Clearing his throat, Master stepped back and withdrew his hand. My gaze dropped to the sand beneath my feet again. “901, you have no choice in this.” In an instant, his personality switched. He lost his anger and sighed. “Don’t make me punish you. It would pain me greatly to punish you, my champion of champions.”
My skin pricked at his words. Because he meant it. Master would punish me. I had no doubt. He was feared by all, a predator, a born killer. He got off on inflicting pain on his slaves. But more than that, he got off on the mindfuck. The not knowing what he was thinking, not knowing if today would be the day he chose to have you killed.
His entire empire was built on a foundation of fear.
But I didn’t have this fear. I was too important to him. I knew it. He knew it. Everyone knew it. I had no weakness for him to exploit.
That pissed him off more than anything else.
He waited for my answer. Taking in a deep breath, I replied, “I won’t slow down. I won’t be beat.”
He shook his head and smiled. But there was no humor in his smile. There was only challenge. “That’s where you are wrong, 901. Everyone has a weakness.” His eyes flared and he added, “It’s just a question of finding it.”
Speaking against command, I replied, “I don’t have a weakness. I don’t allow myself weakness. Ever.”
Master didn’t respond. He remained still, directly in front of me, for several minutes. Silent. Pensive. Until he moved aside, which I took to be my cue to leave.
As I hurried down the hallway to my cell, Master shouted, “You’ll yield, 901. I’ll spare you for your insubordination this time. But don’t think you are immune from punishment. Everyone is replaceable in the pit. Even you. Someone stronger and faster always comes along. Weaknesses will be found. And I assure you, they’ll be exploited.”
I stilled. His cold, lifeless voice washed slowly over my skin. Master’s footsteps approached, the light padding of his shoes on the sand slicing through the cloying silence to where I stood. He hovered a moment, asserting his authority over me. Then, finally, he walked away.
When his footsteps died in the distance, I marched back to my cell. His words ran through my brain with every step, my lips curling in pure hatred.
Long ago I had resolved that no matter what he said or did, I would not let him break me. I wouldn’t kill my opponents slower and I certainly wouldn’t “put on a show”—feign failure and hide the power my body held. More important, I wouldn’t show weakness. In my twenty-one years in this hellhole, I had never shown him weakness. Because this was the motherfucking Blood Pit. Weak males died. Champions fell. Only the most brutal killers survived.
And I too would die on this sand, but not until Master brought me someone who was worthy and ruthless enough to stop my heart. Only then would I breathe my last breath.
My strength, my refusal to bend to his will, was the only choice I had left in this life. He’d stripped me of everything else—freedom, happiness, free will. But my pride as a warrior was just for me, the only thing I called my own. I wouldn’t let him take that, too.
I sucked in a deep breath and increased my speed. Safe in the knowledge that there was no one out there that could defeat me anytime soon.
Because I was the Russian Pit Bull.
The collector of souls.
This was my domain.
The Blood Pit was my arena.
And I’d fight until the end.
1
152
The Blood Pit
Georgia
Unknown Location
A warm breeze rippled over my skin, rousing me from sleep. My eyes were leaden as I tried to blink them open. When I finally succeeded, my vision was blurred. I tried to lift my head, but it ached, and pain pulsed down my spine.
A small cry left my lips as I tried to lift my arms and legs. They were racked by aches and featured the sensation of being pricked with a thousand needles. My mouth was dry. My eyes finally cleared enough to stare at the stone ceiling above me. The stone was a dull gray. Yet, in contrast to my surroundings, I lay on something soft and comfortable, my head sinking into what felt like the softest of down covered in silk.
My eyebrows pulled together in confusion. Managing to move my stiff fingers, I ran them along the soft fabric beneath me. Taking a deep breath, I held it in and forced myself to turn onto my side. I stifled a pained moan that was about to slip through my lips. I panted with exertion.
I squeezed my eyes shut. When the pain had subsided, I opened my eyes and stared at what was before me. I was in a … bed? A real bed. A large, soft bed. My head was thick with confusion. My heart raced in panic at being here. I had never earned the privilege of a bed.
This time I ignored the pain and shuffled my head higher on the luxurious pillow until the room loomed into view. It was large and decorated beautifully. White drapery hung from the ceiling, tenting the room. There were several carpets of the richest reds and what appeared to be old brown furniture, perfectly situated around the outskirts.
I tried to think of where I could be, but my mind was a thick fog. I shut my eyes, the harsh light forcing me to shy away. Then it dawned: I wasn’t used to the light; I was used to darkness. But why? I didn’t know! I racked my brain trying to remember. All that emerged were fragmented images: cages, needles, pain, red-hot fire in my veins, the unbearable need for it to be extinguished. Then darker visions followed: visions of males dressed in heavy suits of black, a house filled with children, those children being taken away. Ripped from their beds.
My hands began to shake, fingers curling into weak fists. Wraiths. Night Wraiths, my mind whispered as the words moved on.