Turning on his heel, Master flicked his wrist to the guard. The guard stepped forward. “Move!” he commanded and pointed to the center pit. 152, still caught up in 194’s stare, was dragged to follow him. I moved to get him to remove his hands, when 667 gripped my arm.
I spun around, ready to attack, when 140 stepped in between us. “He was saving you from fucking up and putting your female in danger. You go after Master in this pit, and you’ll find yourself waking up in hell.”
My muscles tensed, knowing he was right. They watched me, ready to stop me again, when I reluctantly nodded. 140 slapped me on the shoulder, and we moved to the center pit. The three other males followed, standing slightly behind us. The other competitors gathered, too. But I had no time to take notice of them. 194 had all my attention now. The fresh meat that had his eyes on my female.
The sound of Master climbing to his podium made me look up. When I did, he took his place, towering above us all. But this time he brought 152 with him.
Her head remained lowered as Master paraded her in a dark red dress in front of his males. She stood to his left, timid and meek.
My heart swelled on seeing her looking so beautiful. I focused on her face and saw that her bruises and cuts had been covered with makeup. That angered me. Master had hurt her, then disguised it.
“Warriors!” Master shouted, and held out his arms with a smile on his face. “Welcome to the Blood Pit!” Males around me rocked from side to side as they stared up at Master, fueled by his words.
Master dropped his arms. “As you know, the tournament begins tonight. If you are to fight first, you will have already been told by your trainer.” Master paused for effect, then said, “It is a four-day-long battle. You win, you will progress to the next round. If you don’t…” Master trailed off and shrugged. The males muttered and growled around me, bloodthirsty for the kill.
Master drank it in, getting high from the tension in the room. “You will be paired for all fights but the final. Four males will reach the end stage of the championship and will battle it out in a winner-takes-all war.” Nodding, he added, “Then the male that wins, that slaughters the three left in his path, wins the ultimate prize.” Master walked farther forward, peering down, and said slowly, “He wins his freedom.”
Louder voices cut through the pit this time, males pushed to their limits. They wanted freedom. As I cast my eyes over the tens of males, I could see that this chance to be freed from their chains was everything. This tournament was their chance to become more than they were—killers, animals bred for slaughter.
Master’s gaze then landed on his three champions and the males that had been beside us in the pits. “Tomorrow will be your turn. The champions with the lowest odds will take to the arena.” My blood’s temperature spiked at the thought of taking on any one of them. Master then looked to another six males at the opposite side of the center pit. He pointed to them and declared, “And you will be their opponents.”
My lips rolled back over my teeth in frustration. I glanced to the side to glare at the scarred champion, only to find him staring up at the podium. I knew what I would find when I followed the path. I was right—it was 152 that held his attention. When I saw a possessiveness flash across his face, my stomach cramped with the need to rid him of his head. But when 152 lifted her head, and stared back at the male, an equal interest in her blue eyes, I felt my anger overrun my resistance.
Why the fuck was she staring at him? Why was he staring at her?
I didn’t hear Master dismiss us. My blood was too loud in my eyes as it rushed like torrents in my ears. I didn’t notice the fighters returning to their pits. All I could see was a red haze, the need to stake my claim on 152.
Storming forward, my shoulder crashed against 194’s. The large male growled low at the contact and whipped to face me. Before he could react, I threw my Kindjals to the ground, seeing him doing the same with his picanas. I charged, I ran to where he stood, and plowed my fist across his jaw. His head snapped back like I hadn’t even made a mark.
In seconds he had hit me too, his crazed blue eyes boring into mine. Slamming my chest into his, I warned, “Keep the fuck away from her. Don’t you ever dare look at her again.”
He pushed against my chest. “Get back.”
“She’s mine,” I hissed, and struck out again. I smashed my fist into his lip, immediately drawing blood. He lifted his hand to his lip, and his already fucked-up face contorted with rage. His muscles tensed until they shook with the effort. But just as I braced for him to strike, a firm hand landed on my chest and pushed me. I stumbled back, before righting myself. The blond champion in his party was pushing the scarred one away. The scarred fighter tried to push past him to get at me.
“Retreat,” the blond male ordered 194. I was surprised when I heard them speaking in Russian.
“I’m going to kill him,” 194 snarled, and glared at me over the blond’s shoulder. “He called her his. He fucking called her his.”
At his words, I rushed forward just as the one with long black hair wrenched the scarred Russian out of my path. Instead, the blond leader turned on me and swung. His heavy fist collided with my cheek. I swung back, striking him in return. Blood dripped from his mouth, and he smiled. Blood coated his white teeth, as I tasted blood on my tongue.
“He doesn’t look at her,” I ordered in Russian. The blond blinked, then stepped closer.
“He does whatever the fuck he wants,” he answered back.
“She’s mine,” I shouted, and took the fucker to the ground. I struck and struck, any chance I got. He fought back. Rage took its hold when this male didn’t break under my fist.
He gave as good as he got, slamming his blows into my ribs and stomach, matching my every move. I panted as the Russian champion didn’t submit. He sweated when I didn’t give.