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

I’m not a normal humanoid. I carry a secret, too.

If I was as badly wounded as I’m feigning, I'd be unable to attack him. As it is, though, I don’t have much time. If I wait much longer, I’ll bleed out before striking my first blow.

We’re close. Because I’m panting in pain, I’m certain he can feel the warm puffs of my breath. I’m not worried. Shifting to my canine form will accelerate my healing. I know the bleeding will stop and the wound will begin to close after the shift.

Yes, WarDog coaxes.

When I was out of control and shifted in the dining room, I resented him. I welcome him now, though. It feels comfortable to be back in his huge body. Maybe it’s because he will feel my wounds as my body becomes his and he will bear the brunt of the pain of the puncture and laser wounds.

Mostly, it’s because we’re a pair, he and I. We work best as a team. As I admit this to myself and feel the soul-deep rightness of this conviction, the anger, resentment, and jealousy I have been harboring toward him melt away leaving me feeling strong. It is with renewed determination I tear down the barriers I put between us and fully reconnect with my inner beast.

I watch Khour closely as my body suddenly morphs painlessly to my other form, my more deadly form. For the first time, I see fear on the purple male’s features. That’s right, drackhole, see these teeth?

WarDog growls, deep and low—sheer four-legged menace. He pulls back his lips just to heighten the effect. These teeth are going to be ripping your disgusting flesh off your face in a moment. But first, let’s teach you there’s a new level of pain you’ve never dreamed of. Welcome to hell.

It feels good to be in this body—full of power and grace. WarDog eases closer to Khour, pressing him toward the corner. Khour still has the bloody shard in his hand and slashes at WarDogs face. My canine champion of the arena moves a huge paw with lightning reflexes and knocks it from his hand, sending it flying across the room. Now weaponless, Khour’s eyes are practically white with panic.

The armor might hurt your teeth, I warn my beast. Exposed areas only until we’re done playing.

Must you take the fun from everything? he asks as he keeps nudging the male until Khour’s back hits the wall.

WarDog places a soft mouth around Khour’s neck, just a little hint at what’s to come. The sharp fangs tease at the male’s tender skin. We feel the carotid pulsing under our tongue. Not only can we hear the high whine escaping Khour’s mouth, we can feel the vibrations. He stands paralyzed with fear.

I wish I could talk. I’d love for him to know the reason for his death, to remember the beautiful female from Skylose who lost her head to his evil sword. But that’s okay. I imagine his mind right now is scrolling through a litany of reasons why he deserves to die today.

I smell blood. Fresh blood, not from the Frains whose body parts are still scattered around the room, but Khour’s blood.

Good job, boy, I tell WarDog, whose fangs have traced two parallel lines deep enough into Khour’s throat that blood is seeping down his neck and staining the fabric of his shirt.

WarDog growls louder as he opens his mouth wide, turns his head, and bites Khour’s face—his top teeth gouging into one cheek, his bottoms into the other.

I feel his jaws tighten, his powerful muscles contracting as they put so much pressure on Khour that his bones crack.

Khour’s hands are gripped in the thick fur around WarDog’s neck, frantically trying to pull free. The male is squealing now. I relish the noise. It’s the noise a young girl might make when being run down by invaders and dragged into her own bed to be hurt and violated. Only this sound is from a grown male. A male who has inflicted pain from one corner of the galaxy to the other. He’s petrified, and WarDog hasn’t really even geared up yet.

Smell that? WarDog asks proudly.

Oh yes. Piss. Someone pissed their pants in fear. I wish I could speak, I would love to rub this in, damage his pride more fully. Make it last, I urge. I waited too long for this to be over so soon.

WarDog releases his hold on our enemy’s face and takes a half-step back. He dips his head, grabs one of Khour’s hands, and bites so hard I hear bones breaking and taste blood. I revel in the sound of my enemy’s anguished cries, then his shallow breathing as he pants in pain.

“Please, change back. I’m a wealthy male,” he’s stammering now, though he can barely talk through his crushed face. His lips barely move as he pleads and blubbers, making the blood pouring from his wounds froth in his mouth.

I recall how the pleas of my people did nothing to move his stone-cold heart.

“I can give you everything. I know you’re in there. Change back and you’ll be one of the richest males in the galaxy.” It’s hard to understand him because of the damage WarDog has inflicted to his face.

Great job, I urge. Do the other hand. Take your time.

I’m not a good male. Perhaps I don’t deserve the love of a fine female like Willa. A good person would not delight in this. A good male would not be pleading with his canine self to prolong this male’s agony. But I am taking joy in it. I will never regret this. Never.

WarDog releases Khour’s hand and looks at it for a moment before he turns his head to grip the other