Just in time, he grabs her throat, using his powerful thigh muscles to launch himself upward, still gripping her throat, bashing his other fist into her face and chest as he throws her down.
Her claws slash through his clothing, ripping at his chest, his legs, his face, but he hurls himself into the fight, taking every slash, roaring in pain—or anger, I’m not sure which.
They tumble across the cage floor, an indistinguishable mix of fur, skin, blood, fists, and teeth. But Koda doesn’t stop, kicking and punching until—
Snap!
They both lie still, and I have no idea whose bones were broken until Koda stirs, groaning as he heaves Reaper’s body off himself.
He makes it up onto his knees before he slips in the blood now covering the floor and slides down again, resting on Reaper’s body. His face is too bloody for me to see the damage—although one of his eyes is definitely closed.
With a final roar, he pushes himself up to his feet.
And it’s as if more than Reaper’s neck has snapped.
He points his bleeding, trembling finger at Arga. “You,” he snarls. “Fuck you.” He turns to the elite demons in the crowd, spitting blood as he shouts. “Fuck all of you!”
I’m frozen as he stumbles from the cage, flips Crone the bird with a “You too, old lady” and drags himself toward the atrium.
He falls down on the way, struggling to get back up, and this time, I jump to my feet, but he catches my eye across the distance and shakes his head at me. Apparently, I’m not supposed to help anyone. They’re demons. Compassion is the last emotion they would ever strive to achieve.
Even his mother doesn’t budge, although her eyes, visible between the strands of her hair, are wide now, her breaths audibly shallow, as if she’s in shock that her two youngest children survived—including Koda, no less.
Now, it’s my turn.
I close my left fist over the silver mark the real Reaper gave me. I’m certain it won’t help me in the cage, but it gives me courage. I meet Roman’s eyes, drag in the sense of his power, and take comfort in the support of my demon wolves and their soft growls.
Crone spins to me. Her demeanor is less certain now, her silver robes fluttering where her hands are located. “Nova, lowest of the low, you will step forward—”
“To fight for my life,” I say, my power swirling around my fingertips, my eyes shifting into their demon form, gleaming violet slits.
I stride toward the cage and inside it.
The gate clangs as it closes, and the floor is bloodied now, which will make it more difficult to maintain my balance. I take note of the worst patches, knowing that a wrong step could get me killed.
Like the royals who survived, I waste no time harnessing my nightmare power, its cold burn building across my chest and arms, tingling to my fingertips. I already know Reaper’s greatest fear—although her conjured form may not feel the same—losing her pups, and I fill my mind with it. A fear I intend to project onto her.
I remind myself that my time with Roman has prepared me for this fight and every fight after it.
Even so, my adrenaline spikes and my heart beats faster.
As the form of a wolf takes shape in front of me, confusion spirals through me because its fur isn’t onyx and its eyes don’t glow violet like Reaper’s do.
Instead, its fur is as bronzed as Roman’s skin, its paws are russet, and a patch of russet fur sits across one shoulder. Its eyes are as stormy green as the sea.
I take a step back, shock making me jolt. At the same time, my anger rises, my demon’s volatile rage filling me so fully that I feel like I’m freezing, so cold that my breath could frost in the air.
My focus flies to Crone. To her callous smile.
Cruel fucking bitch.
It’s a conjuring of Roman’s wolf.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
Kill or be killed.
My heart is shattering inside my chest.
