Page 352 of Hunters and Prey

“What is it? Do you know what this place is?”

He slid a glance my way. “No, but I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”

The pen jolted as it lost altitude, and then we were hurtling toward a smaller enclosure connected to the arena. This whole area was closed off to the air, but we were aiming for a spot just outside of it.

The claws suddenly released the pen, and the cage began to fall. Screams ripped the air. This was going to hurt. “Helgi, brace yourself in a crouch.”

She didn’t question, just acted. I pressed my lips together and prepared myself for the collision. We slammed into the ground so hard that the impact sent a lance of pain through my shins and knees. Sharp cries of agony were followed by angry sobs. How many fractures had just occurred? If Helgi and I hadn’t fallen into position, we’d have been one of the injured.

The balloon floated down and kissed the ground behind us. A door opened and several Dragon Bloods climbed out. They were dressed in royal blue and crimson, the uniform of the Vorn—Draco’s defense against the Dreki—and heading them up was the golden-haired guy who’d captured us in the Outlands.

My fists clenched at the sight of his smug face.

The Bloods lined up with the barrels of their guns trained on us.

“In a moment, the pen will open,” golden boy said. “When it does, you will file out and line up facing the wall to the left.”

The wall in question had a huge door in it—reinforced steel, no doubt—which meant once we were in, there would be no getting back out that way. The clank of metal was followed by a surge of bodies as Skins scrambled to escape the pen.

The mercs strode by us, and Bran locked eyes with me for a moment. He lifted his chin in silent communication. It was a be ready gesture—optimistic under the circumstances. Luckily optimism was my middle name, so I gave him a nod and followed the bodies out onto the dusty ground. Dunstan and the twins stood to my left, eyes fixed on the wall as if contemplating its monolith existence.

“Don’t be a fool,” Big Red said. “Follow the instructions and you may yet live.”

“Thanks for the tip, but if I get a chance to run, I’m out of here.”

“Look around. There is nowhere to run.”

Barren land at our backs, wall and door at our front, and Dragon Bloods with guns to our left, not to mention the blow-your-head-off collars. He was right. Escape potential was close to zero.

The Dragon Bloods nudged us forward. “Line up. Over there. Now.”

My teeth ached from gritting them. Only one person gave me orders and got away with it, and he was in the Outlands, probably wondering what the fuck had become of his daughter. I did as instructed because they had the upper hand for now. Skins weren’t always stronger than Bloods, but what some of us lacked in physical prowess we made up for in sheer crazy. The mercs were a prime example. Crazy was a prerequisite for that breed, and the glint in their eyes told me they were preparing for attack if the opportunity presented itself. Dammit, they probably weren’t even thinking logically right now, acting on fight or flight instinct—the Dreki part that was fueled by aggression. There was no way to warn them, though, to tell them to hold fire on making any desperate moves.

The Bloods stepped back as the powerfully built, golden-haired guy strode over to us. He stood a meter in front of us, hands clasped behind his back, feet shoulder-width apart.

“Welcome to the arena. My name is Commander Royce of the Draco Vorn. You’re here because you’re worthless scum. Shit on the bottom of my shoe. The chewed gum stuck to the bottom of a desk. You’re nothing, Skins. Do you understand?”

My fist begged to break his smug face, but common sense and self-preservation had me holding my peace. Bran, on the other hand, had no such qualms. He turned his head to the side, hawked, and spat on the ground.

Royce’s lips curled in a sadistic smile, and then Bran made a strange gurgling sound and began to convulse. His hands clawed at the collar, and his eyelids began to twitch.

“Stop! Stop it!” Bran’s companion shouted.

Bran fell to his knees, gasping, his fingers still curled around the collar at his neck, shoulders heaving as he struggled to regain his composure after the attack.

Royce cocked his head. “Anyone else want to express their derision?”

Silence.

“Good. So let’s continue. At this moment, you are scum, but you have the opportunity to be more than scum. You have the opportunity to serve a purpose. You have the chance to serve your motherland by fighting the Dreki. You have been chosen, and there is no going back. In a moment, you will walk through those doors, and you will be tested. If you survive, if you pass the tests, you will be conscripted into the Vorn. Your lives will finally have meaning. And if you die, then you’ll have the satisfaction of having entertained your betters while doing so.”

“You can’t do this.” Damn. Was that me speaking?

Royce fixed his eerie blue eyes on me.

Okay, so it was me, but damn, it needed to be said because we were all thinking it. “The Outlands are free territory. You can’t just kidnap us and force us into your army.”

His smile widened. “And who is going to stop us?” His expression hardened. “There is a war going on, and it’s about time you Skins played your part. We liberated you, and you betrayed us.”

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