Corsairs - Straik (Corsair Brothers 3) - Page 129

I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to punch the kef out of his arrogant face. It's fair, I remind myself. It's fair. I did run. It's fair, even if it's irritating. "It was a mistake. I'm committed to taking down this network of slavers, whoever and wherever they may be."

The splice in the cage roars his anger, and one of the uniformed guardsmen glances at us. "I don't think he likes that you're here."

"Too bad," I say, and the cage shakes even harder. I stare at the gladiator clone. In the right marketplace, he'd bring an absolute fortune. I'm not up on my arena rosters, but Crulden the Ruiner is legendary for his viciousness. Even I've heard of him. If someone came across the original and decided to make a dozen of them, all with fragmented minds…it'd be a lot of credits, and a lot of pissed off owners when they found out they weren't sold the original. If that's the case, why wouldn't someone speak out about the fact that they were duped into purchasing a clone?

There's only a few reasons I can think of. One—that they bought him under the table, and two—that the person selling him was untouchable.

All of this seems to point the finger at my darling mother.

I drum my fingers against my leg, watching as the splice hooks his massive tusks over one of the bars and gnaws on it, as if he can chew himself free. "Why the kef did you wake that one up?"

Mathiras hmphs. "Didn't have a choice. His vitals were unstable. Lord va'Rin was concerned that if he'd been left under for much longer, he would have perished."

"He should have," mutters one of the guards.

Crulden's eyes focus on the male. They fill with a bright red—is that blood?—and with a surge of strength, he shoves his bulk against the front of the cage. The bars bend under his weight, and the guards spring into action. They escort us down the hall and lock a safety door behind us, then rush into Crulden's cell. There's the sound of scuffling, and someone shouts in pain. One of the guards races back out, his arm at an odd angle, and leans against the wall, breathing hard. A moment later, Crulden stalks into the hallway, the bars of the cage still hooked (and dragging) to his wrists. One guard clings to his back, jabbing him with a hypodermic needle, and another stabs him with a stun stick.

I finger my own weapon as Crulden's gaze turns toward us. His muzzle is wet with blood, his eyes dark as rubies. He straightens—or tries to—ignoring the guards stabbing at him with tranquilizers—and studies us. "Why is my uncle keeping him?" I ask, wanting to find my mate and haul her back onto the safety of the Eye. "This strikes me as incredibly dangerous."

"It is." Mathiras's voice is flat as he meets Crulden's gaze. "But destroying him also sends a bad message to the humans. If he kills a guard, though, there won't be any saving him."

Crulden's triangular ears—practically lost in the wild tufts of his mane—prick. He narrows his eyes at us, his muzzle contorting into a scowl, and then he stomps back into his quarters.

Impressive hearing on that one.

95

RUTH

"If I'm not a prisoner, where's my keffing husband?" I ask for the millionth time that afternoon.

I mean, I know I'm not a prisoner. I've been handed so much cake and given fresh clothes and a nice big room with an old-fashioned four-poster bed and zero color-changing carpets. I've checked in with the clones, who are having an absolute blast in Port, buying drinks for strange women at the tiny cantina there. They send giddy messages to Kazex and Dopekh about touching fingers and one female that flirted back.

It'd be cute if I wasn't constantly on the lookout for my husband. They seem determined to keep us apart. I'm introduced to Lady va'Rin, who insists that I call her Milly. She introduces us to her children, gives us a tour of the house, and introduces us to her husband. Lord va'Rin is fascinating to me, because he could be an older, more severe version of my Straik. He's austere, dressed in the traditional Homeworld fashion of long, flowing hair and house-monogrammed robes. His horns are richly plated and he sits behind a desk, handling diplomatic calls between small talk. Milly touches his hand and he rubs her fingers briefly, then presses a kiss to them. "I am busy this afternoon, my heart. I will join you all for dinner."

And then we're shuttled back out the door again as he takes another call.

"With the arrival of the refugees from the Buoyant Star, it's been a lot of work for him," Milly explained. "He's ensuring they're given the chance to have a future. A lot of the prominent lords don't want to be bothered. They think he's a human sympathizer, or a deviant. A human-fucker, actually. And he is." She smiled brightly and showed me to our assigned quarters so I could rest up and change for dinner.

Tags: Ruby Dixon Corsair Brothers Fantasy
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