Chapter 41
S aiza paints me in more parchment-thin streaks of blood while I stand statue still. While I watch Hock stalk back and forth across the sandy battlefield, his gaze firmly cast on me as he sucks and shoves deep breaths through bared teeth like a ferocious, meat-eating animal chomping at the bit to launch forward and chow down on his prey.
I sigh, nudging my shackle into a more comfortable position on my arm.
The escape plan was simple: climb down the cliff and follow the river to the wall, sticking to the shade as best I could. Charm a Moltenmaw. Hunt Rekk Zharos and torture him to death. Now I have to behead this male only two steps from the starting line.
I cut another glare at my near-invisible Herder, currently little more than a rumbling metallic smudge, cursing the moment it leapt into my life.
Saiza swirls another streak of blood across my midriff. “You don’t like the male who won for you?”
Won for me …
That’s not what this was.
“I do not choose this male,” I rebuke, and she frowns, confusion swirling in her pretty sunburst eyes.
She drags the brush down my nose, over my lips, chin, and neck. “He has hunted many wild gruuc—great, tusked beasts almost impossible to bring down. His tent is large, wrapped and lined with many of their pelts. Proof of his famed strength. You are Kholu. Your offspring will tether moons to the sky and bring great peace. Do you not want a strong sire?”
I bristle.
How much clearer do I need to be?
There is no reality where I lift this silk and let that male into my body. No reality where I step a single fucking foot in his impressive tent. No reality where I bare my throat to him—the tilt of deep, primal respect.
I’d rather him slit it from ear to ear.
“I don’t want this male, this title, this anything ,” I growl, cutting another sharp stare at the smudge of metallic air particles beside me, hoping the Fate Herder is paying real good attention. “My body is mine, and I will do with it as I please. Nothing more.”
Saiza’s face blanches, and she drops her eyes, dipping her head in submission. “I understand, Kholu. We cradle different values. I apologize for overstepping.”
“It’s okay.”
I just want to be done.
Gone.
Saiza passes me a small smile, then paints more swirls down the length of my arm while I continue to observe Hock’s movements—studying the way his body shifts. The way he eases his weight from foot to foot. The damage already inflicted on his hulking form.
“Do you know how to fight?” Saiza asks, and I bob my head. “Like a warrior fights?”
My gaze flicks to her, brows bumping together.
She pauses. “Nobody fights like those from the Johkull Clan. We are the strongest in the Boltanic Plains. This is why we earned this land where no moon will fall again,” she says, gesturing to the crater surrounding us. “All Hock must do is get you to submit, and the trial is over. You must kill him to be the victor. To earn the right to slay wild gruuc and to build your own tent. Then you must cut off his head.”
I don’t bother telling her I have no interest in killing wild gruuc and building a tent. Once I kill Hock, I’ll retrace the path back to the river, then follow it until it freezes and eventually meets the wall. If the Fate Herder tries to stop me … well.
Hopefully it doesn’t come to that. I love animals, and I loathe the thought of killing them.
“I’ve taken the heads of males before,” I murmur past tight lips. Though obviously not nearly enough, considering how cursed I absolutely, without a doubt, one hundred percent am. “This will be no different.”
A stretch of tension-riddled silence ensues while Saiza continues preparing me for the looming battle, my copper necklace lifted and set to the side. My hair is brushed, then threaded into a braid that falls almost to my hips, tied off with a stretch of string while the gong continues to sound.
Once I’m fully prepared, I cut a glance at my Fate Herder transitioning into view again, opening its eyes to look at me.
Those slit pupils swell as I hold its fierce, intense stare. “Don’t try to stop me.”
All I get is a tail flick, as if to say, “Off you go. Get back in the ring where you belong. Do your job.”
I bristle, the entire congregation seeming to hold its breath as I lift my chin and charge from the shadow, refusing to pay the beast any more heed. Not a single drop of it.
It’s not going to stop me. I know it’s not. I should’ve known this is where it wanted me all along: back in a battle ring, shedding blood.
Perhaps Fate—whoever Fate is—needs Hock and Zaran taken out for some reason, so the Herder deviated me here to do the deed. Whatever it’s for, it’s hard to shake the sense that I’m being used again.
I should be used to it by now.
I move toward a weapon rack, lifting a few off the hooks that I quickly discover are too top heavy or too thick in the handle for my fingers to securely wrap around. I pick up a small iron ax with a bound leather pommel that feels comfortable in my grip, tossing it from hand to hand before using it to shear off the excess material of my shirt so it doesn’t get in my way.
Tossing the blood-tinged scrap of silk to the wind, I move into the ring, beginning a slow, steady circle around the outer perimeter while maintaining Hock’s eye contact. He’s swapped his spiked club for one that’s smooth, no doubt reluctant to disfigure me in his efforts to earn the “right” to bind with me.
Such spangle shit.
I crack my neck from side to side, steadying my breaths until they’re deep and slow.
Calm.
Waiting for him to make the first move.
Hock shakes his head, muttering beneath his breath before his face distorts with a bellowing roar. He lunges, kicking up sand as he powers across the arena like a charging beast.
I wait until he’s so close I can feel the vibrations of his hammering steps. Can see the orange flints in his bold-yellow eyes.
I flick to the side, bending my upper body away from his swinging mace to the collective gasp from the crowd. I spin, whipping around with a slash of my ax.
Blood sprays, my weapon slitting through skin and flesh, nicking bone, severing the side of his abdomen. Not deep enough to kill, I realize—scurrying back, gaze firmly locked on my roaring opponent while fisting a handful of sand.
Hock slaps his hand against the wound, inspecting the slick of blood now coating his palm, a flash of undiluted shock kindling his eyes, followed by a flare of rage violent enough to sizzle skin.
I’ve seen males look at me like that, right before I’ve pierced their hearts.
The look of wounded pride .
I don’t give him time to digest the emotion, charging, dodging left and right. Drawing his attention to my feet, hoping he boggles over the direction of my next move rather than what my hands are doing.
With a flick of my wrist, I toss my scoop of sand into the air as Clode lashes the wind into a gust, spraying it into his eyes—helping me of her own accord.
Hock roars.
I smile.
Love you too, Clode!
Miss you!
While Hock bats at his eyes, I dive upon his back, wrapping my arm around his throat, just about to slash my ax across his jugular when he grips my arm and hauls his body forward.
I feel my blade make contact as I’m whipping through the air, bracing myself for impact so that when I collide with the ground, I’m immediately rolling out of the way. Marginally avoiding a blind swing of his mace that bashes the ground at my back.
I leap to my feet, seeing him scurry back, padding at the too-shallow slit in his throat.
Damn.
He leers at me through bloodshot eyes, seething, bellowing boisterous words while he reaches into the pocket of his pants. Probably trying to check that his balls still exist.
Not wanting to give him too much time to recalibrate, I charge again, dodging left and right, a few long leaps away when he pulls his hand free.
I see the thin aureate tendril dangling from his fingers too late, already throwing my body in that direction—ax swinging as he thrusts his hand forward. As a small, hissing serpent is tossed through the air between us, maw bared.
Fangs stretched.
My weapon slits through Hock’s thigh just as the serpent strikes my chest with a bite of sting.
I roll, tumbling across the ground, throwing myself onto my feet again and backstepping. Watching the small serpent wiggle off through the sand—practically blending with the grains.
What.
The.
Fuck.
I cup the throbbing hurt on the upper swell of my left breast, not taking my eyes off the asshole now smirking at me from a handful of long leaps away. Like he’s already won despite the fact that he’s baring three fresh slash marks that are leaking blood all over the sand.
“Who goes around carrying those in their pocket—”
A sudden flash of dizziness makes me wobble, and I throw my hand out to balance myself to the tune of the crowd’s gasps and murmurs.
Creators … That serpent spiked me with its venom.
Hock chuffs, then charges.
I charge too, because there’s no way I’m standing stationary while this fuck comes at me again.
Hand fisted around my ax, I consider which two ribs I’m going to slice between, dodging to the left, another tip of dizziness making the ground rock with such violence I stumble a step.
His weapon collides with my shoulder, and a burst of pain explodes across my collarbone, down into my elbow.
Scurrying back, I cradle my arm close to my body, gaping at the stalking male, sawing breath into my parched lungs …
What was that?
My dodge was perfect … until it wasn’t.
Another wobble, and a bulb of fear explodes behind my ribs, realization dawning like aurora ribbons rising in my belly, tangling around my spine, wriggling up my throat.
The venom is moving through my system fast.
Too fast.
The entire world seems to tilt sideways, my steps floundering with it, forcing me to plant my hand on the sand to catch myself. A flash of satisfaction ignites Hock’s features, his lips curling into a victorious smirk.
“You dishonorable fuck ,” I snarl, charging—dodging side to side, finally dipping low and sliding along the ground. I whip my ax out and slash it through his calf muscle in the same instance his weapon whooshes past the side of my face.
He roars, catapulting forward in stomping stumbles, taking himself far enough away from me that he’s able to check the laceration in his pants, the fresh wound pouring blood down the back of his leg.
His eyes bulge with disbelief.
“Couldn’t swallow the fact that you were going to lose to a female half your size, huh?” I push to my feet, still sneering. “I will fucking ruin you, then boot your severed head all the way to The Fade,” I growl, charging again—
The world jerks, taking me with it. My hand flies out to catch myself, only for it to plummet straight through what I thought was the ground.
Heart lurching, I stagger into an awkward, sideways crouch, catching myself on the actual ground—my heart pumping hard.
Fuck.
I meet Hock’s slashing gaze as he tests his weight on his injured leg …
This is not good.
I need to finish this— fast .
I shove up, prowling in a wide arc Hock mimics in limping strides. With my stare firmly cast on my snarling opponent, I pick at the leather bind wrapped around the pommel of my ax, unraveling the taut, sturdy length of material.
Come on, asshole. Make a move.
He charges.
So do I—converging toward him at a rapid pace.
A few long lunges away, I whip my hand back and toss my ax. It slices through the air with the speed of a lightning strike, propelling straight for his chest—
He moves faster than the flying weapon, dodging it with a dramatic dip of his immense body. The ax whirs past him, and I leap, latching onto him. Clambering up his compromised form and kicking my foot against the gouge in the back of his leg.
Hock tips his head and roars , dropping to his knees with such heft the ground trembles, the crowd gasping as I bind the leather ribbon around his thick neck and tighten.
Tighten.
Choking sounds rupture from his no-doubt gaping mouth, fuel to spur me on. Hock may look like a mountain and move like he slid from the womb swinging, but his neck is still delicate.
He still needs to breathe .
I pour all my strength into keeping the bind taut, the muscles in my arms and chest ripped with a tearing burn from the immense effort. Hock claws at his throat, failing to get his fingers beneath the leather, instead jerking his entire body forward.
Using his heft to his advantage.
Anticipating the maneuver, I latch my legs around his waist, becoming a willing passenger to the shift. We collide with the ground, our left shoulders boring into the hot sand.
He lurches, spine arching, trying to shuck me off his body. I tighten my legs and fists, moving with his frantic motions, clinging to him like a life-sucking parasite.
The strips of leather cut into my palms, my lips pull back from my teeth, my brain pumping so full of blood that my head goes light and airy. The world rocks around us, like we’re on a raft in a lake of undulating sand, and I just know that this is my only shot.
That if I don’t get him now, I’m fucked.
“Die, you corrupt fuck!” I growl, pouring the last of my strength into another wrench of my arms, further tightening the bind.
He reaches back, swatting around my head, clawing at my braid. He yanks it, but I can tell by the lack of force that he’s fading.
Warm anticipation bubbles in my chest.
My scalp burns from his desperate tugs that grow weaker …
Weaker …
All the tension loosens from his body, and his head flops to the side with the drop of his arm. Relief flurries through me like a snowstorm, pouring up my throat as a whimpered exhale.
I did it.
He’s out.
Now to cut off his head.
Battling for breath, I look through the haze of heat waves, straight into the sun’s harsh glare, locating my weapon that looks both close and incredibly far away.
I release the bind, shoving at Hock’s big, limp body with my wounded hands, trying to wiggle my leg out from where it’s crushed beneath him. Finally inching free, I clamber to a wobbly stand—the entire world tipping, swaying. The ax as one, then splitting …
Splitting again.
I focus on one and charge forward, folding over to swipe it up, scooping only grains of sand, the illusion disintegrating like it’s made of fog. Groaning, I tumble forward, catching myself in an unsteady crouch, the bite on my breast thumping with a deep, destructive ache that spurs my hunger to hack through his throat. To fist his hair, raise my gory trophy, then walk out of here and never look back.
Gaze whipping around, I seek the weapon.
Where is it—
Where is it—
Where is it—
My stare latches onto its honed head glinting in the sun, cushioned in the sand just to my right. Another flurry of relief ices my insides.
I stretch out, reaching.
A shadow burdens my peripheral—the only warning I get before something hard cracks against the side of my head.
Pain explodes in my temple as my body soars too fast.
Too slow.
Lights flash across my waning vision, and I collide with the sand so hard my teeth impale my tongue, something warm spilling down the side of my face while I stare at the crater’s sheer side.
Unblinking.
Unmoving.
I just … lie. Lids heavy, head heavier. Feeling weaker and more brittle than I did when I woke confused in that cell so many aurora cycles ago—way back at the very beginning.
My sluggish mind churns as I try to grapple this new, warped reality into something that makes sense …
Was he not dead?
Did I not strangle him for long enough?
Was he playing me the fool?
Get up, Raeve.
Groaning, I roll sideways, then push to my hands and knees.
Wobble.
I lift my head, seeing double the tents. Double the crowd. Double the big, glaring ball of sun.
My arms buckle, and my face collides with the sand.
Hock’s weapon whirls through the air, thumping to a halt beside my ax before I’m cast in his broad shadow.
Get. The. Fuck. Up!
Snarling, I finally manage to clamber to my feet and spin.
The ground tips.
Heavier than I’ve ever felt, I stumble with the world’s violent tilt, barely catching myself.
Hock stalks toward me, muscles rippling with each prowling step, his neck slashed with deep, ruddy indents to match his eyes—the whites now stained red from his choking strain. Making him look wild.
Rabid.
“ Gúide ,” he growls, which must mean submit because Saiza’s screaming it from the sidelines. “ Gúide, Kholu .”
“ Fuck you ,” I slur, spitting a wad of blood on the ground, my lids threatening to slam shut. “And my name’s Raeve, you corrupt piece of shit.”
He grunts, lunging. Cracks his fist against my jaw so fast I barely realize I’m falling, watching the strings of skulls sift by in rapid motion, until I collide with the ground. All the breath erupts from my lungs, and I cough, hacking for breath. Trying to scramble to my feet again—
He straddles me, his dense weight packed upon my hips.
I thread my hand up his right thigh and work my fingers past the gaping leather, into the long slice Zaran created earlier with his rounded sword.
Hock roars, snatching my wrist, then the other. He pins them to the ground above my head, the beating gong somehow tilling the air with its harrowing throb, dashing sand into my eyes.
The back of Hock’s hand collides with my cheek with such force the entire world rips sideways, my head snapping with the motion, mouth lax and caked with sand.
My body shuts down from the hurt. The pain.
The ability to move.
“ Gúide .”
I’d rather die than be bound to him against my will. The Fate Herder must surely know that.
That creature brought me here—to this very moment—knowing I’ll never submit. Meaning this …
This is an assassination .
Of me .
Definitely should’ve bowed.
“Gúide!” he repeats—a slashing command that shreds the air.
“Fuck … you,” I puff through bloody clumps of sand.
Fuck the Fate Herder.
Fuck everything .
A laugh crumbles up my throat as he fists my hair so tight I’m certain he’s about to tear big clumps from my scalp. Using it to lift my head again, he scowls down at me. My vision splits, converges.
Splits again.
That gong continues to beat, harder and harder, until the entire arena is a swirl of pulsing wind and sand.
I continue to laugh in Hock’s face, even as he raises his other hand—
A shadow eclipses the sun.
A roar cleaves the air.
Hock tips his head to the sky, his hand still set to strike me as a Sabersythe soars into view, dragging its monstrous claw through the crisscross of skull-laden ropes and ripping them skyward.
Skulls rain, pelting the sand like mini moonfalls.
Folk scream, but my pulse screams louder.
I’m certain I’m seeing things as Rygun drops upon the crater’s lip with a ground-shuddering thump . As Kaan uses Rygun’s ropes to propel himself down into the dip, shirtless but for his own málmr hanging around his neck, his beautiful face ripped with the wrath of a million maddened men.
I’m certain I’m seeing things as Kaan’s boots thump upon the ground. As he crunches his hands into fists, stalking toward me with footfalls that seem to shake the world while his lips shape words I recognize, the tendons in his neck straining as he wrestles with Bulder’s dialect.
I’m certain I’m seeing things as the crater begins to shake, a slash of relief almost severing me in two despite the massive crack weaving across the ground. Despite the way those ember eyes are locked on me—scarcely dressed, sprawled across the sand beneath another male intent on claiming the right to bind with me …
Probably not a good time to commend him on his hunting skills, but damn— it’s tempting .