Chapter 15 #2
I hesitated, searching for the right words. With Declan—with any of my other boyfriends, really—it had always been about them. Their pleasure, their needs, their satisfaction. I'd been an afterthought at best, a convenience at worst. But with Nansar...
"With you, it's all about me," I said quietly, meeting his smoldering gaze. "The way you touch me, the way you look at me... like making me feel good is the only thing in the world that matters. I've never had that before."
Something passionate and tender blazed in his eyes, stealing my breath.
He crossed to me in two powerful strides, cupping my face in his large hands with surprising gentleness.
"Because it is the only thing that matters," he said, his voice low and fervent, vibrating through me.
"Your pleasure, your happiness—that's everything, Chloe. Everything."
My throat tightened with emotion, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
I rose on my toes to kiss him, pouring everything I couldn't say—every fear, every hope, every impossible feeling blooming in my chest—into the press of our lips.
He responded with equal intensity, his arms wrapping around me, holding me close like he'd never let go, like nothing in this world could tear us apart.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, hearts racing in tandem, he rested his forehead against mine.
"We should go," he murmured reluctantly, though his arms remained locked around me.
As we stepped into the morning light, Nansar's fingers found mine, threading together with an intimacy that sent warmth cascading through my chest. Despite the uncertainty of what lay ahead, hope flickered inside me like a candle flame—fragile but persistent.
A guard materialized outside the cottage door, his expression impassive. He gestured for us to follow without uttering a word.
As we wound through the village, I cataloged every turn, every landmark.
The well near the center, its stones worn smooth by countless hands.
The Elder's dwelling, larger and more ornate than the others.
The storage buildings huddled on the eastern side like gossiping neighbors.
I committed it all to memory, already planning to add to the map when we had privacy.
Beside me, Nansar's eyes tracked our route with the same quiet calculation.
I wanted to trust the Elder's word, but survival meant having an escape plan. I knew that better than most.
The village felt eerily deserted as we walked. I'd expected bustling morning activity—fires being stoked, children playing, the rhythms of daily life. Instead, the paths stretched empty before us.
When we reached the settlement's edge, I understood why.
A massive fenced arena sprawled before us, easily the size of a football field. The fence was primitive but formidable—thick wooden posts driven deep into the earth, lashed together with woven branches and rope that looked deceptively strong. But it wasn't the structure that made my pulse spike.
Nearly every Welati in the village crowded outside the perimeter, packed together like spectators at a gladiatorial match, their voices rising in a cacophony of excitement.
Inside the fence, warriors moved through stretches and warm-ups.
They looked like fighters preparing for battle—rolling massive shoulders, testing their footing on the packed earth, some engaging in light sparring that still managed to look deadly.
Nansar's hand tightened around mine, his grip almost painful.
The Elder appeared beside us with unnerving suddenness, her weathered face alight with something that looked disturbingly like anticipation.
"Welcome," she said, spreading her arms in a gesture that encompassed both the field and the gathered crowd. "Welcome to Games Day."
She stepped closer, and I watched her nostrils flare delicately as she inhaled.
That knowing smile from earlier returned, curving her lips with unmistakable satisfaction.
Heat flooded my face. She knew. Of course she knew what we'd been doing.
Whether or not it was enough to appease her was the question.
I forced myself to meet her gaze without flinching. "I don't particularly enjoy watching males beat each other bloody for entertainment, but thank you for the invitation."
The Elder's smile deepened, almost fond. "You do not wish to watch your mate compete?"
The word landed between us. Mate. So casual, so certain. But was it enough?
"Nansar is a warrior," she continued, turning her attention to him with an appraising look that made my skin prickle. "All warriors in the village must compete. It is our way. It is how we honor strength, skill, and courage."
"No." The word escaped sharp and worried. "He's not—he doesn't have to—"
"Chloe." Nansar's voice was quiet but firm, anchoring me. His hand squeezed mine once before releasing it, and I immediately felt the loss. "It's okay."
"It's not okay," I hissed, turning to face him fully, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. "You don't have to prove anything to them. You don't—"
"I know." His blue-green eyes held mine, steady as the tide, calm as deep water. "But if I refuse, it will draw attention. More questions. We need them to see us as..." He hesitated, glancing at the Elder, then back to me.
A mated pair. A warrior who belonged. Not prisoners planning escape.
I wanted to argue, to grab his hand and drag him away from whatever violence waited in that arena. But the logic was sound, even if every instinct screamed against it.
"Fine," I said through gritted teeth, my jaw tight enough to ache. "But if you get yourself killed, I'm going to be pissed."
Something flickered across his expression—surprise melting into amusement, warm and genuine. "Noted."
The Elder gestured toward the fence with a sweep of her arm. "Come. The games begin soon. You will watch from here, with the other mates."
A younger female with intricate braids woven through her dark hair stepped forward, her hand gentle on my elbow. "This way," she said, her tone soothing, as if she sensed my rising panic.
I glanced back at Nansar, my heart clenching as he was led away by a group of males—warriors, every one of them, their bodies marked with the stories of past battles. Scars decorated their arms and chests like badges of honor, and they circled him, sizing him up with calculating eyes.
One said something that made the others laugh—a sharp, challenging sound that set my teeth on edge.
Nansar's expression remained infuriatingly neutral, but I caught the subtle shift in his posture, the slight tension that rippled through his shoulders. He was preparing himself, mentally and physically, for whatever was to come.
And I hated it.
"He will be fine," the female beside me murmured, her voice soft with understanding. "The games are meant to test, not to kill."
"How reassuring," I said, unable to keep the bite from my tone.
Her lips curved in a knowing smile as she guided me toward the viewing area where other females had gathered.
They stood along a wooden railing that overlooked a wide, circular pit of packed red earth.
The arena was ringed by crude fencing, and beyond it, the crowd swelled—males, females, even children hoisted onto shoulders for a better view of the spectacle to come.
The women turned as I approached, their gazes curious but not unkind. A few offered nods of greeting. One, an older female with silver threading through her dark hair like moonlight, studied me with keen eyes before her weathered face softened into a smile.
"You are the newcomer," she said. A statement, not a question.
"I am." I fought to keep my voice steady, to project confidence I didn't feel.
"Your mate is strong," a younger woman observed, her eyes kind.
I didn't trust myself to respond, so I simply nodded and turned my attention to the arena.
Across the field, Nansar stood among the other warriors.
He'd removed his vest—apparently fighting bare-chested was the custom—and despite my anxiety, my breath caught in my throat.
Morning sunlight poured over him like liquid gold, illuminating every sculpted plane of his chest and shoulders, every line of hard-earned muscle.
When he rolled his shoulders back and stretched his arms overhead, I watched the flex and pull of his body with an appreciation that felt almost indecent given the circumstances.
He was magnificent. Powerful. Dangerous in a way that made heat pool low in my belly, and my pulse quickened for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.
One of the males near him gestured in my direction, saying something I couldn't hear.
Nansar's gaze found mine across the distance—just for a heartbeat—and in that brief connection, I saw the warrior beneath the calm exterior.
Then he turned back to the male and responded with words I couldn't make out, but his tone carried a warning that made the other man retreat a step.
They were testing him. Challenging him. Trying to find his breaking point.
And I despised every second of it.
"Your mate has fire in his blood," the older female beside me observed, approval warming her voice. "That is good. He will need it."
My fingers tightened on the railing until my knuckles went white. "He shouldn't have to do this."
"Perhaps not," she agreed quietly, her gaze distant. "But he does it anyway. That is what makes him worthy."
I had no answer for that. I could only watch as Nansar continued his preparations, his movements fluid and controlled, every gesture speaking of coiled strength and deadly grace. Even now, on the precipice of violence, he was breathtaking.
And I was absolutely terrified.
An older warrior stepped forward, his scarred face placid as he surveyed the gathered males. When he barked orders, the sound cracked through the air like a whip, and my stomach twisted into knots as he gestured sharply, dividing the warriors into groups.