Chapter 8
EIGHT
Takkian
Takkian leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, gaze locked on the door. The cell was quiet now; the energy drained after Sevas had lain down. Her breathing had slowed enough to suggest she might actually rest. Bruil, always the opportunist, had resumed his place on his cot, sharpening some dull implement like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Of course, it very well might be.
Still, Takkian’s wings twitched behind him, restless despite the quiet. The air in the cell felt thick, charged with tension neither he nor Bruil cared to voice. And as much as he hated to admit it, Sevas was the reason for it. Her words—a vow, really—had stuck with him, stirred something in him he couldn’t quite name. Escape. Hope. Madness . Whatever it was, it felt dangerous and, inexplicably, exhilarating. He searched for the crack in her logic, for a reason to dismiss her impossible determination, but instead, he found himself…drawn. Her spark wasn’t just reckless. It touched something deep in him. Something he’d buried under layers of survival and numbness.
His claws drummed faintly against his forearm in a slow rhythm, a habit he tried to keep subtle. He didn’t like this kind of thinking. His pulse quickened when his gaze shifted to the top bunk where Sevas lay. Her yellow hair spilled over the thin mattress like sunlight cutting through shadows. She was a fighter, he reminded himself—a stubborn, reckless survivor like the rest of them. But something about her rattled him in ways he wasn’t ready to confront. The way she looked at him earlier with her dark crimson eyes burning had stirred a heat under his scales that hadn’t cooled since.
His body was very much aware of her. His cock, which had lain dormant along with every other unnecessary feeling and emotion, had likewise awoken and decided it liked her, stiffening at the most inconvenient moments. Given the utter lack of privacy in the cell, there was no way to inquire if she had feelings for him as well. And how would he even do that? His experience with females was useless. The only references to them in his stunted memory were the female opponents he’d been set against in the arena. How did a beast like him engage with a female he did not want to knock unconscious?
The sound of mechs pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. He straightened from the wall with a subtle, predatory shift. Bruil’s sharpening stilled. The rasp of metal against stone silenced. Sevas stirred. A soft sound escaped her lips as her eyelids opened. Her presence pulled at his awareness, drawing his attention like some uncontrollable orbit.
The heavy clang of the cell door unlocking came next and Takkian’s muscles coiled in readiness. One never knew what the mechs had in mind when they came down the cell block. The door slid open with a familiar metallic scrape. A hulking shadow filled the frame. Relief loosened the tight tension in Takkian’s chest, but his sharp gaze remained critical as Ulo stepped into the cell, entirely unharmed.
The juvenile looked…fine. More than fine. His rocky plates gleamed under the muted light, unmarred by so much as a crack. His broad shoulders, which had been hunched in fear when he’d left, now lifted proudly. His chest puffed slightly as he walked taller. The nervous tremors in his hands were gone. There was something…different about him, a quiet shift in his demeanor that hadn’t been there before.
“I’m back,” Ulo rumbled. He sounded surprised and excited as he took in a deep, steadying breath. His black eyes darted nervously between them, as though waiting for someone to speak.
Sevas pushed herself up on one elbow in the bunk. “Ulo.” She reached toward the Dokkol, hand extended. “You’re okay? You’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine. Not a scratch.” Ulo sounded almost baffled as he carefully took her small hand in his massive one. “None of it hurt… It was weird.”
Takkian shifted away from the shadows he’d been leaning in and narrowed his eyes. “Weird how?”
Ulo hesitated, blinking rapidly as he searched for the words. “The fighter was small,” he said finally, his tone low but steady. “Skinny. Not like you, Takkian, but he was fast, and he had all these sharp weapons. He kept hitting me, but it didn’t… It did nothing. Not even a little. It was like being hit by leaves.”
“Who was your opponent?” Takkian asked, because he’d gone up against almost everyone in the arena at some point. If they didn’t get out of there soon, he’d likely have to fight Ulo, himself.
“His name was Briksap. Or Berksup,” Ulo replied. “Something like that. It was very noisy in there.”
Bruil barked out an abrupt laugh from his cot. “Birksip. They put you up against the fluffy one, huh?” He grinned in genuine amusement. “Guess the crowd didn’t want to see their shiny new Dokkol smashed to bits too soon.”
Ulo’s massive hands curled loosely into fists. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, making the floor beneath him groan faintly. “They all wanted him to win. They threw rocks and taunted me when I hit him and he didn’t get up. I didn’t mean to hurt him,” he said quickly, glancing between Bruil, Takkian, and then Sevas. His rocky shoulders slumped slightly, and his voice wavered with guilt. “It happened so fast. I just swung once, and then…down he went. That was it.”
Takkian folded his arms over his broad chest as he leaned toward Ulo ever so slightly. “One hit?”
Ulo nodded solemnly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah. Just one. The mech waited, but then came and dragged him off.” His voice grew quieter. “I didn’t mean to hit him that hard. I just wanted him to stop hitting me .”
The honesty in the boy’s tone made Takkian pity him, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on Ulo. The handlers had chosen a popular, but ill-matched opponent. Deliberate, no doubt—perhaps Birksip had made a misstep and this fight, and humiliation, had been a punishment. Or the handlers were getting tired of him. It made sense. Ulo’s performance showcased his apparent strength, which gave the crowd a story to bite into—a newcomer with untapped potential. Efficient. Unfeeling. Manipulative. He hated it.
Sevas had eased over the edge of the bed and reached Ulo’s side. Her smaller hand rested against his massive arm, her touch light. “You did what you had to do,” she said softly. Her fingers brushed over the smooth stonelike texture of his arm. In that moment, Takkian would have given anything to have it be his arm she was stroking. “And you came back. That’s what matters.”
Energy scratched beneath Takkian’s scales as he watched her. Fragile as she appeared, Sevas had an intoxicating resilience to her—a warmth she somehow preserved even here. He shook it off, forcing himself to listen as Ulo’s wide black eyes flicked between them.
The juvenile slumped his shoulders. “I… I tried to remember what you and Bruil said,” he muttered. “About standing firm, being like a fortress. I just didn’t think I’d be so strong.”
“You are stronger than you realize,” Sevas murmured, her gaze steady on his until she turned her attention toward Takkian, eyes narrowing. “But this? This wasn’t a test of strength. It was a spectacle, wasn’t it?”
Takkian’s wings twitched faintly as he met her gaze, dark and questioning. “That’s all any of this ever is. Ulo wasn’t meant to win or lose. His opponent was chosen to give the crowd what they wanted: entertainment.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. Frustration radiated from her. “This has to stop.”
He moved in. Any excuse, really, to get closer to her. To see her pupils dilate when he came into her space. To watch her throat move in a thick swallow. “It does.” His voice dipped lower, quiet but heavy, like a storm brewing. “For more than one reason.”
It was the first time he’d hinted—even a little—that he felt something for her. And the likelihood that she even caught his meaning was low. He saw the change in her when he was in her space, but couldn’t quite tell if it was from fear or desire. Sometimes, those physical reactions were similar, but he figured she would have no problem telling him to back off with words or a shove if she didn’t want him near. And she never did.
She held his gaze, jaw tightening slightly. He’d seen that reflex before in her. The tension between them—which she clearly felt but refused to break—made his blood run hot and dragon fire burn in his throat. The refuse-to-back-down tilt of her chin, the growing awareness in her red gaze, the faint flush of anger or resolve in her cheeks… He found it compelling. Irresistible.
Bruil’s sharp laugh cut through the moment, dispelling any chance for an answer. “Well, at least the kid walked away whole.” The older fighter’s voice, dry and humorous, carried a thin, pointed edge as his yellow eyes flicked between Takkian and Sevas. “For now, anyway.”
Sevas sighed and turned back to Ulo. “You earned this moment,” she told the boy firmly. “Be proud of that. You came back, Ulo. Hold on to it.”
The juvenile nodded slowly, though his gaze remained thoughtful.
Takkian shifted, his wings flicking behind him as he spoke. “This was only the first round. There will be more matches, and the next opponent may not go down from one hit.”
His words hung in the air before Sevas finally broke the silence. “Then we make sure he doesn’t face many more opponents.” Her voice carried enough resolve to land like a challenge rather than a statement.
Takkian studied the determined lines of her face. Anger. Compassion. Strength. She had all of them in abundance, woven together too intricately to separate. And fek if it didn’t make her magnetic—enough to draw his attention, even when he knew better. Even when acting on that pull could cost far more than he was willing to lose.
But when she met his gaze again, the fire in her dark red eyes smoldered just a little brighter. He didn’t look away. He didn’t want to. This time, he lingered. Too long. Way too long.