Cynna’s adrenaline surged, and a tight, hard lump formed in her chest, causing her breath to catch.
Muscles flexed beneath the pale skin of the man’s arms. He wrapped one giant hand around the satyr’s covering his throat, and tried to pull the satyr’s fingers free of his windpipe. His other arm flew out to the side, grappling for the blade just out of his reach. His eyes bulged. His face turned red.
Cynna’s palms grew sweaty, and she swallowed hard, knowing what it felt to be held like that, willing him to break free. To live. Though why, she couldn’t say.
The satyr chuckled, a dark menacing sound that drifted up to the rafters in a throaty growl. “You are no savior. Just a worthless, weak mortal about to visit the fires of Hades.”
“Not. Without. You.”
The man’s neck muscles strained. His fingertips found the handle of the blade. Releasing his grip on the satyr’s hand at his neck, he shoved against the satyr’s shoulder, lifted his knee, and nailed the satyr in the balls. The satyr gasped in pain. The man closed his hand around the handle of the blade, yanked it close, then thrust it into the satyr’s belly.
The beast’s eyes flew wide. Blood spurted from the wound. The man pushed hard, knocking the satyr off him, then stumbled to his feet.
Blood covered the man’s bare chest, his damp hair fell into his eyes, and sweat dripped off his tight muscles as he looked down at the writhing satyr. The satyr gasped one last time, then his arms landed against the sand of the arena with a thud, and he fell silent.
Chest heaving, the man turned his attention toward the remaining two beasts, both injured but not finished. Not yet.
“Yes,” Zagreus whispered near Cynna’s temple, his hot breath flaming her already overheated skin, his excitement palpable in the thick air. “Finish them. Let the darkness free.”
As if he heard him, the man turned and looked up into the spectator area where they stood. A deep scar cut across the left side of his face, disappearing beneath his beard, but his piercing, amber gaze didn’t hover on Zagreus. It landed on Cynna. And held. As if they were the only two in the room.
Her pulse picked up speed as she watched his eyes narrow. As disgust filled his features. Chest rising and falling with his deep breaths, he threw the blade on the ground, spit, and stepped back from the carnage he’d just caused. And as his blistering gaze continued to hold hers, something in his eyes cut to the very center of her. She’d been watching him defy Zagreus’s will for months, but this was the first time he’d done it while staring at her. The first time she felt as if…he was testing her.
The injured satyrs both growled and slowly pushed to their feet. Blood matted in the thick hair of their chests. The white paint in a stripe over their bare skulls dripped onto their shoulders from their own sweat, forming blobs of slick white goo to run down their dark skin like war paint. The pants they wore were tattered and ripped in different places from the fight, but the clothing didn’t hide their grotesque hooves or the curve of their animal legs. And the rage she saw in both their faces told her they were about to change the tides of this battle.
The satyrs advanced on the defenseless man once more, and Cynna’s adrenaline spiked all over again. But his gaze didn’t shift their way. He continued to stare up at Cynna with those scorching eyes, continued to look through her as if he could see her soul and knew it was black. Continued to pin her with his singular focus as if she were the real threat.
She licked her lips. Glanced between him and the beasts. Turn and look, you idiot.
Zagreus’s fingers curled into her flesh at the shoulders. The pain amplified outward from the spot, but she barely cared. Her heart rate jumped as her gaze continued to flick from the man to the satyrs and back again. Was Zagreus really going to let them kill him? That wouldn’t help his cause. He wouldn’t allow his prized possession to die, right here, right now…would he?
Sweat formed along her skin. Her pulse turned to a roar in her ears. The satyr on the right growled. The one on the left pushed his hooves against the ground and charged. Both their faces twisted in fury.
Move. Defend yourself. Pick up your fucking blade!
She wanted to scream the words. To hurl herself into the arena. But she didn’t dare move. The man continued to stand still and silent, staring up at her with those smoldering, mysterious, fiery eyes.
Run!
The satyr on the right lifted his blade for the kill move.
“Halt!” Zagreus let go of her and lurched toward the railing, his fingers curling around the metal pole until they turned white.
The satyrs skidded to a stop, their blades still lifted in fury, their chests rising and falling with their labored breaths.
“Stand down,” Zagreus growled.