Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 110600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 553(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 553(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Nassakth grunts. “It will take time for both of us to understand one another, but this is a good start. We must talk through questions before assuming the worst.”
“Easy for you to say when you hold all the power,” I tell him lightly. “I’m the vulnerable party here.”
“You are,” he agrees. “We can change that. Would you like a weapon?”
“Like a gun?” When he nods, I’m utterly astonished—and a little excited. “Really?”
“Really. I want you to be safe, even if you feel you must be safe from me.” He runs a hand over the controls of the air-sled. “And unlike the fools that gave you this piece of junk, I will even show you how to use your gun.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. This might be the kindest thing anyone’s done for me yet.
He nods. “Also, you are wise not to trust anyone. You are right that most of the people here on this planet are out for themselves—even Bethiah. Especially Bethiah,” he amends. “But I hope that being mated to me will keep you safer.”
“Because you’re going to show me how to use a gun?”
His eyes seem to glitter as he looks at me. “Because I would rip the throat out of any male that tried to take advantage of my mate and drink his blood with fierce joy.”
I shiver. “Or that.”
Nassakth clears his throat and then gets out of the sled. He moves to my side and opens the door, then holds his hand out for me to take. “Come. I will show you our home.”
Our home. I’m not sure if that’s exciting or terrifying. Everything’s changing so quickly. I gaze down at his big, intimidating hand. You have to trust someone at some point, right? So I put my hand in his and let him lead the way.
16
KIM
The interior of Nassakth’s house is as impressive as the exterior. I expect it to be cold and austere like a lot of the places in port, but the walls are a pale stucco embedded with a lot of windows that makes everything feel warm and inviting and full of light. The floor is a light colored tile, and everywhere I look, there are bright green plants in pots and crawling over planters. Vines trail along nooks near the ceiling, and frame an archway that leads to a living area.
I glance over at Nassakth. “You like plants?”
“Love them, actually.” He clasps his hands behind his back and rocks on his heels. “When I was a gladiator, we were kept in very spare cages with dirt floors. I remember one of the first rewards I received from winning a match. My owner was given a very showy plant and a ribbon, and he gave the plant to me because he thought it smelled bad. I kept it for many years until it died, giving it a portion of my water rations, and it was the only greenery I saw. I told myself if I ever got free, I would surround myself with living things so I would see them everywhere I turned.”
“That’s beautiful.” I know how he feels. Didn’t I swear all kinds of things once I got my freedom? That I would never be owned again. That I would never be forced to do anything I didn’t want to do ever again. Clearly I should have specified. “What happened to your owner?”
“He died,” Nassakth says flatly. “Come. I will show you the kitchen.”
The kitchen itself has less greenery than the rest of the house, though there is a large square window with small pots growing along the ledge.
“Herbs,” the praxiian explains. “My people like herbs.”
“But not flowers,” I comment, thinking of the noli.
“No. Not flowers.” He hesitates. “Some like them too much, but I am not one of them.”
I remember how he’d groaned with pain last night and accused me of being cruel and torturing him. It took me far too long to connect the dots on the flowers with his actions, and I feel a little guilty. Only a little, though, because what else was I supposed to think?
He leads me through more large, breathtaking rooms filled with greenery and mentions that he has a local man come by and clean for him once a week. I stare in amazement at a huge room full of athletic equipment and another that is full of vid-screens and technological things past my comprehension. There’s a weapon room, too, with swords and axes and stun-weapons of every kind lining the walls in neat, orderly fashion. There’s a large display unit in the center of the room that’s meant to show three-dimensional movies. I remember seeing something like that because my old master had something along those lines. I walk toward it and tap it on, fascinated.
“Select date of match,” a computerized voice says in praxiian.