One was Hunter.
Eva couldn’t stop her own cry as she turned to Augustine. “He’s a child!”
Augustine slowly lowered his sleeve, buttoning his cufflink before reaching for his jacket. “A child who wanted to fight, and now he is.” He stepped up beside her, watching as Hunter scrambled to get away from the man twice his size. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice he was the one I found you in front of downstairs?”
“Compassion is a weakness,” Dutch added, the edge of his irises already teasing red. “We cannot have any weaknesses in the Vipers.”
“I’m not a Viper,” she snapped, realising what she said a second too late.
Augustine cocked his head, and when he smiled she knew there was nothing she could do as she watched Hunter fight to survive on the sands.
Chapter21
Kace
Kace immediately moved to the medical cabinet, conscious of the other fighters close behind his heels. It was every man for themselves, which meant he had to watch his back at all times.
“You’re going to need stitches,” someone said, but Kace ignored them as he searched through the drawers until he found something to wipe the blood from his chest. It had finally stopped bleeding, the blood itchy as it flaked with every movement. He still couldn’t feel his chi entirely, which meant whatever was blocking the magic wasn’t localised to the arena floor. It also meant the cut that started on his right pec and sliced down his stomach wouldn’t heal by the next round.
He could still feel his beast though, the fucker forever present in his mind.
“What the fuck just happened?” the only woman barked, pacing from one side of the locker room to the other. She had caught a fist to the face, her left eye socket broken and bruised. “I didn’t sign up for this shit.” She looked at her hand, frowning at her palm.
“As if you didn’t know,” someone replied, a man with darkened scars crisscrossing his shoulders in such a way they looked decorative rather than accidental. “It’s what the Pits are famous for.”
“Cillian didn’t expect that,” the bright haired leprechaun said, holding his arm against his chest carefully. He shot Kace a scowl, placing himself in the corner of the room. “Cillian was told only to fight, not to kill.”
“You sure as hell didn’t hesitate,” the first fighter said. “But it looks like we’re all stuck in this fucking situation so we may as well get familiar before we slit each other’s throats. My name’s Gus.” He pressed his palm to his chest, his ring finger missing.
“You shouldn’t joke about getting your throat slit,” Kace grumbled. “It isn’t fun.” He looked up with a straight face. “I would know.”
Gus wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as his upper lift lifted to show his fangs. “What about you?” he grunted at the woman.
“Mikayla.” The woman clicked her fingers, still frowning. “Fuck,” she whispered to herself, and Kace suspected a witch, or at least a mage. She couldn’t call her magic, which would put her at a large disadvantage.
“Cillian doesn’t give a fuck about your names,” the leprechaun growled.
“Says the guy who speaks in third person,” rumbled the guy with the slight Daemonic aura. The red around his irises had faded almost entirely as he scrubbed a hand down his face. He was the bleach blonde, while his dark-haired friend stood to the side, equally as tired. His eyes were still red, but the sense of ‘other’ his beast had detected had disappeared from them both. “We’re not here to make friends.”
“No shit.” Mikayla chuckled darkly. “What about you?” she asked the man with scars on his shoulders.
“None of your fucking business,” he growled. Possible shifter, but in reality it was difficult to recognise a Breed without a blatant tell.
There were three more fighters who were yet to speak, with two sitting on the benches by their belongings. One leaned back as he watched everyone calmly, someone who clearly wasn’t deterred by the death. His face and chest were splattered with red, his eyes hard when they met Kace’s.
The other man who sat a few seats away was muttering to himself, touching the deep slice across his cheek. Grabbing a spare pack of antiseptic wipes Kace threw it, the pack landing by his feet.
“Thanks,” he grunted, not offering up his name as he hissed at the first stroke of the wipe.
The last man was as pale as snow, eyes wide as he nervously licked his lips. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m out of here.”
Kace moved himself closer to the exit, placing his back against the wall.
“I don’t think that’s an option,” Scar-man grunted.
“They can’t stop me!”
“Actually, we can,” one of the security who had first taken them to the locker room said as he stepped inside. “Congratulations to the winners of the first round, I’m sure you’re all exhausted and wish to clean yourselves up in the connected washroom. I will also be escorting you to your accommodation for the entirety of the games.”
