Chapter 20
DANTE
At dawn, they yanked me out of my cell like an animal.
Fear had cannibalized the last of my logic hours ago, and now I was nothing but a tangled knot of panic and panting desperation.
Chains bit into my wrists, iron on raw skin, my half-healed leg twisting as they dragged me down the corridor. Feeding from Emberline had saved my life, but… by nightfall, I would be dead. The Overseer—that sadistic bastard—would make her watch, and then, when I was bleeding out into the sand…
I closed my eyes, incapable of comprehending what would come next for her.
For my brother and Nico… the only people I loved in the world would all be gone, victims of their own foolish nobility.
When we got close to the upper level, the Fossa’s heat hit me in a wave—dust, blood, old sweat baked into stone—and my stomach rolled hard enough I thought I might puke up the last of her blood in my stomach.
My head hung low, hair blocking the view of almost everything except the approaching platform. Fucking wonderful. The Overseer would make a speech before he sacrificed me to whichever broken beast he’d chosen for today’s fight.
“Stand up,” a guard snarled, slamming his fist between my shoulder blades.
I tried. Gods, I tried. But my body was a map of bruises, my vision stuttered at the edges, black creeping in, and my pulse beat painfully slow. Somewhere deep inside me, embers smoldered, waiting for the moment I became too weak to hold them back.
After two pathetic attempts, I managed to get my feet under me.
Scanned the crowd. Picked Nico out of the sea of faces and… there… Gabriel, almost unrecognizable, his face pounded into dog meat. Fuck. What had they been thinking?
The Overseer ruled from the platform like a king in a slaughterhouse. Ancient, broad-shouldered, pale hair pulled back tight, his eyes bright with a delighted cruelty that never dimmed. He wore black gauntlets—as if he needed to keep the filth off his hands.
He spread his arms, “The morning’s entertainment has arrived.”
The crowd answered with a roar.
I tasted copper as I swayed on my feet, trying to keep my bad leg beneath me. I focused on the Overseer’s exposed neck, on the pulsing line where flesh gave way to artery, picturing my teeth there, ripping out his fucking throat.
Then the guards dragged someone else out onto the floor of the Pit.
My blood went cold.
Emberline’s boots dragged furrows through the sand as they hauled her forward like a sack of grain. Her braid had come loose in spots, dark strands sticking to her bruised face, and a sweep of anger stole my every thought.
Fire simmered at my core, and it was tempting, so fucking tempting to give myself over to the demon and let him slaughter everyone in sight. But there was no way to keep my wife safe once I lost control.
Her chin was coated in dried, cracked blood, one side of her face swollen, a deep gash on one cheekbone.
I couldn’t even hear the crowd—only the sound of my own jagged breathing.
My hands clenched hard, the cuffs cutting deeper. I pulled toward her, and the guards tightened the chains, jerking me back until my shoulders nearly popped free. But pain was good. Pain kept me focused.
Emberline hit the sandy floor of the fight ring with a dull thud, and for a heartbeat, she stayed there, head bowed, like this place had stolen all the air from her lungs.
Then her dark eyes met mine.
And the horror that hit me was worse than any blade—because she wasn’t afraid.
She was furious.
The Overseer leaned close, his voice a gloating purr meant only for my ear. “Your little bird is about to get her wings clipped.” He grinned, baring a set of vicious fangs. “And then she’ll be mine. If you’re good, I might even let you watch me fuck her.”
Something inside me snapped. The weakness burned away, replaced by a white, screaming clarity. I didn’t think.
I just moved.
I surged forward, dragging the guards across the platform, and drove my forehead into his.
The crack echoed across the stadium.
Pain exploded in my skull—hot and bright—but the Overseer staggered back with a curse, his hand flying to his face. Blood poured between his fingers, and the crowd gasped before a sea of guards tackled me from all sides, forcing me down.
The Overseer’s eyes flashed. Not in anger—but in delight.
He mopped at his brow, then beckoned the guards.
“Bring him out. Let’s see how well our little aristocrat can fight.
” He bent down so only I could hear. “Don’t worry, I already told him not to fuck up that pretty face.
” Cunning and delight warred on his face before he added, “At least, not any more than I already have. I do wonder if her cunt tastes as sweet as her blood?”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I rasped, my voice shredded. “Don’t touch her.”
He smiled like he’d been waiting for me to say it. “Touch her?” He laughed. “Dominico, you misunderstand. She’s already mine. This is nothing but a final lesson for you. To prove you cannot protect her. That in this place, I am a god, and you are nothing.”
When iron doors groaned open, Il Mastino stepped through the widening crack.
The Hound.
He wasn’t a male so much as a ruin of flesh that still walked upright.
Like me, he was one of the Overseer’s experiments gone wrong, but a survivor.
Scar tissue laced his arms and chest like bands of melted wax.
Both ears were missing completely. His hair hung in dirty ropes, threaded with bone charms, carved from his victims.
He stalked onto the sand slowly, rolling his shoulders, joints popping like dry wood, his gaze fixed on Emberline. Then his lips pulled back from his yellowed fangs, and he roared like a feral beast.
My stomach clenched so hard, I bent over. The guards heaved me upright, bracing my arms out to either side to force me to watch the carnage.
Emberline stared up at her opponent steadily, nothing on her face except boredom.
No, no, get out of here. Run.
Slowly, calmly, she stripped her jacket off, tossing it aside as the crowd murmured.
She wore nothing but a dark shirt beneath, the fine fabric clinging to her ribs, showcasing her fragility. Bruises covered her throat, her arms—faint purples and yellows blooming all over her pale skin, and anger raged in me so fiercely, my vision blurred.
She lifted her braid, tucked it down into the back of her shirt, then laced her fingers together and stretched, as if she was stepping into a training ring.
As I’d seen her do a hundred times before.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t fucking help her.
“No, no, no,” I whispered. “Run. You need to turn and run, you can’t…”
Her gaze flicked to me again. One quick glance, sharp as a blade, and in her eyes, I read her warning clear as day.
Trust me. I have this under control.
I shook my head. Not against him. Not when I could barely stand, and she was a third his size. Not when this fucker had killed over two hundred prisoners and stalked toward my fucking wife like she was prey.
The Overseer clapped his hands. “Rules,” he announced, voice ringing through the cavernous space. “No mercy. Only one of you leaves. This is to the death.”
The crowd roared approval.
The Hound stepped forward, his scarred hands curled into fists as big as anvils, and twice as hard. He could crush a male’s skull with one blow. I’d seen him do it, his signature move. And his reach was at least four feet… she would never get inside his pocket.
But Emberline didn’t step back.
She circled him instead, light on her feet, moving like water—smooth and precise—matching his every lumbering step as he tracked her, snapping his teeth at her like a fucking beast.
He feinted once, a lazy swing meant to test her reaction.
Emberline ducked away, flinching, throwing both hands up as she stumbled in the heavy sand. The entire crowd caught its breath. I frowned. A clumsy move, one I’d never seen her make before. Usually, she was lithe as a cat, lethal and deadly.
But she was exhausted. Injured. And I knew how this place took a toll on your strength.
My pulse hammered. The Hound lunged.
He moved faster than anyone that big should ever be able to move, four hundred pounds of brute strength, the intensity of a born killer, with bloodlust in his eyes.
“No,” I screamed. “Go left, Ember, go…”
Graceful as a dancer, Emberline slipped sideways, and his hammer-like fist punched through nothing but empty air. She pivoted as momentum took him past her, staying too damn close, hand drawn back—
And for a heartbeat, I thought she was insane.
Then she struck.
Her knuckles drove into the soft spot under his jaw with enough force to snap his head sideways. Too low to hurt him, not with all that muscle and bone. He snarled, off balance, lumbering to get his feet under him, but she was already gone, circling, every step careful.
The crowd went wild.
The Hound charged again, trying to crush her with sheer brute force, and my heart stopped as he caught her wrist, her entire arm disappearing into his enormous paw.
Emberline’s eyes met mine one last time.
Not a drop of fear.
Just that same fierce, lethal calm.
Then she smiled, and quick and razor-sharp, she twisted, letting him pull her into the punch instead of away. Her free hand came up in a blur, knuckles aimed—straight toward the same spot on his throat, except this time, she struck with enough force and crushed his larynx.
The wet crunch echoed across the sand, the crowd leaning forward.
I swallowed, throat burning. Hope was a dangerous thing in this place, yet here I was… hoping. Emberline wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t even fighting right now.
She was hunting.