Bolts of agony rip through the muscles of my side, and with a deep groan, I hoist her onto the bed. Her head lolls back, draping a river of dark hair across my neck.
Is she …?
I pressa finger to her neck and feel the rapid flutter of her pulse.
She is alive.
And she smells … amazing, earthy and sweet, like warm mornings in theveladooorchards when the soil comes alive in the sun. I suck down the scent and smile as I realize where I am.
I am dead. This isZarlysa.
The memory of what came before is fuzzy, but the image of blood is clear. I was wounded. And I died. There is a short moment of sadness before I allow myself to sink into the pleasure of having a female’s skin pressed against mine. I am free. I smile and nearly laugh. This is what freedom feels like. True freedom. The weight of responsibility, gone.
I adjust myself to get a better look at the female's face, and as I shift, so does she. One of her elbows drops against my ribs, and a wave of fresh agony ends the fantasy.
This is not the afterlife.
Tears of rage prick my eyes as the memory of where I am comes rushing back. I am still in the Coliseum. Still injured. Still locked in a cell. And a female is lying across my chest.
“Vok!” I shout.
I am not dead, but my vow is broken.
My vow is broken. And I am wounded.A series of panicked breaths shakes my body before I can get control of myself again.
I need information.
My surroundings have not changed from earlier. The door is closed, there are no guards present, and nothing seems out of place—except for this female.
How did she get in here? What was she doing?
I close my eyes, thinking back to the moment I woke up. The female waskneeling next to the bed, her hands were on my flank, and she was doing something to my wound.
Is she a nurse?
If she is a nurse, why is she in my cell? And why is she unconscious?
I take her arm in my hand and examine her wrist, wondering if I harmed her. Her arm feels like a brittle leaf in my grasp, and yet, it appears undamaged. But there is so much blood. Her hands are covered in it.
With a quick sniff, I groan, knowing exactly where the blood came from. It is my blood, and the scent burns my nose and forces me to fight back unwanted memories.I must focus.
The female is human, which is odd, considering the empire’s treaty with Earth. The fabric of her dress is stained with blood. She wears no identifying marks or badges. And her face…
A jolt of recognition runs through me. The resemblance is too clear. Too undeniable. The slightly upturned end of her nose. The way her mouth curves down at the corners. The striking contrast of her blushed lips, dark hair, and starlight skin.
“Xelora,” I whisper.
The only reaction I get is a strange flutter in my chest. I do not know why I expected more. I shake my head, feeling foolish. She is not a goddess; she is ahuman, and I am supposed to be looking for answers, not admiring her. And yet, I am struggling to look away. My willful eyes continue down her body, tracing over the rise of her breasts, along the sloping curve of her waist, and to her hips. A tremor runs through me as the uncomfortable feeling of desire begins to creep in.
“Vok,” I groan, as I press my head back into the pillow.
Where is my control?I feel powerless against the tempestuous inferno roaring in my chest. I am burning alive from the inside out. My eyes and mind are not my own, my skin is tight and hot, and my heart isfluttering uncontrollably. It is too much to ignore.Sheis too much to ignore. The way her weight presses into me, the warmth of her body, the goddess-like features of her face, the tickle of her hair on my neck, the scent of her skin, the soft curve of her waist beneath my hand.
My hand.
I have been holding her waist this entire time.
I pull back in a panic and knock her arm off the bed. A flicker of light catches my attention, and carefully, avoiding touching more of her than necessary, I pull a shiny object from between her fingers.
