“I don’t want to hit you,” he muttered. “There’s no glory in murdering kittens.”
“That’s rude, Kiegan.” Gods, how did I end up trying to argue the terrifying orc into hitting me?
He glanced toward the stands. “Your prince is watching. Doesn’t it look like he wants to come to your rescue?”
I followed his gaze. Fieran watched with Dairen and Asrael, each of them gripping one of his shoulders. The sight of him—eyes wide, focused on me, hands knotted in fists —made my heart flip like a fish on thebank.
My heart was about as clever as an air-deprived fish brain, that was for sure. “He’s not my prince. He’s the reason I’m trapped here.”
Kiegan grunted. He still looked disgusted. Another recruit charged at him from behind, and he didn’t even look as he pivoted and slammed the attacker to the ground. The other man didn’t rise.
“Just do it.” My voice came out raw, my throat still aching. “You can win last shifter standing. Don’t waste time on me.”
He studied me. “I’m hardlywasting time,kitten.The longer I wait, the more exhausted the rest will be of hurting each other. I just need to clean up the victors.”
He didn’t even doubt himself. He knew he’d be able to face down the victors.
“Every clan will want you.” As well they should.
He laughed, harsh and humorless. “You’re so naïve. Nobody wants a half-breed. If I win, maybe I can force myself on a clan. Maybe.”
My heart ached for him. Maybe it was because my mind was still foggy from almost dying in that tunnel. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“Thereissomething wrong with you,” he shot back.
“Then hit me. Better you than someone I don’t—” I cut myself off before I could finish.Like.
He gave me a long look. “Do you think we’re friends?”
“Yes, absolutely. Otherwise, I’d be bleeding on the ground, and we wouldn’t be having this long philosophical conversation.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s because you’re a kitten.”
“And because you love kittens.”
He hesitated. A shifter charged toward me, then saw Kiegan and tried to divert. Kiegan scooped up a rock from the ground and threw it at him as the man ran away. He fell to his knees, then slammed into the ground.
“Huh,” Kiegan said. “I didn’t think that would work so well.”
I closed my eyes, beginning to rethink our friendship.
“Fine. I’ll help you,” he muttered finally. “You go down when I tell you. I won’t hit you hard.”
I gave him a skeptical look. “The crowd’s watching us stall. They want blood.”
His jaw clenched. “You’re close to convincing me to give it to them. Beating these shifters is the most fun I’ve had since I was marked, and you’re ruining it.”
“Just make it look like a fight. You hit me, I stay down. Hopefully no one else stomps me for good measure.”
He cursed under his breath, but finally nodded. “Fine.”
I turned and ran.
My boots slipped in the churned sand, the roar of the crowd pounding in my ears like a second heartbeat. Kiegan’s low growl of exasperation was followed by the crunch of him launching after me.
He had to fight off another recruit on the way. The clash of fists and bone echoed off the arena walls: one sharp crack, a grunt of pain, more cheering.
By the time I risked a glance back, the man was down, and Kiegan was already moving again, cutting through the chaos.
