Page 106 of A Darkness So Sweet

Gunnar hissed beside him, “They use women as prizes here? What for?”

“You know what for,” he murmured.

Ragnar kept his gaze on the women, moving down the line of them even though they were so far away it was hard to see them. He wasn’t sure why he was bothering. But some part of his soul screamed that he was so close.

And there, at the end of the line, a woman stood with her chin raised. She looked proud standing there, unbroken. Her fire red hair blew in the wind and he knew, he just knew, that was his bride.

“Maia,” he said, his voice cracking around the word. “She’s alive.”

Gunnar’s head whipped up, looking for his troll wife and finding her just as quickly. “Would you look at that?”

“I knew he wouldn’t kill her.”

“No, but he’s going to give her away as a prize.” Gunnar hissed out another angry sound. “Now you really have to win.”

He did. And that meant hunting humans through the entire labyrinth and killing as many as he could.

A feral grin split across his mouth. “Happy hunting, brother. Tear through flesh and bone if you have to, but destroy them all.”

“Hunt well.” Gunnar cracked his neck. “Let’s see how many we can kill together. Just like the old times.”

Well, not entirely like the old times. They had hunted through a forest, free and wild, as the mountain sang beneath their feet. Here, they killed for the enjoyment of the humans in the stands above them, their cries for blood thirst rankling and harsh.

Still. He would do it. If that was what it took for him to get a few moments with Maia? He would do anything. Anything at all.

“Let the battle begin!” the king’s shout echoed above the labyrinth.

Ragnar bolted down one of the tunnels. He didn’t care where he started. He’d studied labyrinths like this before. As long as he continued turning in the same direction, he would make it to the center. Whether that was the goal or not, he didn’t care. He’d kill anyone who stood in his way.

He came upon the first group of three human men in mere moments. They had weapons; he did not. But he’d never needed weapons to kill a human.

Ragnar tore through the three of them with all the pent up rage that burned in his chest. He wanted them to die. He wanted to hear their screams as he plunged his hand into their hearts and ripped them out of their chests. Bloody and still beating, they heated his hands with fresh blood as he turned to the next. They never stood a chance.

The three of them had no idea what they were getting into when they were fighting a troll. Though they had swords, those were inefficient unless someone knew where the weakest part of his flesh was hidden. They didn’t know anything about trolls.

The next two men were more cunning. They were slower in their approach, far more deliberate. At least one of them knew Ragnar was more sensitive underneath his arms, and that the skin was thinner there. The man kept trying to shove his blade in that direction, but had no luck as Ragnar continued to turn. They died screaming, and he left them on the ground, barely breathing. One of them was missing an arm, the other with a broken neck that would leave him to die slowly.

Perhaps tragically. Ragnar didn’t care.

He fought through more and more people, all of them blurring together until he had a moment of reprieve. There was a lull in humans who wished to take a chance on fighting him. A fact he was grateful for. Ragnar was covered in sweat and blood—some of it his, he was certain. Breathing hard, he leaned against the wall of the labyrinth and tried to gain his bearings. He was closer to the center now. He was certain of it.

Closer to her.

With every battle, every time someone charged him, he kept his eyes on Maia. She stood strong where he had last seen her, her fiery hair blowing in front of her face as she watched him. He fought for her. She must’ve known that.

The human audience members were chanting, as they had been for much of his battles. Some of them shouting for him, others for more of the trolls he’d seen around. But now he could pick out a particular word they were chanting.

“Bull! Bull! Bull!”

Wasn’t that what the woman had said? She’d wanted to see him fight the Bull?

Hairs raised on the back of his neck, and he knew there was someone standing on the other side of the hallway looking at him. Part of him hoped that the Bull was a massive human. Perhaps someone who could actually give him a fight, considering the others really hadn’t yet. He was so angry, so frustrated, that throwing fists seemed the only way to get through. But another part of him already knew that when he lifted his head, he would be looking at someone who was not human.

Ragnar let his gaze go to the end of the hall, picking out the silhouette of a massive troll who stood at the end. He wore little more than threadbare trousers that barely clung to his massive thighs. A scarred chest was shaped like a barrel, flexing with every breath. His shoulders lifted up and down in rage, likely already blinded by the need to destroy everyone and everything that he could. Especially if this troll had been here for a long time. He would fight until his last breath for whatever it took to stay alive.

But there was something familiar about this silhouette. Yes, the troll had the same massive shoulders and broad form as the rest of them. But this one had horns. Curled ram horns that stuck out from the crown of his head. There were few trolls who still had horns. Most of such animalistic qualities had already been bred out of their lines.

Ragnar only had a second to prepare before the massive beast lunged at him. The horned troll sprinted down the hallway exactly like what the people called him. A bull. If he struck Ragnar, then he had no wonder if the beast would harm him. But there was something familiar about his shape, and even more familiar about the lumbering, awkward gait that propelled him forward.

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