“The Snake Pit.”
The corner of his mouth drew up. “As legend goes, afterLuckland won its name—having been given to Felan—many millennia passed. History unaccounted for. The land became riddled with invasive shadows and demons—snakes. In need, the land demanded a leader. Lord Padraig was chosen. Fearless, brutal, and unimaginably loyal to his own. People started to disappear, go mad, or show up tattered to pieces. Countless lives fell victim to the foreign darkness . . . and terror spread.” His eyes zeroed in on mine like windows replaying the past. “It was Lord Padraig who was blessed with luck. Gifted with the first ability. His most loyal men were bestowed with a sacred duty, eternal protectors of the crown—the Ossory Wolves. Together, they sought out the snakes and locked them away for good. Peace returned to the land.”
Bellowing cheers erupted as a fighter slammed to the ground in the distance.
Ouch.
Lochlainn studied the underground stadium again. He expelled a slow breath, leaning on his forearms.
“Every game is rigged. Some prick always ups the ante, first by taking your coin and then by taking your life. Dealer may weigh the dice while you’re too busy sweatin’. To not have a card up your sleeve is to play a dead man’s hand.” Those golden eyes hardened to steel. “You can only survive by striking hard, fast, and dirty. Cheat the viper. Becomevenomous. Be the serpent the snakes fear. That’s how us Lucklanders will send them all to hell.” Eyes locked on my neck. On the gold choker—hischoker—laying against my throat. “When the snakes come slithering out from the dark, we’ll be ready.”
My teeth caught my lip as I looked away.
I don’t think I’d ever heard Lochlainn so serious—speaking of legends as if they were reality. Wasn’t sure what to make ofthis version of him, the protector of Luckland. Instead of the whiskey-drinking, tit-watching Kingpin.
“My people are free to be their most authentic, filthy selves down here. While my men train, honing skills to fight for that freedom. The only ones who know about it, are the ones Iallowto know.”
He shot me a bladed look, one that conveyed,snitches get stitches.
Got it. Secret toilet-bowl casino is on verbal lockdown.
“Faelad’s never said a word about it,” he continued. “But with all his spies, I’ve no doubt he’s known for a long time now. Probably too preoccupied rotting his arse on the throne to care. Or smart enough to know that his men—aremymen,” he said. The words spat out with hatred, but I didn’t believe it. There was a soft, sad edge to them at the end.
Could he really underestimate Faelad that much? Lochlainn was smart. Too smart. Part of me didn’t buy it for a second that he was this naive to whatever game Faelad was playing. But maybe this was all part ofhisgame.
When he spoke of his people with that look in his eyes and that quiet confidence in his tone, I felt that flame of pride for them too. The longer I’ve been around, the more I saw how unbreakable Lucklanders were. Body and soul.
A wave of pain noosed around my heart. I couldn’t help but think of Lovelanders, of David’s people. I hoped they still held this kind of strength. Thoughts of them often haunted me. David promised he’d take me to Loveland one day, to help the survivors rebuild . . . once the mayhem of Fecunditas was over.
I met Lochlainn’s steely stare.
“Well, Lucklanders have my respect. It’s not easy to find hope in the ashes of tragedy.” My eyes slid to a man getting clocked square in the jaw, teeth spraying into the crowd likecandy thrown at a parade. “Though, they definitely lackcharm. Must’ve inherited that from their Kingpin.” I bit my cheek to keep the betraying smile at bay.
A deep, velvet chuckle rose from Lochlainn’s chest.
“Love, if I didn’t charm ya into my bed—then I must’ve just gotten lucky.” Glitter and gold sparked in his eyes as he winked.
I rolled my eyes.Ever the flirt.
But all amusement on Lochlainn’s face soon withered, replaced by something darker, more solemn.
He raised his hand, tapping the small shamrock tattoo inked just next to his thumb.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Padraig’s mark—our royal crest. It represents the three things our blood is made of: loyalty, luck, and lineage.” He traced the design with a finger. “I need you to remember something, Carwynn.” Voice low, Lochlainn’s eyes padlocked to mine. “Loyalty always comes first. The protection ofmy people,my friends, will always come first.” There was something in his stare, sharp and carving, like he was trying to etch his words directly into my bones. “Loyalty can be deceiving, wearing many faces—some harrowing, some gruesome—all to play the hand right. But when the last die is thrown . . . I need ya to remember what I’m made of.”
I searched that stone-hard face, trying to translate what he wasn’t saying.Was this a warning? A confession? Or him playing the part of annoying riddler today?
“I will,” I said, unsure of what I was agreeing to.
Lochlainn’s palm grabbed the railing, his chin jerking toward the pandemonium below. “Let’s get a better view, shall we?”
The crowdin the fighting quadrant was like wading through molasses. Thick, hot, suffocating, andmy god, it reeked.
Ew.
