“But Evander would be able to help us, right?” My voice sounds small even to my own ears. “If one of them getstoo close?”
I shiver, imagining rotted teeth sinking into my arm, the infection spreading through my blood like liquid fire.
Marco shakes his head slowly. “He might try. But I’ve seen it before.” His eyes go distant, haunted. “It’s a fate worse than death. You’re still aware of yourself, at first. Still yourself, watching your body waste away. Watching it do things you can’t control. The hunger starts small—just an ache in your belly. Then it grows. Becomes this gnawing, screaming need that drowns out everything else.”
“It sounds like a dangerous idea to bring them into the city, just for entertainment,” I say.
“You’d think,” Marco replies. “I first watched a player get infected during my second year. Scratched across the face by one of them. The crowd loved it, of course.” His face twists in disgust. “He lasted nine days. Five days in Evander’s medical bay, begging us to kill him while the infection crawled through his veins like black ink. Four more days thrashing around in restraints in a cell before Evander finally gave up, and a guard shot him through the head.”
I marvel at Evander’s stubbornness, this picture of a man who refuses to give up on anyone, keeps fighting even when the odds are hopeless.
Marco’s expression darkens. “Evander just has them shot now. Almost straight away. Learned the hard way that mercy can be cruelty.”
The room falls silent except for the distant sound of Maria moving through the kitchen. Marco stares at his hands, and I can see the fear he’s trying so hard to hide.
He looks up at me, reaches across the table, and grabs my arm. His fingers dig into my skin with desperate intensity.
“I need to ask something of you.” The words come out rushed.
“Of course,” I whisper. As if I’d deny this man anything.
“Robin… if one gets me,” his grip tightens, “kill me. Fast.”
I blink, certain I misheard. “What?”
Marco’s dark eyes bore into mine, and I can see he’s deadly serious.
“They’d love nothing more than to drag me out in front of the crowd, sick as a dog. Have me tear someone apart with my teeth. Put a bullet through my head afterwards. Execute me like a beast.”
I can imagine it. The great champion becoming a monster for the crowd’s entertainment. Marco reduced to something barely human, conscious enough to know what he’s doing but powerless to stop it.
I nod, place my hand over Marco’s, relishing the warmth of his skin. “Okay,” I say. “I won’t let that happen.”
“Thank you, birdie.” Marco holds my gaze for a moment. Then he quickly withdraws his hand, clearing his throat. He glances toward the windows, where the moon battles to be seen in a cloudy sky. “Anyway, it’s getting late. I think that covers all the main points.”
My heart sinks. Maybe I should pretend I’m hungry. Maybe he’ll let me stay a while longer, ask Maria to bring something from the kitchen.
But I’m only hungry for one thing.
I study Marco in the dim light—the dark smudges under his eyes, the tension carved into his shoulders, the set of his jaw. I ache to wrap my arms around him, kiss up his neck, take the pain away just for a moment. For both of us.
Marco gets to his feet, so I do too.
He moves to the side counter where he left my chains, picks them up with deliberate slowness. Each link catches the light as he walks toward me, his dark eyes never leaving mine.
I hold his gaze as he slips the chain through the loop on my collar with a definite, resoundingclank. His fingers brush my skin as he runs his hand over the length of chain, checking the weight. A fire races down my spine.
He’s a moment away from calling the guards.
A moment away from sending me back to my cold cell, where I’ll lie awake thinking about this—about him.
I can’t stand it.
I lean forward, pressing my lipsto—
Marco twists his head so my kiss lands only partly on his mouth, catching the corner instead. His breath hitches against my cheek. “We’re not doing this.” He doesn’t even raise his eyes as he says it.
My hands are still free, and I take full advantage, sliding one arm around his waist. “Doing what?”
