Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Knox
Ten years later
Laughter surrounded me as I made my way through the room full of assorted eternals. I scanned the crowd as Dromon, Lyra, and Pierce followed me.
The eternals who looked up at us shrank away when they saw me and hastily shifted their attention back to their tankards full of whatever alcohol they preferred. I was well accustomed to their reaction and barely noticed it anymore.
When we passed a table of elves, their gazes raked Lyra with keen interest. She lifted her nose disdainfully at them, but I could tell one had piqued her interest when her step slowed a little.
We’d come to No Man’s Land to blow off some steam tonight, and these elves were here because they wished to live separately from their kind—or were into shit they shouldn’t be.
It wouldn’t be the first time Lyra had spent some time with them, and it wouldn’t be the last, but for now, she walked by them.
Often, after patrolling what remained of the shifter kingdom of Wildwood, we came here to fuck, fight, and, hopefully, kill. I flexed my fingers as bloodthirst hummed through my veins; while I wasn’t here for the fucking, I’d most certainly come for the killing.
The cage was a good way to forget about all we’d lost and to make those who’d taken it from us pay.
At the far end of the room, Lyra pulled a chair out from an empty table and sat on it.
Dromon lifted a bottle from the tray of a passing gorgon server who’d tied back her hair and covered it with a black headpiece.
Having her hair covered probably put the customers more at ease, and she’d make more money if she didn’t turn her customers to stone.
Dromon tossed some coins on her tray and set the bottle on the table. She started to protest the loss of the bottle, but when she spotted me, she closed her mouth and turned away. Without a word, the pretty server returned to the bar.
Pierce grabbed the bottle and took a swig from the unlabeled container.
With dark brown skin and intelligent chestnut eyes, Pierce was average height for a shifter at six foot three but more thickly muscled than most. He’d shaved the sides of his hair to the skull and wore what remained in a braid to his waist.
When he finished drinking, Pierce set the bottle down and wiped his mouth before speaking. “Whiskey.”
“Good,” Dromon said as he claimed the bottle next.
A shout from the crowd drew my attention to the three-story cage in the center of the room. I’d spent a lot of time in that cage since escaping the harem; anticipation of a kill thrummed through my veins, but I didn’t go in there for just anyone.
“Here,” Lyra said and thrust the bottle at me.
The scrapes on her knuckles were still red but had stopped bleeding from her recent tussle with a cyclops. Needless to say, he no longer had an eye, as Lyra didn’t lose.
Tall and leaner than most shifters, her golden blonde hair stood out in short spikes around her striking face. Her full lips were almost always in a downturn; that wasn’t any different now as she waved the bottle at me.
When her brow furrowed, her lime green eyes narrowed on me. “Are you drinking or not, Knox?”
I claimed the bottle and took a swig before passing it off to Dromon. I eyed the cage, but there were too many eternals between me and it to get a clear view of what was transpiring behind the bars.
A cheer ran through the crowd, and chairs skidded back as some of the eternals leapt to their feet and threw their hands in the air. Others groaned as they slammed their fists off the table; metal clinked as coins exchanged hands.
A second later, a body, with a smashed-in head, was carried through the crowd. Not everyone who entered the cage killed their opponents, but some chose to do so. Since I was very selective about my opponents, none of them survived.
From within the cage, the unseen winner called for another contender. I was itching for a fight and desperate for some relief from the pressure building within me, but I had to be careful, as no sorcerers would get in there after I entered… and they were all I wanted to fight.
The bottle returned to me, and the whiskey burned its way down my throat as I drank it. I was pretty sure they made this shit with actual fire, but it did the trick.
Dromon took the bottle from me and leaned back in his chair to chug it. He wiped a strand of his dark blond hair from one of his brown eyes. When he leaned forward again, his shoulder-length hair fell forward as he clasped the bottle between his legs.
Pierce punched him in the shoulder and claimed the bottle as Lyra rose, stretched her back, and strode over to the elves. They found her another chair, and she settled at their table as one of them handed her a yellow bottle.
Within the ballroom of the castle absorbed by the earth over many years, the acoustics muffled the chatter of the eternals.
The walls still bore remnants of the once colorful frescoes that had decorated them.
Some of the murals extended from floor to ceiling, or perhaps all of them did, but only a few retained enough color to be discernible.
Though the colors remained, it was impossible to tell what scenes the faded paintings depicted. The splashes of color brought some life to this dingy, underworld dwelling.
The lanterns on every table were the only sources of illumination. Their glow didn’t penetrate the far corners of the domed room. There, thick shadows danced and swayed on the outskirts of the room.
I’d once scampered through the shadows, staying small and hidden to avoid drawing attention to myself, while I spied on those gathered within. Often, Briar would be with me, trying not to giggle as we observed things we were never supposed to see at our age.
Sometimes, she’d hide behind me before poking her head out and ducking back again. We’d lived in the shadows, watching, absorbing, laughing, gawking, and sometimes being horrified.
One day, when I was little more than thirteen and she was twelve, Briar stopped in the shadows, pulled a dagger from under her black dress, and placed it against the wall.
With deft movements, she chipped away some of the paint and stone until she’d carved our initials, SN if I did, they’d be over six inches long, and I wouldn’t let the beast come fully out to play. This bastard was mine.
The bottle clinked against the table when I set it down, rose, and walked toward the cage. The crowd didn’t notice me as I stayed to the edge and in the shadows I’d once traversed as a child.
And the sorcerer certainly didn’t see me as I approached the cage. If he did, he’d know death was coming for him and run while he still could.