I bristle, the entire congregation seeming to hold its breath as I lift my chin and charge from the shadow, refusing to pay the beast any more heed. Not a single drop of it.
It’s not going to stop me. I know it’s not. I should’ve known this is where it wanted me all along: back in a battle ring, shedding blood.
Perhaps Fate—whoever Fate is—needs Hock and Zaran taken out for some reason, so the Herder deviated me here to do the deed. Whatever it’s for, it’s hard to shake the sense that I’m being used again.
I should be used to it by now.
I move toward a weapon rack, lifting a few off the hooks that I quickly discover are too top heavy or too thick in the handle for my fingers to securely wrap around. I pick up a small iron ax with a bound leather pommel that feels comfortable in my grip, tossing it from hand to hand before using it to shear off the excess material of my shirt so it doesn’t get in my way.
Tossing the blood-tinged scrap of silk to the wind, I move into the ring, beginning a slow, steady circle around the outer perimeter while maintaining Hock’s eye contact. He’s swapped his spiked club for one that’s smooth, no doubt reluctant to disfigure me in his efforts to earn the “right” to bind with me.
Such spangle shit.
I crack my neck from side to side, steadying my breaths until they’re deep and slow.
Calm.
Waiting for him to make the first move.
Hock shakes his head, muttering beneath his breath before his face distorts with a bellowing roar. He lunges, kicking up sand as he powers across the arena like a charging beast.
I wait until he’s so close I can feel the vibrations of his hammering steps. Can see the orange flints in his bold-yellow eyes.
I flick to the side, bending my upper body away from his swinging mace to the collective gasp from the crowd. I spin, whipping around with a slash of my ax.
Blood sprays, my weapon slitting through skin and flesh, nicking bone, severing the side of his abdomen. Not deep enough to kill, I realize—scurrying back, gaze firmly locked on my roaring opponent while fisting a handful of sand.
Hock slaps his hand against the wound, inspecting the slick of blood now coating his palm, a flash of undiluted shock kindling his eyes, followed by a flare of rage violent enough to sizzle skin.
I’ve seen males look at me like that, right before I’ve pierced their hearts.
The look of wounded pride.
I don’t give him time to digest the emotion, charging, dodging left and right. Drawing his attention to my feet, hoping he boggles over the direction of my next move rather than what my hands are doing.
With a flick of my wrist, I toss my scoop of sand into the air as Clode lashes the wind into a gust, spraying it into his eyes—helping me of her own accord.
Hock roars.
I smile.
Love you too, Clode!
Miss you!
While Hock bats at his eyes, I dive upon his back, wrapping my arm around his throat, just about to slash my ax across his jugular when he grips my arm and hauls his body forward.
I feel my blade make contact as I’m whipping through the air, bracing myself for impact so that when I collide with the ground, I’m immediately rolling out of the way. Marginally avoiding a blind swing of his mace that bashes the ground at my back.
I leap to my feet, seeing him scurry back, padding at the too-shallow slit in his throat.
Damn.
He leers at me through bloodshot eyes, seething, bellowing boisterous words while he reaches into the pocket of his pants. Probably trying to check that his balls still exist.
Not wanting to give him too much time to recalibrate, I charge again, dodging left and right, a few long leaps away when he pulls his hand free.
I see the thin aureate tendril dangling from his fingers too late, already throwing my body in that direction—ax swinging as he thrusts his hand forward. As a small, hissing serpent is tossed through the air between us, maw bared.
Fangs stretched.
My weapon slits through Hock’s thigh just as the serpent strikes my chest with a bite of sting.
I roll, tumbling across the ground, throwing myself onto my feet again and backstepping. Watching the small serpent wiggle off through the sand—practically blending with the grains.
What.
The.
Fuck.
I cup the throbbing hurt on the upper swell of my left breast, not taking my eyes off the asshole now smirking at me from a handful of long leaps away. Like he’s already won despite the fact that he’s baring three fresh slash marks that are leaking blood all over the sand.
“Who goes around carrying those in their pocket—”
A sudden flash of dizziness makes me wobble, and I throw my hand out to balance myself to the tune of the crowd’s gasps and murmurs.
Creators … That serpent spiked me with its venom.
Hock chuffs, then charges.
I charge too, because there’s no way I’m standing stationary while this fuck comes at me again.
Hand fisted around my ax, I consider which two ribs I’m going to slice between, dodging to the left, another tip of dizziness making the ground rock with such violence I stumble a step.
His weapon collides with my shoulder, and a burst of pain explodes across my collarbone, down into my elbow.
Scurrying back, I cradle my arm close to my body, gaping at the stalking male, sawing breath into my parched lungs …
What was that?
My dodge was perfect … until it wasn’t.
Another wobble, and a bulb of fear explodes behind my ribs, realization dawning like aurora ribbons rising in my belly, tangling around my spine, wriggling up my throat.
The venom is moving through my system fast.
Too fast.
The entire world seems to tilt sideways, my steps floundering with it, forcing me to plant my hand on the sand to catch myself. A flash of satisfaction ignites Hock’s features, his lips curling into a victorious smirk.
“You dishonorable fuck,” I snarl, charging—dodging side to side, finally dipping low and sliding along the ground. I whip my ax out and slash it through his calf muscle in the same instance his weapon whooshes past the side of my face.
He roars, catapulting forward in stomping stumbles, taking himself far enough away from me that he’s able to check the laceration in his pants, the fresh wound pouring blood down the back of his leg.
His eyes bulge with disbelief.
“Couldn’t swallow the fact that you were going to lose to a female half your size, huh?” I push to my feet, still sneering. “I will fucking ruin you, then boot your severed head all the way to The Fade,” I growl, charging again—
The world jerks, taking me with it. My hand flies out to catch myself, only for it to plummet straight through what I thought was the ground.
Heart lurching, I stagger into an awkward, sideways crouch, catching myself on the actual ground—my heart pumping hard.
Fuck.
I meet Hock’s slashing gaze as he tests his weight on his injured leg …
This is not good.
I need to finish this—fast.
I shove up, prowling in a wide arc Hock mimics in limping strides. With my stare firmly cast on my snarling opponent, I pick at the leather bind wrapped around the pommel of my ax, unraveling the taut, sturdy length of material.
Come on, asshole. Make a move.
He charges.
So do I—converging toward him at a rapid pace.
A few long lunges away, I whip my hand back and toss my ax. It slices through the air with the speed of a lightning strike, propelling straight for his chest—
He moves faster than the flying weapon, dodging it with a dramatic dip of his immense body. The ax whirs past him, and I leap, latching onto him. Clambering up his compromised form and kicking my foot against the gouge in the back of his leg.
Hock tips his head and roars, dropping to his knees with such heft the ground trembles, the crowd gasping as I bind the leather ribbon around his thick neck and tighten.
Tighten.
Choking sounds rupture from his no-doubt gaping mouth, fuel to spur me on. Hock may look like a mountain and move like he slid from the womb swinging, but his neck is still delicate.