Read Online Gentle Chains (The Eleyi Saga Book 1) by Nazarea Andrews - Free Book Online Page A

at my throat as he
does, and I can feel amusement rolling off him and hitting me with the force of
a wave. I drop my hand, and follow Kristoff out of the boarding house.

 
    “I’m tired of being poked,” I snap as Kristoff steers me into yet
another small, dimly lit shop.
    He gives me a sharp look, and I bite my lip, my gaze dropping. “Then
you’ll be happy to know, Brielle, that this isn’t a clothing store,” he says,
his voice mild.
    As we enter, I glance at the sign, but I can’t read it. Inside, there
are dusty, antique weapons. Guns, of all sizes and shapes. A knife, with a
steel blade as long as my forearm. A curved blade on a long handle, long flat
swords, heavy axes, darts, bows and arrows, archaic ray guns. So many weapons
on display my fingers spasm with the urge to reach for them, to caress them and
slide a blade into a pocket of my newly purchased clothing.
    I clench my hands into fists against the unnatural— un-Eleyi —thoughts and follow Kristoff to the counter where a man is
waiting, watching us with shrewd, knowing eyes.
    “A new addition to the jakta, Kristoff?” he says in Common and I reach
for his mind instinctively. He’s native Pente. How did he end up here, half a
galaxy away?
    “I want to test her,” Kristoff says and the Pente squints at me.
    “She’s tall, but a bit on the scrawny side,” he says doubtfully.
    “She’ll fill out,” Kristoff says. “Brielle, spread your wings.”
    I hiss, and his eyes harden. It’s the only warning I’ll get. I open them
carefully—the little shop is so cramped I’m afraid I will catch them on a
counter or sharp edge.
    The weapons dealer whistles once, startled. I tuck my wings close as the
two men watch each other, Kristoff waiting while the other thinks.
    “Follow me.”
    Kristoff relaxes a little and we follow the Pente through the dim shop.
He pauses and taps a command on a small screen mounted on the wall, then he
pushes through a door and into a large, open room. It’s so bright compared to
the store, my eyes water. “Have you tested her yet?” he asks Kristoff as he
rummages through a pile of wooden weapons.
    “Haven’t had a chance.”            
    The arms dealer grunts and continues searching. Kristoff leans over and
murmurs in my ear, “Deevid is an old, retired glad. Used to mentor Argot before
old age took him out of the arena and politics put Henri in the owner’s seat.
He still has the best instinct in the business.”
    Deevid finally turns and hands me a hurkya, a long wooden weapon with a
wicked hook on the end. He also gives me a coiled whip.
    Then he steps away and the room goes dark, so black I can’t see
anything, not even my hands clenched on the hook before light flares. A beast—scaly-backed,
running at me on four legs, its mouth open in a roar—charges forward and I
stumble back, falling out of the way. A hukron. Native of Section 83,
it’s massive, merciless and hard as fuck to kill. And its teeth and spikes are
coated with a paralyzing venom.
    It whips around, impossibly agile, and charges me again.
    I snap the whip, the sharp crack singing through the air. The hukron
falters and I stab out with my hooked staff, aiming for the eye as it rushes
me. At the last possible second, I hurl the weapon and roll to the side, and
the hukron vanishes.
    A gladiator stalks toward me with a heavy sword. He is wearing a helm
but no armor, and I scramble to my hooked staff, spinning and sweeping it in a
wide arc as the glad closes in. He dodges easily and swings his blade down,
grazing me as I dance backward. Pain sears up my arm and I grit my teeth, struggling
to hold the staff as he comes at me again.
    The whip coils against my feet and I scoop it up, throw it in his face.
It slows him for just long enough for me to slam the blunt end of my staff into
his stomach and he doubles over. The glad vanishes suddenly and I go still.
There is a screech, metal and stone grating against each other and a shape