The afternoon is cloudy as she steps into the shadow of the Arena. The footman bows respectfully, not to her title but to her purse strings.
Money is the power at the Arena.
She tosses a few coins to the man dressed in the crossed axes and skull of the Arena. Other patrons mingle in the shade of the towering amphitheater, but she ignores their presence. Instead, she turns into the inn and heads toward her room.
With each step, she feels emboldened to withdraw the official letter sent to her from Treland Arena. A much lighter tone than the other correspondence sent not long after her escapade into the combatants’ level.
Avina had been sternly urged not to return unless summoned. Her gold was welcome to fund Beast, but her ‘constant presence’ was discouraged. The Arena Masters even suggested her mere existence ‘complicated the mind of a man who will statistically die within five winters.’
As requested, she has been absent for over a month. The rational part of Avina prayed to the Goddess of Wisdom, Maeve, that her memories of that dark night bound in chains were nothing more than a wine-filled fantasy. Of course, the nasty black and blue marks from the chains permeated her body for over a week, deconstructing most of her denial.
She flinches as she recalls bribing a guard to access Sigvid’s cell as if she were a common harlot. Allowing him to chain her and… and… warmth pools between her legs, and excitement shoots through her body at the memory.His rough hands on her skin, while his tongue dominates her mouth, is a memory that has become harder to shake.
She can still taste him.
And that torments her.
What sane human wants to be tied in chains and devoured by a dangerous war criminal?Even his berserker side awoke to return her to his arms.
She might believe Sigvid wants to protect her if she didn't know better. As she lay in bed night after night, she can still hear his deafening roars as he bashed the skulls of those guards. She would have died that night if the Arena sentries had not intervened, and she was too drunk to notice.
“She is mine to own.”His growl claws at her insides until she feels aroused enough to relieve herself and angry enough to scream.
“Miss Avina.” A servant hails her with a goblet of her favorite white wine, saving her thoughts from dipping into a chasm of confusing emotions.
She sips the wine and finishes the climb to her room, whereher trunk already sits. Surprisingly, this room is her favorite in all of Treland. She purchased it with her coin.
Not her father’s.
Not Rendel’s.
Not Samson’s.
All Avina.
After changing out of her traveling clothes and into a thin sea-blue gown and matching cloak, she slips into the Arena. She ventures to the third ring, where a familiar grungy man sits behind a black box.
“Ah, Miss Avina.” His smile reveals five teeth. “Interested in how your combatant has fared since your unplanned visit to his cell?” He licks his lips, causing her to shiver with disgust.
“I received the notice he is to fight for the Champion title.”
The Arena worker nods excitedly. “Between you and me, my lady, Beast is the best fighter we’ve ever seen.”
She glances over her shoulder to ensure they are alone.
“What time does he fight tomorrow?”
“First match of the morning.”
She shrinks under her cloak. “Was he punished after…”
“After you bribed a guard and let him have his way with you? And then he embarked on a murder spree to keep you from being safely returned to your room?” His chuckle raises every hair along her neck. “Fighting in the Arena is considered suffering enough.”
She nods as relief accompanies her shame.
“If I might be so bold, Miss Avina.” His smile suddenly takes on a sinister expression. “I overheard the Arena Masters deliberation with the Battlemaster. It seemed the Beast held fiery feelings toward you. The consensus was that true pain would be to die in the ring, never to see you again.”
She recoils at his cruel words. This grungy man and all the rest of the Arena staff are wrong! He hated her for everything. She condemned Sigvid to an Abyss he will never escape in the Arena.
