I lurch to the side, and my face smacks against an invisible barrier before I can fall fifty feet to the ground. More magic. Carefully, I test the bottom with the toe of my boots and the middle with the sleeves of my shirt to confirm my suspicions. For all intents and purposes, this is a tube made of magic. I don’t think I’m getting off this rock unless they want me to.
None of us will.
Celine looks between us; her lips pressing into a thin line.
A shiver runs the length of my spine. There’s a hardness in her brown eyes that I haven’t seen in years. She knows something. And whatever it is, it’s made her lock down. It’s a self-preservation method and useful for survival.
“Welcome to the Howling Pit,” the veydra yells. “I’m your host, Riven, and we’ve got a special treat for you today.” I glance at the crowd and frown. There are demons, shifters, and fae in the stands. Why is Riven making the announcements in my family’s radiant dialect?
Then it hits me, and I kick myself for my stupidity. He isn’t speaking anishlanguage—this is translation magic. Something isturning his speech into whatever the listener prefers. We have a similar device in the celestial realm, but the cost is exorbitant.
“Look at the angel,” he says. I wait to feel eyes on me, but they all stare at Celine instead. “She will make a choice, and you can wager on multiple outcomes!”
He pauses as the crowd roars, and I focus on her. From this distance, Celine should be small, but her determination has a weight of its own. It gives her a presence many spend their whole lives striving for.
When she meets my eyes, it’s as if there’s no gap between us. “Be strong, my truth,” I mouth the words and raise my hand. “Nai khirith, mash n’tel.”
Something flickers in her stare, and she lifts her hand for the briefest of moments.
I would give anything to take her place.
“Today, the angel Celine fights for a piece of her heart,” Riven says. “If she bests her opponent, she secures the safety of one of these prisoners. If she loses, one will be killed. Either way, the choice will be hers. You have fifteen minutes to place your bets. Wagers will be twofold—first by predicting the outcome of the fight, and second, by correctly selecting who she will save or condemn: the vampire, the demon, the basilisk, or the angel.”
The crowd buzzes with excitement.
I hold firm, refusing to give them more fodder for their entertainment.
Along the rim of the arena, between the upper and lower stands, a holographic ticker flickers to life. At first, I’m not sure what to make of it, then I realize I’m looking at the odds and a countdown. A different color represents each of us, and the stats are updating in real time as the bets roll in.
The crowd is split evenly between a win and a loss, and I have a slight edge on being the one she saves. Angel to angel—with nothing else to go on, it’s the safest bet—but Ciprian isn’t trailingfar behind. The mob clearly enjoys the drama of an angel-demon pairing.
It’s sadistic. The cruelest of spectacles. And the crowd is lapping up every drop.Blood tourists.Luca was right about them.
Celine ignores it all.
As if she isn’t being asked to do the impossible, she stretches and avoids glancing at any of us for too long. I don’t blame her. To maintain the best chance of winning, she must remain calm, and there’s nothing reassuring about the way the four of us have been trussed up and put on display.
I glance at the others.
Luca stands on his platform, rigid and resolute. The only sign of his nerves is the lip ring trapped between his teeth.
Ciprian acts deliberately nonchalant. Sitting cross-legged on the stone base, he throws two middle fingers at the crowd, then leans back on his hands.
When I get to Alistair, I find his eyes already on me. Red and wild, he nods once—a sign of respect or a threat? I’m not sure, so I nod back.
I kick myself for every wrong move that led us here, and the sabotaged gateway flickers through my mind. My magic activated our transportation and... my head aches. The memory itself hurts. No matter how many times I try to figure out what went wrong?—
The countdown on the ticker hits zero, and a gong echoes around the arena.
A hush falls over the crowd.
My pulse throbs.
“Choose your weapon,” Riven says to Celine. A boulder cracks open, revealing dozens of knives and swords. There’s even a morning star, the club’s handle curved and sanded smooth in direct contrast to the spiked ball attached to the top.
Celine’s gaze flickers over the weapons, then back to the veydra. “Show me my opponent first.”
I roll my shoulders back. She’s smart to make the demand before choosing her weapon. Some of the options are flashy, but will be almost useless against certain supernaturals.
