Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
When I staggered into the arena, no one noticed me at first. Combat raged everywhere in a wild blur. The air reeked of blood and sweat and the tang of magic.
All was chaos and dust and above it all, the crowd’s roar was a low, living thing, thrumming against my ribs.
Then a shadow detached from the melee and came for me. His face materialized from the dust first, his body straining toward me; his lips were pulled back from his teeth in a snarl.
“I’ve been looking for you,” the brawler from the mess hall snarled. Iven.
I feinted to one side. But he was fast, incredibly fast, so even though he took my feint, he still managed to snag my leg and yank me down. The two of us tumbled to the ground. It knocked the breath out of my already-raw lungs.
He went to move on top of me. I rolled to one side, digging a handful of sand off the floor and flinging it into his face. Somehow, my aim was perfect, and he groped for me, his eyes closed.
I kicked him in the jaw as hard as I could. His head snapped back, but he grabbed my leg, clutching me to him so I couldn’t escape. He squinted at me, trying to see through the burn of the grit, as his other hand reached out for my throat.
Something hard pressed against my ass along with his powerful body as he yanked my leg tighter, trying to drag me close enough to choke.
“Really, now?” I rasped, before I realized it was a sheath. A forbidden weapon he’d carried into the fight. I didn’t even need to use the bracelet Anayla had given me; I’d use his own weapon against me.
I sat up, muscles screaming. He grinned triumphantly as his fingers brushed my skin, and then his palm slammed into my throat. I let out a grunt as his fingers dug deep, beginning to cut off my airway.
But all the while, I’d been reaching for his hidden knife.
I pulled it free and drove it at his arm in one smooth move, aiming above his bracer.
His grin stiffened, then died as shock lit his eyes. I twisted the knife as I pulled it out, and he let out a guttural sound of pain.
He lost his grip on my leg, and I kicked him in the chest, knocking him away from me, just as I launched the knife at him. It struck his chest, sinking in deep. He fell to the ground on his ass, collapsing like a rag doll.
I couldn’t believe my luck. For once in my life.
I scrambled to my knees and ran.
I passed two shifters who were striking each other, quick blows so fast and lethal that I wouldn’t have survived them. One of them doubled over, collapsing.
The other turned to me, purple eyes glinting maniacally through the dusty haze that rose from the sand. He strode toward me, his face marked with blood and sweat. “Can’t believe you even count for the score.”
I knelt and scooped up a rock because it was the only weapon I could find. We weren’t allowed to carry in weapons, but anything we found was fair game.
He launched himself forward with brutal speed that I couldn’t possibly meet. I hucked the rock at his chest, already plotting for the next one I’d dive toward if I was lucky enough that one distracted him.
It hit him in the face instead. He faltered, swiping away blood, but kept coming. The look on his face promised repayment, but I was already diving for the next rock.
Before he reached me, he was yanked backward.
He hit the ground with a grunt.
Kiegan stood where he’d been. Blood streaked his tunic. His knuckles were split, glistening red. The air around him seemed to vibrate, charged with barely contained strength.
He took one look at me and barked a rough laugh. “How do you already look like shit? You haven’t even taken a hit yet.”
Before I could respond, the shifter was on his feet and charging him. Kiegan grabbed him and lifted him over his head, reeling him back before he launched him. He hit the wall below the stands and crumpled. The crowd in the stands went wild, stomping their feet and screaming Kiegan’s name.
At least if Kiegan beat me senseless, there was no shame; he was stronger and more dangerous than any other shifter in this arena when it came to unarmed combat. I should’ve been grateful to face him, but I wasn’t.
He was the closest thing I had to a real friend, and sometimes, it’s hard to forgive one’s friends for beating one bloody.
I steeled myself. “Let’s get this over with.”
His brows drew together. “What new bullshit is this?”
“Remember what we’re here for?” I gestured vaguely out at the combat. Gods, there was definitely blood smeared on his tunic. Not his, never his.
“I don’t want to hit you,” he muttered. “There’s no glory in murdering kittens.”
“That’s rude, Kiegan.” Gods, how did I end up trying to argue the terrifying orc into hitting me?
He glanced toward the stands. “Your prince is watching. Doesn’t it look like he wants to come to your rescue?”
I followed his gaze. Fieran watched with Dairen and Asrael, each of them gripping one of his shoulders. The sight of him—eyes wide, focused on me, hands knotted in fists —made my heart flip like a fish on the bank.
My heart was about as clever as an air-deprived fish brain, that was for sure. “He’s not my prince. He’s the reason I’m trapped here.”
Kiegan grunted. He still looked disgusted. Another recruit charged at him from behind, and he didn’t even look as he pivoted and slammed the attacker to the ground. The other man didn’t rise.
“Just do it.” My voice came out raw, my throat still aching. “You can win last shifter standing. Don’t waste time on me.”
He studied me. “I’m hardly wasting time, kitten. The longer I wait, the more exhausted the rest will be of hurting each other. I just need to clean up the victors.”
He didn’t even doubt himself. He knew he’d be able to face down the victors.
“Every clan will want you.” As well they should.
He laughed, harsh and humorless. “You’re so na?ve. Nobody wants a half-breed. If I win, maybe I can force myself on a clan. Maybe.”
My heart ached for him. Maybe it was because my mind was still foggy from almost dying in that tunnel. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“There is something wrong with you,” he shot back.
“Then hit me. Better you than someone I don’t—” I cut myself off before I could finish. Like.
He gave me a long look. “Do you think we’re friends?”
“Yes, absolutely. Otherwise, I’d be bleeding on the ground, and we wouldn’t be having this long philosophical conversation.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s because you’re a kitten.”
“And because you love kittens.”
He hesitated. A shifter charged toward me, then saw Kiegan and tried to divert. Kiegan scooped up a rock from the ground and threw it at him as the man ran away. He fell to his knees, then slammed into the ground.
“Huh,” Kiegan said. “I didn’t think that would work so well.”
I closed my eyes, beginning to rethink our friendship.
“Fine. I’ll help you,” he muttered finally. “You go down when I tell you. I won’t hit you hard.”
I gave him a skeptical look. “The crowd’s watching us stall. They want blood.”
His jaw clenched. “You’re close to convincing me to give it to them. Beating these shifters is the most fun I’ve had since I was marked, and you’re ruining it.”
“Just make it look like a fight. You hit me, I stay down. Hopefully no one else stomps me for good measure.”
He cursed under his breath, but finally nodded. “Fine.”
I turned and ran.
My boots slipped in the churned sand, the roar of the crowd pounding in my ears like a second heartbeat. Kiegan’s low growl of exasperation was followed by the crunch of him launching after me.
He had to fight off another recruit on the way. The clash of fists and bone echoed off the arena walls: one sharp crack, a grunt of pain, more cheering.
By the time I risked a glance back, the man was down, and Kiegan was already moving again, cutting through the chaos.
From my vantage point, there were a dozen hand-to-hand combats being waged around the arena, more shifters circling, and a lot of injured bodies sprawled across the ground.
Someone slid down the hill near me, saw Kiegan, and slid frantically in a different direction, throwing themselves down the hill to try to get away. Kiegan diverted to him, though, moving in a flash, and caught him by the throat.
He was faster than someone so massive had any right to be.
I darted between two boulders, sand sliding out from under me as I reached the crest of the hill. My lungs burned, the cursed heat inside me pulsing with every breath. The air tasted like metal, like my throat was so raw it was bleeding.
A hand caught my ankle.
I hit the ground hard, breath punching out of me as he dragged me backward across the grit. The sky spun; my palms scraped raw when I tried to brace myself.
I kicked, connecting squarely with his chest. It wouldn’t hurt him enough to matter, and it had to look like I’d tried.
He grunted, more from surprise than pain. “Cute.”
Before I could crawl away, he twisted, pinning me. His weight bore me down into the sand, solid and unyielding.
“Stay down,” he murmured.
His fist came up, slow enough for me to see it coming, the blood glistening across his knuckles. Even pulled, the blow cracked against my jaw, snapping my head to the side. Pain bloomed sharp and bright. The taste of copper filled my mouth.
The world tilted. The sky seemed too wide, the cheers of the crowd too far away.
Then his hand pressed against my throat—not hard enough to crush, but enough to make my breath stutter. His bloodied knuckles hovered in my line of sight, his chest heaving just above mine.
“Your prince looks like he thinks he really is your prince,” he muttered.
I blinked, struggling to focus. Through the haze, I wondered why everyone had chosen now to call Fieran the prince.
Fieran was on his feet in the stands, eyes blazing, restrained only by the hands gripping his arms. He looked feral—golden and furious and ready to rip Kiegan apart if not for half of Clan Bismyth holding him back now.
Kiegan smirked. “Looks like he’s fallen for you.”
I tried to quip back, but it came out in a rasp.