Chapter 13
Merrilee
The guards came for me after the fight ended.
I'd watched from my usual spot in the cage next to Persico's private box, my fingers wrapped so tightly around the bars that my knuckles had gone white. My heart had been in my throat the entire time, pounding so hard I thought it might burst right out of my chest.
Ahrick versus Korroth the Draxian.
The Draxian was massive. Easily twice Ahrick's size, with scaled hide that looked like it could deflect blaster fire and claws that could disembowel a man with one swipe.
His reptilian eyes had gleamed with predatory hunger as he'd entered the ring, and the crowd had gone wild at the sight of him.
Korroth was a veteran of the gladiator fights—undefeated in his last twelve matches, with a body count that made the other fighters nervous.
Hell, he'd been sent to Palaydium for perpetrating a slaughter that ended with thirty dead.
And Ahrick fought him anyway.
I'd watched him move through that ring like death itself—fast, brutal, efficient.
Every movement calculated, every strike deliberate.
But there were moments when it got too close.
Moments that had made my breath catch and my stomach drop.
When Korroth's claws raked across Ahrick's ribs, drawing blood that streamed down his side in dark rivulets.
When the Draxian caught him in a crushing hold that lifted him off his feet, those massive arms squeezing tighter and tighter until I saw the strain on Ahrick's face, the way his jaw clenched against the pain.
My chest had tightened with terror, my vision tunneling until all I saw was him struggling in that monster's grip.
But Ahrick had won.
He'd found an opening—a fraction of a second where Korroth's guard dropped—and he'd taken it.
A vicious strike to the Draxian's throat, followed by a devastating combination that had sent the massive fighter stumbling.
Then Ahrick had put him down hard, a final blow that left Korroth sprawled on the blood-stained sand.
The crowd had erupted in a roar that shook the walls, a deafening wave of sound that seemed to go on forever.
And I'd seen something else, too.
Hewes.
He'd been in the crowd, standing in one of the private boxes reserved for Persico's inner circle, his pale face visible from where I sat. And when Ahrick won—when he stood over Korroth's body with blood streaming down his side and his chest heaving with exertion—Hewes's face had twisted with rage.
Pure, impotent fury.
His hands had gripped the railing of his box so hard I thought he might snap it. His mouth had moved, saying something I couldn't hear over the roar of the crowd, but I didn't need to hear it to know it wasn't good.
Hewes reaction had made me smile. Made something dark and satisfied curl in my chest, warming me from the inside out at the thought he didn't get his way.
Now the guards were leading me through the winding corridors toward the prize room, and my pulse was racing for entirely different reasons.
Ahrick had won. Which meant I was his prize again.
Which meant we had tonight.
The door opened with a heavy creak, and they shoved me inside roughly, not bothering with any semblance of gentleness.
The room was dim—just the faint glow from the narrow window high on the wall casting long shadows across the floor.
The air smelled like stone and metal and something else, something I couldn't quite identify.
I stumbled forward, catching myself against the wall, my palms scraping against the rough surface, and then—
Ahrick.
He crossed the room in three strides and pulled me against him, his mouth finding mine with desperate intensity. His hands were strong and sure, one cupping the back of my head, the other pressing against the small of my back, crushing me against his chest.
I gasped against his lips, my hands coming up to grip his shoulders. He tasted like blood and sweat and victory, and I kissed him back with everything I had.
His hands were in my hair, tilting my head back, deepening the kiss until I couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but feel. Feel his heart pounding against mine, the warmth of his skin, the solid reality of him alive and whole and here.
Then he pulled back just enough to press his forehead against mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps that matched my own.
And he put one finger to his lips.
Silence.
I froze, my heart slamming against my ribs.
He took my hand and led me deeper into the room, away from the door. We sat on the edge of the narrow bed, and he pulled me close, his arm around my shoulders, his mouth near my ear. I felt the warmth of his breath against my skin, scented the copper tang of blood that still clung to him.
"They're still outside," he breathed, so quiet I almost couldn't hear him even though his lips were practically touching my ear. "Wait."
So we waited.
In the darkness. In the silence. With nothing but the sound of our breathing and the distant roar of the crowd still celebrating in the fighting pits.
Something was wrong. Something had changed.
Ahrick's body was tense beside me—not the relaxed tension of a fighter coming down from adrenaline, but the coiled readiness of someone preparing for action. I felt it in the way he held himself, in the set of his shoulders, in the way his eyes kept flicking toward the door.
Minutes passed. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Each one feeling like an eternity.
I wanted to ask him what was happening, but I stayed silent, trusting him.
Then, finally, the sound of boots moving away from the door. The scuff of footsteps growing fainter and fainter until they disappeared entirely down the corridor.
Ahrick waited another full minute before he moved.
Then his whole body seemed to exhale, the tension draining out of him in a rush. His arms came around me properly, pulling me against his chest, and I felt him tremble.
"Ahrick?" I whispered, my hands coming up to frame his face. "What's wrong? What happened?"
He didn't answer immediately. Just held me, his face buried in my hair, his breath warm against my neck. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were haunted.
"Hewes called me to his office before the fight," he said quietly. "He knows about us."
Ice flooded my veins. "How?"
Anyone with eyes saw we cared about each other, but only here, in the prize room, alone together, did we let our true feelings show. Only here did we touch like this, speak like this, let the masks fall away completely.
But knowing Declan—the bastard probably had the place bugged.
The thought made my stomach turn. How many of our private moments had he witnessed? How many whispered confessions had he recorded? Every touch, every kiss, every time thinking we were safe—
"Merrilee." Ahrick's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "Don't. Whatever you're thinking, stop."
"He could have been watching us this whole time," I said, the words tasting like ash. "Listening. Recording everything."
"I know." His hands cupped my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. "I've known it was a possibility from the beginning. These rooms—they're designed to give the illusion of privacy, but men like Hewes don't leave anything to chance."
"Then why—"
"Because I needed you," he said simply. "Because some things are worth the risk. Because even if he heard every word, saw everything—I don't regret a single moment with you."
"Neither do I," I whispered.
His lips brushed against mine, soft and gentle—so different from the fierce warrior who fought in the pits. This was just us. Just Ahrick and Merrilee, stripped of everything else.
I kissed him back with the same tenderness, my hands sliding up to rest against his chest. I felt his heartbeat beneath my palms, steady and strong.
The kiss deepened slightly, but remained unhurried, almost reverent.
When we finally parted, he rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips.
"Whatever happens," he murmured, "remember this."
"Always," I promised.
"Hewes gave me an order," Ahrick continued, his voice rough. "He told me to throw the fight. To let Korroth win."
My breath caught. "Korroth. The Draxian."
"Yes." His hands tightened on my arms. "Hewes wanted information about shipping routes that Korroth had. So Hewes ordered me to allow him to win you as payment."
The implications crashed over me like a wave. "But you didn't—you won—"
"I couldn't let him have you." The words came out fierce, absolute. "I couldn't let that monster touch you, Merrilee. I don't care what it costs me."
"Why didn't you kill him?" The question burst out of me. "When you were in his office. Why didn't you just—"
"I did." His voice went flat, dead. "I had my hands around his throat."
I stared at him, my heart hammering. "What stopped you?"
Ahrick's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. His eyes were haunted when they met mine. "He threatened to hurt you."
The air left my lungs.
"So I let go." His voice cracked. "I let that bastard live because the alternative was losing you.
And I can't—Merrilee, I can't survive that.
I can survive anything they do to me in those pits.
I can survive Hewes's threats and Persico's games and every broken bone they give me.
But I cannot survive a world without you in it. "
"So I won," Ahrick said, pulling me back against him. "I disobeyed, and I won, and you're safe for now. That's all that matters."
"No." The word came out choked. "No, that's not all that matters. You disobeyed Hewes. You painted a target on your back. Because of me."
"Because I choose you." His hands cupped my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. "I will always choose you, Merrilee. Every time. No matter the cost."
Tears burned behind my eyes. "What's he going to do to you?"
"I don't know." Ahrick's thumb brushed across my cheek. "But I know what he'll do to you if you stay here. And I can't—I won't let that happen."
Understanding crashed over me. "You're sending me away."