WarDog: Book Twelve in the Galaxy Gladiators Alien Abduction Romance Series by Alana Khan (large screen ebook reader txt) 📗

Cells are crammed in down here. Old, rusting bars not just on three sides, but on four, so the poor souls couldn’t claw their way out through the dirt wall at the rear of their cells.

I swallow. Hard. But it’s not enough to keep my emotions at bay. Tears warm my eyes as I see the misery here. Naked males of many alien species. They’re filthy. And there are no facilities. The buckets of shit and piss are overflowing. WarDog whines in misery.

We were kept in a cell just like this.

Thank the Gods I don’t remember this, WarDog. Though I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you shoulder the burden.

The water buckets in each cell are empty, and when I see the inhabitants’ parched lips, I have no doubt they haven’t had a drink in far too long.

The most surprising thing of all is the silence down here. Where are their pleas? Why aren’t they welcoming me as their rescuer? Or at least questioning me about who I am and why I’m here?

I know the answer before I ask, though. Fear. These males are terrified. They all sit on bunks whose mattresses were eaten by vermin long ago. Their eyes are downcast, their emaciated shoulders slumped. None of them have the courage to look at me. None have kenned to the fact that I’m not their usual jailer. Maybe this isn’t fear I smell but despair. Total hopelessness.

“I’m Bayne,” I say, trying to imbue my voice with friendly confidence. “I’ve come with a cadre of males to free you.” Surely they heard the weapon fire. But no, down here in the depths of the soil they would have heard none of the life-and-death battle we waged up above.

“I’m Bayne from the ship the Fool’s Errand. Our ship and the Devil’s Playground have come to set you free. We’ve killed all of your captors except Daneur Khour himself. We’ll be coming up with a plan to do that before the sun sets.”

I watch as one by one the males hazard a glance at me, then look down at their feet again. Now that my eyes are better accustomed to the darkness, I see some of the remnants of their physical pain—whip marks, bodies so thin I can count the ribs, lips cracked and white from thirst, and evidence of vermin bites in every stage of healing.

If I hadn’t wanted to kill Daneur Khour before I descended into this hole, I certainly do now.

“Urgent!” I call into my comm. “I need a cohort of males to the well. As many as can safely be spared. I’ve found prisoners. Come with water and blankets. Some of these captives won’t be able to walk out of here without help.”

I don’t have to look far for the keys. It’s as if they were placed by a sadist. The ring of keys is large, hanging on the wall across from the cells so every prisoner could look at it all day long knowing he’d never reach it, never taste freedom again.

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so relieved as when I hear the first boot strike the top step. Soon my comrades are here, offering water and covering filthy naked bodies with the first coverings they’ve worn in . . . I have no idea how long.

I’m proud to be part of this. I’m a liberator. A helper. I found these males who possibly would have died within days if I hadn’t stumbled onto this secret hiding place.

One male stands. His flesh is green and he has thick ropes of flesh cascading off his scalp instead of hair.

“Thank you, brother,” he says through dry lips.

“How long have you been here?” I ask.

“Time loses meaning,” he says, his gaze flicking to the floor. “I don’t know how many lunars it’s been. For the others? Much longer.”

“Your name?” I ask.

“Abraxx.”

Not one of the other males has the strength to walk up the steps on their own power. My hands fist at my sides and I have an inner battle with my canine to calm him. He’s throwing himself at me, trying to burst out and shift. He desperately wants to help. I only help him gather control when I tell him it would traumatize many of these prisoners to see me turn into a fighting canine with two-inch teeth.

He pulls back, but just a bit, watching with so much anger and sorrow I know he’d kill Khour with his bare teeth if he ever got the chance.

My comrades have emptied the dungeon, and I look around one last time to see if perhaps one of the males had one possession, a piece of clothing perhaps that he might want to carry out of this heinous place, although I can’t imagine any of them will want a memento to remember this place by.

This primitive place had a walkway that held only the keys on the wall. Across from it were eight cells, now empty, thank the Gods. The dim lighting was only near the steps. At the eighth cell, it’s close to pitch black.

I see a small mound of . . . something on the floor of the last cell. The remnants of a rat-eaten mattress? A pathetic piece of blanket the male used to cover himself with? My eyes give me no additional information, but my nose tells a different story.

I smelled death when I entered this forsaken place. Here’s a body. I say a prayer for the poor male who died far from his loved ones in this Godless place.

My inner canine whines to get my attention. Wait. When I follow his intuition, I see the slightest movement. Could something be alive here?

I open the cell and approach slowly. Whatever, whoever, is here might be frightened of me.

“I’m Bayne,” I