Page 7 of Court of Wolves

“Only one beast will walk out of the coliseum—you or the valkor,” Samlyn said from his spot on the marble step, magic carrying his dreary voice across the wide space. He’d got a faceted glass of wine from somewhere, and now he raised it. “To the death.”

Cold doused Jaro’s blood, but he’d received his orders and it had freed up his command over his own body. He was free tomove,to snarl, to attack as he’d been desperate to do since he woke up in that stone block of a cell. But first he tipped his head back androared,a lament of rage and heartbreak and regret pouring free. He should never have run into the saints' circle. If he hadn’t, would his friends and mate be safe? Or was this the inevitable end: Jaro in a fighting ring with a monster as saints watched?

The valkor, as Samlyn had called the nightmare creature, assessed Jaro as he screamed at the sky, purging himself of the emotion that had clotted in his chest. He knew he’d have to fight and knew this could be his last day in the Saintlands, his final act. He had no choice in fighting the valkor, but at least he could release the scream.

The sound was still pouring out of him when the creature struck, its huge, poison-slick paws eating up the distance with alarming speed. Jaro’s howl of devastation turned to a roar ofintention when he dipped his head, flexing his own paws in the sand, reading the way the valkor moved. It was huge but fluid, intense in its grace when it ought to be clumsy. Jaro hadn’t fought in his jaguar form for years; he would be the clumsy one. He would die here.

He selfishly wished Maia were at his side. She might hate him for the acts he performed in Baj’s pillowhouse, might hate him for keeping his connection with Yeven Delakore, prince of the Vassal empire, and her cousin secret, but even hating him Maia would fight alongside Jaro. He wished for a soft, far-reaching glow of moonlight, prayed to see his mate lit up like a star as she unleashed that fierce, miraculous power on their enemies. Instead he stood alone, facing a nightmare, and Az was forced to sit across the coliseum and watch.

He’d hate himself for it. Jaro knew Azrail better than he knew himself, and his friend would tear himself apart with guilt. Withgrief.As if it was his fault the dark saints had—

The valkor was upon Jaro, and he’d been too distracted to even notice it racing across the last bit of distance between them. He had to throw himself aside, skidding through sand, to avoid getting his throat ripped out. The time for anxiety and guilt was over; if he didn’t clear his head, he’d be dead in seconds. Just because he knew he would die here that didn’t mean he’d meet death willingly.

He lunged back to his feet, sand spraying from his paws, and intentionally kicked sand this time, sending grains and grit into the valkor’s eyes. Its shriek was loud enough to make Jaro’s soul quail, to lay his ears flat to his head even as he ignored his flight instinct and lunged for the beast’s scaly throat. He managed to sink his fangs in, but the first rush of blood over his tongue had him ripping away, reeling, vomiting into the sand. Its blood was blackened andwrong.

Poison, like the stuff that oozed from its claws, staining the sand black.

The valkor laughed, even with a flap of its skin hanging from a throat twice the size of Jaro’s, even with dark blood pouring freely over its scales. Jaro’s own blood froze, his awareness of the creature sharpening until his skin tingled beneath his fur, his heart quickening.I will not meet death willingly.

The valkor took its time measuring him. Waiting, Jaro realised, for the effects of having that dark ichor in his mouth. But Jaro was collared, had been claimed by a dark saint. Whatever the valkor thought its blood would do, Jaro was immune. He took that small advantage and leapt, carving the razor edge of his claws through the wound he’d already opened up. It widened, pouring black liquid like a waterfall, making the valkor shriek so loudly that it rattled Jaro’s skull.

He was so disorientated by that piercing cry that he had to shake his head to dislodge it, and the valkor struck while his sight was a blur. Pain flashed like fire across Jaro’s flank, sinking through muscle into his blood, and it was a gasp, not a scream, which left Jaro first. That black, stinking wrongness he’d tasted in the valkor’s blood forced its way through his skin and into his bloodstream. So this was how he’d die. Not from his throat ripped out or from a mortal wound in his vulnerable belly. Poison from the valkor’s bite.

The bastard creature tore its fangs free and backed away with that high, dissonant laughter he’d mocked Jaro with earlier. The fire in the bite turned to ice, to sharp, bitter cold. He slumped into the sand, coarse grains scratching his face, burrowing past his fur as he writhed, his initial gasp turning to a scream, wretched and beastly. The sound of a dying animal.

No,a male voice shouted in his mind, coming from a vast distance.Not a dying animal. A saint coming into his power.

Jaro’s paws flexed, claws carving through sand as the valkor stood over him, hot breath raking over his face as its smug eyes watched him struggle, but notdie.The first taste of its blood should have hurt him, but he survived that. He’d survive this too; the Dagger as much as told him so. It was Kaial’s voice bellowing at him as if through a wind tunnel, a ruthless and unyielding voice that expected Jaro’s refusal to yield, too.

The indenture did not kill you,Kaial roared.Slavery did not kill you. The collar did not kill you. This will not kill you.

Every word was like a cut opened on Jaro’s soul, a reminder of the hell he’d dragged himself through. Had he ever made it out the other side? He thought he had, but the dark secret of Yeven had hung over him like an executioner’s blade the whole time. He thought he’d escaped the chasm’s maw when they brought Maia to the compound, but he was still in it, trapped in eternal suffering.

So make them suffer. Make them bleed.

Jaro sucked in a breath and roared his pain, the bite like ice spiking through his flank, carving him apart. Like blades driven into him. But he was a blade himself, and he wasn’t alone in his mind.

Tell me how to kill it,he begged, grabbing onto that thin sliver of hope Kaial’s voice offered with his fingernails.

He rolled onto his side, then heaved himself onto his front, flattening his paws to the sand. Claws gouged trails in the sand as he shoved to his feet with a snarl of pain. The bite on his side wept blood and ichor. It had managed to infect him.

Don’t go for the throat,Kaial shouted.Its tail is its weakness. Reach out your hand to me. Take your power. Slay the beast.

And then I’ll be free?

The pause spoke louder than any words could. Not free, never free. Jaro would always be cuffed, collared, caged.

You will survive,Kaial boomed, as commanding as anything the collar had ever done to him.You will survive.

Jaro inhaled a sharp breath through his nose and bared his teeth at the valkor, its hot breath fanning over his fur, setting it on end.The tail,he reminded himself as instinct pushed him to go for the beast’s throat.

Reach out your hand to me,Kaial repeated with urgency as Jaro slunk low to the ground, searching for the right angle to attack the valkor’s tail, snarling when the creature turned, blocking access.

Busy,Jaro bit back at the saint.

Busy and then dead,Kaial snapped, his voice a distant echo.Reach out to me. Now!

The valkor lunged with a rattling shriek, and Jaro scrambled out of its path, pushing his body to its limit. He tried and failed to block out the pain of the bite. It spread through him like frost across a lake. He panted, fur rising on the back of his neck as he waited for the animal to bite again.

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