Alien Conquest: (The Warrior's Prize) An Alien SciFi Romance by Scarlett Rhone

the wild, blood-crazed cheers of the Arena crowd. But Vega was limping badly, and Alaina could see the silvery Errai blood smearing his side. She could tell from the way he held himself that it was his. The other cursii were dragged out of the Arena and through another gate, probably off to suffer some kind of punishment for their rebellion, while the one guard helped Vega back to the pit.
    Alaina scrambled away from the guard, grabbing the medical bag, and hurried to meet Vega as they helped him beneath the gate. She didn’t hesitate, just touched his side to inspect the wound, and his blistering litany of curses told her it was bad. Her hand came away covered in the shiny silver of his blood. She looked at the guard carrying him.
    “I can’t help him here. I need somewhere clean.”
    “You’ll help him where I say you’ll help him,” the guard replied gruffly. Then he let go of Vega, and the cursu went crashing to the sands at their feet even as Alaina tried to catch one of his arms. He was covered in smaller cuts, and she thought now that one of his ribs was surely broken. He’d been wounded worse than just what she’d seen through the gate.
    “This is Domina Lennai’s favorite!” she shouted angrily at the guard. “And she told me to save him before all others! Do you want me to tell her he died because of you ?”
    The guard started, shoulders straightening, and then grumbled some more before he bent down to haul Vega up by the arms and hoist him over his shoulder.
    “This way,” he said, and turned towards one of the other gates leading out of the pit. Alaina hurried after him, clutching her bag, and watched the color drain from Vega’s face as the minutes passed.

Chapter Thirteen
    Vega’s world was a haze of pain. Fucking Lohar. Bastard couldn’t just let it go, had to make it personal. Vega could probably have had him put to death last night for that business in the barracks with the donara, but he didn't. And for his trouble, Lohar turned his brothers against him. He would have to remember to thank Bathari for the warning. Except…
    Except it was the donara’s voice echoing in his ears.
    The way she’d cried out to warn him. The way she’d cried out his name.
    Even through the pain, he heard her. At a distance, but he heard her. Over and over again, calling out to him across the sands, saving his life even beyond the reach of her healing hands.
    He was vaguely aware of being carried out of the Arena. He knew the crowd had been screaming. He knew the Master of Games had been screaming, and likely so had Domina Lennai. But all he could hear was the donara screaming his name. And as the pain in his side, and all over his body, throbbed loud enough to drown out the screams entirely, he’d passed out. Somewhere, he guessed, between the gate and the pit, he’d lost all sense of himself, tumbling into darkness.
    When he came around he was still in pain, but it had drastically receded. The fog in his mind lingered, and there was a swirl through his vision as he took in the soft glow of the overhead lights, how they illuminated the small surgery connected to the pit. It wasn’t used often, because few cursii who came off the sands in a condition for it survived more than a few minutes. And there had rarely been a physician droid to tend the room. Yet there he was, and as his field of vision widened with his growing consciousness, he took in the sight of the donara standing above him. No, kneeling, because he was lying in the cot and she was at his side, sewing shut a wound in his abdomen. It should’ve hurt more than it did, he realized. He was drugged to his teeth, no doubt.
    “Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked, voice hoarse.
    “No, I’m making it up as I go,” she muttered, pulling a stitch tight.
    “Why are you sewing at me like I’m a child’s toy? The droids use staples.”
    “Well, I’m not a droid, and I found this synthetic thread in my bag. And it won’t leave a