Page 210 of The Fallen Fae King

My heart is beating too fast.

Ahm presses against me, and his warmth is all I can feel.

Unexpectedly, however, Freya raises her wrist to her mouth and presses her lips across the Ankh mark, as if absentmindedly wiping her mouth. A single moment, then Daire strokes the tip of his wing across it, before Aurelius grabs Freya’s arm, and as if by accident, brushes against my mark.

My eyes widen.

My skin feels like it has been set alight.

Are they sending me a message? A signal?

Are they here to stop the games?

Even as hope surges through me, I know how dangerous it is.

Yet can’t I allow myself this final delusion…to dream as Lazarus would have?

If I die in this hope like the rest of my vampires today, then I shall at least die happy.

I steel myself to hold Aurelius’ icy gaze, as he stares down at me.

He doesn’t look away. Then he raises his arm.

“In the name of my brother, King Tarquin, may the Imperial Games begin.” He slashes his arm down like a sword.

I still don’t look away.

Instantly, the drums beside Taran awake. Their voices roll through the underground amphitheater, rebounding off the marble pillars and domed roof.

Boom, boom, boom.

I can feel their rhythm in my guts.

Useful, during battle.

Idiot dragons.

I twist back to the vampires. “Get ready.”

I drop into a crouch, nodding to Yara.

She steps beside me, yanking Ahm behind us.

When I hear the door grinding open, my gaze shoots to it.

Here they come.

Adrenaline rushes through me, along with the exhilaration that subsumes me before any battle.

My Omega is watching. My Blood Lover is up there, who I have sparred with. My best friend is with them.

I am not fighting for the dragons. I am fighting for the people who I love.

“Don’t break ranks,” I order. “Vampires don’t need weapons. We have fangs and claws. Use them.”

My own fangs and claws extend.

I am breathing hard, barely holding myself back, now that I am panting for battle.