Page 25 of Down to One
Over Whose Dead Body?
Titan
My tongue not only got me into trouble, but it hurt Blaze. I’d just hoped… I don’t know what I’d hoped. That an above-average gladiator could change the galaxy? That my words would make people realize one person owning another is wrong? It’s like pissing into the wind.
I crouch next to Blaze, waiting to give her a hand up. Not that she needs it—or wants it. She’s probably pissed at me. That shock had to be at least a four, maybe a five. And she’s so tiny. I wonder if the shocks hurt her small frame more than they hurt me.
“We’re fucked,” she says through a raspy throat.
“What?” I don’t know why I ask. We’re in the middle of a bombed-out desert with no food or water, and all we have to look forward to is fighting enemies until we die.
“Look at the tote board.” She motions with her chin.
I watch it scroll. We’re down to 26 contestants. Contestants, that’s an odd word. A contest should be fun. This is life and death. Then I see what she was referring to—neither of us have any credits. No credits mean no food, no water, and certainly no weapons.
“One more minute,” she says as she massages under her slave collar. Then she gets to her feet, pointedly ignoring my offer to help her.
A lizard scurries across the path a few feet from us. I give it no thought, but Blaze is fascinated. She doesn’t tear her gaze from it. Is she afraid? Is it possible a female who demanded to go into battle against three armed seven-foot Halckons fears a little red lizard?
She must not be afraid of it, she’s following it.
“We need to head north,” I say.
“Actually, we need water,” she replies as she follows the reptile.
Did I not lay down strict rules last night before we left the holding area? I told her she needed to follow me. Now half the galaxy is watching me follow her like a small canine as she strays from the path.
The terrain dips down into a gulley. As soon as we crest the ridge, I see a narrow stream snaking through a marsh below. It’s interesting how you’d never see this from the barren wasteland up above, but it’s lush.
“Halt!” I tell her as she picks her way through the yellow scrub bushes.
She stops and straightens her back as she turns to me, eyes wide. Perhaps she thinks we’re being attacked.
“We’re not the only animals who will be getting a drink here,” I say as I approach her.
She has the sword firmly in her grip. I have the spiked bat. We make our way to the water with no other problems.
“Well, who’s the guinea pig?” she asks, her gaze flicking between me and the stream.
“What?”
“Who drinks and possibly gets poisoned?” she asks as she continues to scan the landscape.
I point to a little mammal about thirty feet downstream, leaning to take a drink. “That’s the ginn-ee-peeg,” I say.
The moment she realizes the stream is safe, she limps to it, kneels, cups her hands, and brings water to her mouth. She gulps greedily, two, then three, then four handfuls of it. After pulling off the shirt she’d wrapped around her head, she dips it into the water and then stands.
“Your turn.”
While I was drinking my fill, she must have taken off her shirt, because when I turn around, she’s wearing just her bra and is wiping herself with the wet cloth.
“It must be a hundred, maybe a hundred and twenty out here,” she says as she squeezes the last drops of water out of the fabric onto her face.
I’m glad I stole that Halckon’s pants, because my cock is hardening as I watch the droplets shimmer in the sunlight as they snake down her upturned cheeks.
It’s funny how fast the mind can think. In the span of two seconds, I envision an entirely different life than the one I’m living. I see myself stalking over, tossing the wet shirt onto a bush, and then folding Blaze into my arms.
I lick one of the glinting rivulets from where a drop trembles on her jawline, threatening to fall off. Tracing its path up the soft curve of her cheek, I stop when my tongue hits her hairline. She giggles and slaps me away in a manner that beckons me to continue.
