The unmistakable roar of a crowd reaches me—twenty times louder than the cheers and boos I’m used to hearing at the Mouth of Hell. That’s fine, great even. I can use that energy to fuel my anger.
“Any more questions?” Riven asks.
I shake my head and roll my shoulders back, bracing to fight.
My opponents don’t matter. They can’t. If I have to kill them to protect my guys, I will. I’ll accept the stains on my soul without complaint, but the less I know about them in advance, the better. The last thing I need is to picture Lyss or Dom before every killing blow.
I expect no mercy, and I’ll give none in return. That’s a truth I can live with—one I can kill with, too. It will have to be enough.
SEVEN
Monster Realm Survival Tip #18:
Rooting for someone else to win gives you two opportunities to lose.
MALACH
Guards march us to a room attached to the inner wall of the arena. Three sides are solid metal, and the fourth is a roll-up gate made of gleaming iron forged in a lattice pattern. Each break in the gate’s framework provides a window into the arena.
Sand and ice fill the center of the massive, open-air coliseum. Boulders are scattered in random formations, mounds of gravel and dirt simulate hills, and there’s even a small copse of trees at the north end. It’s populated by smaller versions of the towering, hollowed-out conifer we sheltered in during our night in the forest.
The stands stretch high on all sides, and the clouds of hovering junk are easy to overlook because the bloodthirsty cries of the crowd overshadow everything else.
My hands ball into fists. I have a bad feeling about this.
“Where did these people come from?” Ciprian demands, his black eyes roaming angrily over the packed stands. “I haven’t seen a single apartment complex.”
“Some bound populations used to live voluntarily on the other side of the forest,” Luca says, his voice uncharacteristically wooden. “But these are blood tourists.”
Alistair raises his eyebrows. “Cute name. Do I dare ask why they’re called that?”
“They travel here from other realms—usually the more technologically advanced, peaceful ones.”
I scoff. “Bored fools seeking forced violence as a form of entertainment.”
Luca nods. “There’s no shortage of it here. The profits from the arena support the prison, or at least that’s what my parents were told.”
Ciprian paces the room and examines the walls.
I tune them out as I spot Celine behind a rolling gate on the other side of the arena. Her hair is braided—she’s had time to prepare, at least—but this is all wrong. She shouldn’t have to fight. Helpless anger rips through me. It should be me fighting for her. Me destroying her father for the pain he’s caused. How did everything go this wrong?
Pain burrows into my skull, and my vision blurs around the edges.
“She’s here,” I say weakly to the others.
Luca grabs the bars of the gate, then jolts, hissing with pain.
“Don’t.” I pry his fingers off the latticework, wincing at the skin left behind. “It’s spelled.”
“Guys, the faceless creep is out there too.” Ciprian points to the raised platform in the center of the arena.
Shoulder to shoulder, we crowd the bars, getting as close aspossible without touching them. When they roll up with a metallic groan, I freeze. What’s going on here? I trust nothing about this. Luca braces to run, but I slam my forearm across his gut as all the hairs on my body stand on end.
“Wait,” I hiss. “Don’t rush; it could be a trick.”
He bristles to argue with me as the door behind us swings open. In the end, we have no choice in the matter as four burly guards shove us out into the sand.
They separate and herd us onto four flat rocks. They’re oddly round and free of ice. With Celine in sight, I don’t dare fight back, and as soon as the guards back away, the rocks shoot into the air. I bend my knees to keep my balance, but the stone platform isn’t wide enough for me to brace properly.
