe.
 

“You
have some training,” the Magister said.
 
“I see it in your stance.
 
But you
are undisciplined.
 
You move too fast,
intent for the kill, when sometimes it’s prudent to bide your time.”

Ravage lifted his chin.
 
He was the fiercest warrior to his men.
 
What need did he have for such things like
waiting
?

“Fray!”
the Magister called out.
 
“Come here.”

Ravage
’s second in command walked over
to him.
 
He glanced at Ravage warily.

“You
two shall fight,” the Magister said.
 
“Watch your timing.
 
Learn when
and where you hesitate to thrust the sword.
 
Begin.”

He stepped back.
 
Ravage eyed Fray.
 
They
’d never fought each other simply
because Lycanis men knew their place within the structured order of their
society.
 
It was a sense they’d been born
with.
 
Ravage knew he was Alpha, just as
Fray knew he was beta.
 

Now, they were forced to
fight, even if it was only for practice.
 
The two men stared at each other, nodded, and then practiced sparring. They
moved easy at first, light and quick, but eventually moving into a more complex
rhythm.
 

Ravage
’s movements were precise,
perfectly positioned, the footwork sure and strong.
 
He kept his eyes trained on Fray and seemed
to anticipate each thrust or jab with a unique movement of his own.
 
As muscular as he was, it was not a
hindrance.
 
Both welded their weapons
with grace and it was clear he was not using the opportunity to try to beat
Ravage at any type of showmanship.

“Enough!”
the Magister snapped.
 
“This is not what
I asked for!”

He marched over and yanked their
wooden swords away.
 
He threw them to the
ground and then looked over at the gladiators who trained on the opposite side
of the small arena.
 

“Slayer!”
The gladiator in question stopped his
training and bowed to him.
 
“Over
here.
 
Show this Lycan Alpha what timing
is all about.”

Ravage didn
’t know what
species Slayer was, but the man was big and a few inches taller. A tinge of red
ran over his shoulder blades and down his arms, giving him a sinister
appearance. They were handed swords made of metal and Ravage looked at it
grimly.
  
As the fight began, it was
immediately clear to
Ravage
that the dance was more
than just training.
 
The sparring match
was over.
 
Slayer’s blade came down a
little more forcibly little by little until suddenly the stakes had turned and
they fought a real battle with a real expected outcome.

Muscles tensed as Ravage thrust and
ducked, jabbed and swiped.
 
He was after
vital areas and was doing a damn fine job repelling Slayer
’s swords, even
though the other man was clearly the better swordsman.
 
He kept retreating to the edge of the circle,
driven back by Ravage’s push.
 
Ravage
knew he had the match.

Suddenly Slayer bent and attacked
with a sidekick that caught Ravage in the stomach.
 
He expelled a lungful of breath and buckled
slightly, leaving himself open to let Slayer swing around with another kick and
knock the blade out of his hand. The metal blade caught under his chin, halting
Ravage.
 

“Do
you see now the advantage to waiting for the right time to strike?” the
Magister asked.

Ravage didn
’t say a
word.
 
He refused to take his gaze off
the man holding the sword at his throat.
 
But he’d definitely learned his lesson well.

“Enough,
Slayer,” the Magister said, and the gladiator immediately backed away.
 

Ravage stood up and faced the
trainer.
 

“It’s
a concept you’d best learn in two days.”
The Magister turned away, leaving Ravage staring after him as the final pieces
to his plan fell into place.