Chapter 23 #4
The Aurexium champion laughed, arrogance flaring at the sight of him cornered. Then Thanor’s chin dipped. To anyone else, it might have looked like weakness.
I saw the restraint, his strategy.
He yielded just enough. The sudden absence of resistance threw the larger man off balance, and in that instant, Thanor drove the stem of his axe into his stomach.
The sound that tore from the man was raw and guttural, spittle flying from his mouth. Thanor followed through, driving his elbow upward beneath the man’s jaw. The crack echoed across the square.
The champion’s head snapped back, blood and broken teeth scattering into the front rows of the crowd. A collective scream rose—half horror, half exhilaration—as spectators recoiled, then leaned forward again, intoxicated by the violence.
“Ringbreaker. Ringbreaker. Ringbreaker,” the chant surged through the people.
Marcus rose from his seat, cheering, his usual composure giving way to the spectacle.
And I—
I was grinning.
Only weeks ago, the sight of such brutality turned my stomach, sent me recoiling as Jorius steadied me at the Maw. Now it surged through me instead, my pulse quickening.
The Aurexium champion staggered back, disoriented, and Thanor advanced, slicing his axe across the man’s arm. Blood split in a brutal line as the champion swung wildly, trying to reclaim control, each strike heavier, less precise than the last. The tide had shifted.
Thanor rolled behind him, evading another reckless swing. The man roared, frustration bleeding into every movement, slowing him, dulling his aim.
Emotion made him sloppy. Thanor had no such weakness.
As he was with me, he was in battle, all restraint, calculation, never allowing emotion to dictate his actions.
He moved in close, tackling the champion from behind with brutal efficiency.
They crashed to the ground in a spray of dust and shattered stone, and in one seamless motion he locked his legs around the man’s neck, tightening into a merciless chokehold.
The Aurexium champion thrashed. His face darkened from red to a mottled blue as the crowd roared. Then his resistance broke.
Thanor released him and rose to his feet. His chest rose and fell with harsh breaths, head tipped back toward the sky, eyes closing for a fleeting second before opening again.
He turned in a slow circle, one axe lifted, acknowledging the chaos of the crowd.
Then he looked to the podium. Not to the Aedile or Marcus. To me.
The heat in his stare was unmistakable. It struck through me. A tingle spread low between my thighs. My mind betrayed me with the memory of the forest, of the way I had ground against him, the friction driving me toward the most intense peak I’d ever known. His voice. His claims.
The brush of his thumb beneath my eye.
Beautiful.
Resisting him was becoming harder.
The Aurexium Lanista flushed a deep, blotchy red as he was forced once again to concede Marcus the superior position.
Marcus accepted the victory with composed satisfaction, his lack of gloating only aggravating Leonus further.
With a loud command, he ordered his houseguards to drag the unconscious champion away before departing in unsteady haste, wine-heavy steps uneven beneath the sway of his swollen belly.
Cassara and her husband rose to offer their congratulations, voices polished and bright.
Thanor stood before us, still bleeding, slick with sweat, the rawness of him deepening the tingle low between my thighs. I ignored it.
His gaze found me once more, heated. I met it with cool indifference. If he sought an outlet for the adrenaline still coursing through him, it wouldn’t be me. His words in the carriage were still on my mind, enough to cool whatever warmth had risen.
Cassara leaned in and whispered something urgent to her husband.
Tyberion moved after Marcus, speaking in low tones before Marcus gestured for us to keep up.
I kept a few steps behind Thanor, careful not to drift too near him.
He sat down and loosened the fastenings of his armor, his eyes holding me in place.
A cluster of servant girls gathered at once, their hands quick as they cleaned and bandaged his wounds, their giggles poorly concealed as they leaned in close.
One pressed against him as she worked, her breasts brushing his side, another’s hands roaming lower than necessary beneath the loosened edge of his armor.
He didn’t look at them. He held my gaze.
My cheeks warmed as the tingle between my thighs deepened further, into a slow pulsing ache. Jealousy followed. I turned my back. Behind me, Vayren let out a low chuckle.
“The Aedile intercepted me,” Marcus announced as he returned. “He was thoroughly impressed by the spectacle—and by your performance, Vayren. You and Valentina are invited to a private gathering at his villa this evening. A number of elite households will be present. It is… a significant honor.”
Foreboding crept in as I glanced back at Thanor. The smirk was gone.
The invitation didn’t feel like an honor.