I can barely breathe.
The tsar and seer watch with pointed focus. The carnoraxis growl and shriek from their cages, agitated from the ruckus of the fight.
Torbin lunges, Dante blocks. Dante swings wide, Torbin ducks beneath it, his sabre flashing as it cuts across Dante’s arm. The fabric tears. Blood seeps into the sleeve.
Dante doesn’t pay it any attention.
Torbin chuckles, backing up but keeping his sabre ready. “I have the feeling you already know, Brother, but I have to say this—she is delicious.”
My stomach turns. I rub my neck where the pain from his bite still lingers, like a brand of violation etched into my skin.
“Then again,” Torbin says, orbiting Dante with the easy arrogance of a predator, “you may have been tasting from a different part of her than I. But if I win, I’ll be sure to make my own comparisons.”
Dante lets out a vicious growl. His next swing is aimed at Torbin’sneck.
Torbin deflects it at the last moment, the blades scraping so hard, it sends a shock up my spine. He spins and slashes at Dante’s ribs—barely missing.
They regroup and start circling again.
“You’re afraid,” Torbin taunts, breathing heavier now.
Dante grits out, “Afraid ofyou? You’ve grown delusional.”
Torbin’s grin sharpens. “No. You’re afraid that Celeste knows what I am and still might want to be with me.”
“Like I said,” Dante replies, eyes burning, “delusional.”
They clash again, blades screaming against each other. Torbin ducks under Dante’s guard and slams a fist into his ribs. Dante staggers back but recovers, driving his shoulder into Torbin’s chest, forcing him off-balance. Dante takes the opportunity to swipe low, slicing a gash in Torbin’s side.
For a moment, Torbin backs up, pressing his hand against the wound and then staring at the blood as if he doesn’t believe Dante landed a strike. But then he grits his teeth and raises his sabre again.
Their blades clash a final time—locked. They press into each other, each trying to get the upper hand, but neither is willing to back off.
Then, as if by mutual agreement, they throw their swords aside. The falchion clatters near the edge of the arena, the sabre skidding to a halt against a blood-streaked stone.
They attack each other, hand to hand now. It’s raw and ruthless, with Torbin landing the first punch. It’s a clean hook to Dante’s jaw that snaps his head sideways. Blood sprays from his mouth. But Dante retaliates instantly with a brutal knee to Torbin’s gut, doubling him over.
The crowd roars. I want to scream at them to shut up.
Sweat glistens on their skin. Blood drips from both their wounds, their noses, their lips.
Torbin swings his fist again. Dante blocks it, then slams his elbow into Torbin’s sternum. They grapple, dust rising around them.
I want to help Dante, like I did during the trials, but I feel the seer’s gaze land on me. It’s almost as if she can read my mind. It’salmost as if she’s daring me. Like she will see to it that Dante fails if I make a move.
“Why are you holding back?” Torbin growls at Dante, spitting blood onto the ground.
Dante pants, chest heaving. “Maybe there’s part of me that doesn’t want to believe you’re a lost cause. That there’s still a part of you that’s human enough to save.”
“Now who’s delusional? I don’t need saving, Brother,” Torbin shouts. “What I need is for you to let me go.” Then he throws his forehead forward, cracking it against Dante’s head.
Dante stumbles, knees buckling, but he doesn’t fall. He lunges, punching Torbin in the temple.
Torbin’s snarl curls through the air like coiling, venomous smoke. His chest heaves. But his eyes burn with that same twisted hunger that’s haunted me since the day I found him in the pit.
He staggers upright, swaying slightly. When he straightens, there’s a manic gleam in his eye. “You don’t think I’ll hurt you?” he rasps, his voice rough as gravel. “I’ll do far worse than that. I will rip you limb from limb, shred your insides, and then, when you’re a useless heap of blood and flesh, I will finally revel in tearing out your heart with my bare hands.”
Torbin surges forward like a bolt loosed from a crossbow, driving his fist straight into Dante’s face. The sound is sickening—a dull, wet crack that echoes through the pit.
