"You smell like fear," he says thickly, his teeth bared in the most menacing way I've seen. His eyes are flooding with red, but his spikes haven't come out, which means the situation can still be saved.
"He was asking me creepy questions about female health and I didn't like it," I lie quickly. I pat Crulden's chest. "Seriously, it's okay. There's no reason to get mad."
He points a long, thick claw at the scientist. "You do not talk to her. She's mine."
The scientist opens his mouth to protest and then snaps it shut again. Smart man. He nods quickly and then hurries away, surrounded by guards. I'm left with Crulden, who looks ready to lose his shit, and the other gladiator, who is discreetly trying to leave the ring before Crulden attacks him with this newfound rage. He's been moving through his paces all day, Crulden, but he hasn't been amped up like this, and I think everyone acknowledges that it's dangerous. I watch the clones ready their shock-sticks, and the trainer activates his, too.
"Hey," I say softly again. "Focus on me. Eyes on me."
Crulden finally looks at me instead of the scientist's retreating back. "You are all right?"
"I said I was, didn't I?" I give him a brilliant, casual smile and then smack his sweaty chest. "You, my friend, are very ripe, though. You stink."
The red floods out of his eyes again just as quickly as it came on, and he huffs out a small laugh, then leans forward in a threatening way. "Don't make me rub my sweat on you."
I squeal and race away, back to the safety of the sidelines. "Gross!"
Am I acting a little silly and girly in front of everyone? Sure. But Crulden's got that almost-smile on his face, and his eyes are not danger-red, and the moment has been saved. He turns back to the trainer and lumbers into the arena pit again. He puts his hands on his knees and waits for his next opponent, and I'm just glad that this didn't go down like it could have.
I'll talk to him about it later tonight, when we're alone. I'll remind him that he needs to think about both of us, and that sometimes my scent is just that—a scent. That I'm not in physical danger if I have an unpleasant conversation.
Tonight, I decide. We'll get it all out in the open so he calms down.
After training is done, I head off to the kitchens to get food for Crulden. I make sure to get a double portion for him—if he's not sleeping, at least I can stuff him full of good food—and an additional portion for me. I watch all of it as it's prepared to make certain nothing gets added, and ignore the smirks of the overseer, who's watching the kitchens.
"Don't get too proud," he warns me. "Once Crulden's no longer fascinated with that little human cunt of yours, you'll be back here eating paste like the rest of us." He looks me up and down. "If he doesn't eat you first."
"Whatever."
He just shakes his orange head, amused. His pebbled skin folds tight on his cheeks as he leers at me. "You really have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, do you?"
I take the tray, glare at him, and head back out of the kitchens. I know all about Crulden. I know how fucking scary he can be. I also feel completely safe with him, so I'm not sure what's up with all the ominous warnings. They act like Crulden's going to dismember me, but they don't know him like I do. I know some of it is for show—Crulden's got a reputation to maintain—but I also don't like how they talk about him. Like he's a monster.
He's not. He's just been pushed into a corner and forced to do things he doesn't want to.
If anything, they've made him into the monster. They've stripped him of his memories and his dignity, forcing him to attack or be attacked. How can they expect any less?
And why am I so fired up to defend him? I frown to myself at the thought.
When I get back to cellblock C, Crulden's cell is empty and there are a pair of guards there, waiting for me. My heart drops and I fight a wave of panic. What's going on? Are they splitting us up? The thought is devastating. For the first time in the three years since I've been taken, I feel like I have a friend.
I feel like I have something to lose again, and I'm vulnerable. I don't like it.
Swallowing hard, I move carefully to the food slot and set the tray onto the mechanized runners that will feed it over to the other side. As I do, one of the a'ani guards approaches me. Some are nicer than others, but it's hard to tell who's who because they're clones. In uniform and with standard haircuts, it's hard to tell them apart—they all have bright red skin delineating them as clones, black hair, and muscular forms. This one's no different. When the tray waits in the warming slot, I turn to him, a question in my eyes. "Where's Crulden?"