“You had the chance to end him but didn’t.Thatis screwing us all.”
Bodok shrugged. “Whatever you have between you is your problem. I do not kill.”
The largest man in the group let out a deep, rumbling laugh. “You’re gonna be facing Maxxis, boy. Running away ain’t gonna be an option.”
“If we let him get that far,” the slender one growled.
In a flash a half dozen armed Mondarian guards appeared in the training area, and they did not look amused. They stormed toward the assembled group of prisoners, hands on their weapons. The tension in the air was palpable.
The guard leader stepped forward, glowering at the would-be combatants. His gaze lingered on each of them, the weight of his anger abundantly clear.
“What do you think you are doing?” he growled. “You know the rules. There is no fighting in the fighting camp.”
“We were just playing,” the big man protested.
“Playing? We’ve been watching you. And this one? He’s set to face off with Maxxis. It’s already the biggest draw we’ve seen in ages, and youdarerisk screwing that up with your stupid antics?”
“We didn’t mean nothing by it,” the man replied, far quieter in the face of authority.
The guard stared hard, his enraged silence increasing the discomfort with every second. “You are not to touch him. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Allof you. Do. You. Understand?”
“Yes,” they replied in a worried chorus.
“Good. Now get the hell out of here and leave him be. The more he prepares, the longer he’ll last in the arena.”
The group dispersed, scattering across the exercise yard.
“Thank you,” Bodok said. “I have no quarrel with them.”
“I didn’t do it for you,prisoner. I did it because our employers have a lot of money tied up in this tournament, and we are not about to let a bunch of idiots cost them.”
Bodok nodded, a faint hint of amusement tickling the corners of his lips. “Fair enough.”
The guard spun on his heel and stormed off, his men following close behind, leaving Bodok completely alone.
And alone he remained.
For the entirety of the week leading up to the tournament he trained, slept, and ate in solitude. Maureen had not come back to see him. Not once. His Infala was getting more painful by the day as a result, the bonding between the two having been interrupted. His rune had met its match and was taking shape, but unlike her fresh, pure pigment, his was a mix, and her own Infala helped guide it in its new formation.
Or, it would have.
Now he was on his own, in pain, and worried about his mate. And there was nothing he could do about it.
“I hope she is present at the arena tomorrow night,” he quietly said, not daring allow himself anyrealhope, but nevertheless entertaining the thought.
Perhaps shewouldbe there when he faced Maxxis. He supposed he would find out soon enough.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
The night of the champions’ tournament arrived and, as she knew would be the case, Maureen found herself once more loading up a basket full of delights for the Tormiks to consume as they watched the bloody event.
She packed more, because tonight they would once again be going early. Not because the lady of the house intended to torment her rebellious servant by making her watch her lover die a horrible death—though that was also part of the day’s agenda—but because all but the earliest of contests were championship contenders. And that meant top-notch fights across the board.
It also meant they would be fights to the death.
