Izzie and the Icebeast - Honey Phillips Page 0,2

ice water from the small kitchen area, he collapsed on the long couch with a sigh. Even though it had been an easy fight, each year he felt the effect of his efforts a little bit more. He rubbed his bad knee. The old injury had been flaring up more often recently.

The door alarm chimed.

“Enter,” he growled. He had no desire for company, but he knew from long experience that it was better to take care of whatever problem was facing him now rather than put it off.

The door panel slid aside, and Sadari entered. She was a tall, slender Ostroth with green scaled skin and a smooth scalp. Crossing the room with her usual graceful step, she knelt in front of him, keeping her head and eyes lowered.

“Relkhei sent me to you,” she said softly. “He is most pleased with your decision to fight the winner of the death match.”

Fuck. It didn’t take long for word to get around. Sadari was one of the concubines Relkhei employed to reward his fighters. Baralt had availed himself of her services once before, and he knew that she was talented. His kotra was still half erect, and for a moment, he was tempted. He put a hand to her head, smooth and dry and pleasantly textured, but he found himself remembering the silky softness of the slave’s cheek and knew that this was not what he wanted.

“Thank you, Sadari. I prefer to conserve my energy until after the fight.”

They both knew it was a lie, but she accepted it as docilely as she accepted everything else, and once again, he remembered the little slave snapping at his finger. Had he changed so much that he had forgotten how to appreciate the female with spirit?

Sadari bowed her head once more, then rose gracefully to her feet and walked to the door. The door alarm sounded again just as she reached it, and Varga appeared in the opening. Sadari shrank back almost imperceptibly. Most of the concubines were afraid of the big Sorvid warrior even though, as far as Baralt knew, he had never given them any reason to be frightened.

Varga scowled, stepping out of the way with an elaborate mocking bow as Sadari scurried past him.

“Done already?” Varga asked as he entered the room and threw himself down next to Baralt. “A fast fight and a fast fuck?”

Baralt shook his head at his friend—or at least as close to a friend as he had in this place. All the fighters knew that they might be called upon to battle each other, and it created a certain distance, but Varga had never been bothered by the prospect. He was one of the few in the current stable who could provide Baralt with some serious competition. Massive, scarred, and heavily muscled, he looked as if he would be slow. He wasn’t. He also had some very…unique abilities that assisted his natural skills.

“A fast fight perhaps, but the competition was pitiful. And I have no interest in Sadari.”

“Shame.” For a moment, the big male looked almost wistful. “Pretty little thing.” Then he raised an eyebrow. “Heard you want one of the new slaves.”

“Are there any secrets around this place?” Baralt asked rhetorically. Between the fighters, the guards, and the concubines, the fight pit was a hotbed of gossip.

“Nope.” Varga studied him from underneath heavy brows. “You sure about this? A death match?”

Baralt sighed. Varga was another fighter who avoided the death matches. They had never discussed it, but Baralt suspected that beneath Varga’s forbidding countenance ran a strong moral streak.

He got up and crossed to his liquor stock before pouring them both a healthy serving of Aldarian whiskey.

“She’s small. Soft. She wouldn’t survive whoever won,” he said as he handed Varga a glass.

“If she’s compliant enough, she might get through it.”

Baralt shook his head. “Small as she is, she’s a fighter.”

Once again, his kotra stirred at the memory of the defiance in her eyes. He found it intriguing and arousing, but he knew only too well that many males would see it as a challenge to be conquered. They didn’t understand the joy of having a woman surrender because she chose to give herself to him.

Varga frowned at him but said nothing. The two males sat in silence, sipping their whiskey. Despite the tiredness beginning to overtake him, Baralt found an unexpected comfort in Varga’s companionship. He had sat this way many times with the members of his tribe after a successful hunt. It wasn’t until