“I know. And I assure you it will go no further,” she promised, still not looking at him so the guards in the distance wouldn’t grow suspicious. “But my hearing is far more acute than that of others. I can hear your heartbeat, your breath, the faint rustle of your clothing.” She smiled. “The gurgling of your stomach. Trust me when I say you’re safer with me knowing. I would’ve long since attacked you, thinking you an enemy trying to creep up on me unawares had Eliana not forewarned me and were I not already familiar with your scent.”
He grunted.
The gate in front of her clunked, then began to rise slowly.
The crowd began to cheer.
“Don’t follow me into the arena,” she ordered. “It would be a distraction that could cost me.”
Another curse befouled the air. “Call me if you need me.”
“Oh, I won’t need you. Enjoy the show.” Grinning big, Simone strutted into the coliseum.
The shouts increased in volume, threatening to deafen her.
Though she knew these assholes had all come to watch her get torn apart by the King Kong/rancor lovechild thing, she jogged a slow circle around the edges of the cage, waving to the one or two hundred thousand alien men, women, and children. (Merde. Parents brought their kids to see this savagery?) Every once in a while, she threw a flurry of mock punches and danced around like her all-time favorite boxer, Muhammad Ali, much to the crowd’s delight. They had expected her to cower in fear, perhaps even be forced into the cage by armed guards, not behave like a returning champion. And they all seemed vastly entertained by the fact that she had no idea she was about to be ripped apart for their pleasure.
Janwar, Soval, Srok’a, Krigara, and Dar had strategically positioned themselves amid the crowd. Those handsome fellows looked grim as hell when Pulcra’s voice blared over a loudspeaker, broadcasting the imminent arrival of his champion like the ring announcer in a professional boxing match.
The crowd quieted. All seated themselves and leaned forward, eager to watch fear overtake her and the slaughter that would ensue.
An even larger gate at the far end of the arena floor began to rise.
Simone halted and turned to face it.
She had to give Pulcra credit. The snail’s pace with which the gate rose certainly heightened the tension. She had plenty of time to surreptitiously don the knuckle guards and was about ready to burst with impatience when she finally spied movement in the shadows beyond it.
The gate halted.
A quiet fell that was so complete she heard someone up on one of the highest benches sniff.
Her heart began to pound. Adrenaline flooded her veins.
Then the Dotharian lunged from the darkness.
Her eyes widened. Holy shit, that thing was huge! Like several-stories-tall huge. Its head alone was easily eight feet from its chin to the top of its forehead.
Once outside the tunnel, it straightened to its full height and roared.
The crowd cheered heartily, then died down as they awaited her response.
A wide grin stretching her lips, Simone cried, “That. Is. Awesome!”
Her King Kong comparison had been a good one, but non-ape characteristics of it were less like the Star Wars saga’s rancor and more akin to Godzilla. Grayish green fur coated long arms bulging with muscle and much of its body in ragged tufts that reminded her of a dog with mange. Its face and powerful chest, on the other hand, bore scales of the same color, and its features were vaguely serpentine with a misshapen snout and a gaping maw that flashed a host of sharp teeth, some of which she estimated were at least a foot long.
The creature raised clenched fists at the crowd and howled again. Those big-ass hands each boasted four clawed fingers and an opposable thumb.
The better to grab me with, she thought wryly.
It walked upright on big bowed legs. Or rather waddled. As it turned in a circle, something about its gait indicated its legs weren’t quite right, as if they had difficulty supporting its weight or something. And between them…
She stared.
It wore a loincloth. Simone wondered idly if that was there for the audience’s benefit or if the Dotharian’s previous opponents had simply drawn the line at being slapped in the face with its big, monster balls while they tried desperately to keep it from killing them.
The beast gave her little time to speculate further as it abruptly focused all of its attention on her. Relying on its massive arms like a gorilla, it charged toward her.
Yeah. She didn’t know what the assholes who genetically engineered the Dotharian had been going for, but they’d obviously gotten some things wrong.
Turning slightly to one side, she adopted a fighting stance and waited to see what it would do.
The crowd quieted again, the boom, boom, boom of the beast’s fists and feet hitting the ground the only sounds.
Just as Simone wondered if it intended to just bowl her over, it halted, dipped its head, and roared right in her face.
Squinting her eyes against the hot, rancid wind buffeting her and the dust the beast had stirred up, she held her ground until it stopped.
The beast glared at her, air huffing in and out of its mouth like a bellows.
Simone coughed and grimaced. “I take it your captors don’t let you brush your teeth.” She waved a hand back and forth in front of her face to clear the air. “Seriously. You need to do something about your breath. That alone could slay your opponents.”
The beast’s brows lowered as it squinted golden eyes that were oddly pretty in its ugly face. And she could tell the spectators weren’t the only ones caught off guard by her response.
Okay, she thought and mentally rubbed her hands together. Let the show begin.
Drawing in a deep breath, Simone stepped closer to the beast and roared right back at it as she wielded the one weapon none of the others could see. Employing her empathic gift, she started sifting through its emotions, intent on altering them and twisting them to her advantage.
If Janwar had eaten anything before the match began, he might very well have soiled his pants when the massive Dotharian raced toward Simone and roared in her face. He was that terrified for her.
She was so tiny compared to it, not even big enough to fill its hand or mouth if it decided to grab her and stuff her inside.
Why was she not afraid?
Why did she not tremble as everyone else who got in the cage with the beast did?
Why the srul did she just stand there and grin?
As he waited, his heart in his throat, one hand creeping toward the tronium blaster he’d concealed, she merely waved a hand back and forth in front of her face and complained about the beast’s breath.
Its breath! Not that anyone close enough to hear her knew that. Most of those present either boasted outdated translators that didn’t contain Earth languages or had no translators at all, and she wasn’t speaking Alliance Common.
Much to his shock, Simone stepped closer to the beast and roared in its face. Not a high-pitched cry or screech, but a full, deep-throated roar he was surprised she could even make.
Eyebrows flying up, he stared.
Srul, everyone stared.
Even the Dotharian seemed taken aback for a moment. Then—head still bent to her level—it opened its massive mouth and snapped at her.
Janwar sucked in a breath.
Simone deftly dodged the beast’s gleaming teeth and swung a tiny fist, landing a punch on its scaled cheek.