Page 22 of The Beautiful Blade

The music ended. The blades aimed away from me, awaiting their next partners. I’d made it. For now.

The third challenge wasn’t a barrier at all. It was a face-off against the fighters who'd made it through in the last games.

Jorge had been in the last games. He'd made it past this level. And then he’d vanished from the screen. Would he reappear now? Would I face off against the man that I loved in a battle to the death? It was the only way I wanted to die, with his hands on any part of me, including my throat.

The first man to face me was not Jorge. His shoulders were broad and his arms augmented with gleaming prosthetics that hissed and whirred as he moved. His right arm ended in a blade, the edge wickedly curved. He didn’t ask if I was ready as Jorge would have. He didn't wait for me to make the first move. He lunged for me.

I met him with my dagger, deflecting his blade and twisting away. His movements were sharp, efficient, mechanical in a way I could anticipate. I’d studied fighters like him. I knew their weaknesses.

What I hadn’t prepared for was the second fighter.

A sharp kick sent me sprawling, my dagger skidding across the dirt. I rolled, narrowly avoiding a follow-up strike, and scrambled to my feet. The second fighter wasleaner, faster, her prosthetic legs propelling her forward with terrifying speed. She grinned, her teeth flashing in the spotlight, as if she already knew I was done for.

I grabbed my dagger and turned to face the two of them. Before I could steady myself, a third fighter joined the fray. He was smaller but no less dangerous. His movements were quick and darting, his strikes precise. I blocked one, then another, but I couldn’t keep up. Not with two more advancing from opposite sides. They were overwhelming me, forcing me back, their blows raining down like a storm.

I stumbled, the dirt loose beneath my boots, and knew with a sick certainty that I couldn’t hold out much longer. My arms burned. My vision blurred. The cheers of the crowd were a mocking roar in my ears.

To add insult to injury, a fourth figure entered the arena. Actually, this fighter entered from the stands, not the gates. Which was odd.

Still, the odds were not in my favor. Four against one. There was no way I could win. No way I could survive.

Until I saw the fury in those dark eyes.

Dark eyes that I had first seen on my ninth birthday in the stables. That hair I'd run my fingers through. Those lips that I had kissed over and over and?—

Blood splattered on those lips asa long sword tore through first the lean man, then doubled over to slice through the woman, and then point at the large man.

The fourth warrior moved like a force of nature. His blade caught the spotlight as he struck down the third attacker. The crowd erupted, their cheers deafening. I barely heard them. All I could see was him.

"Jorge?"

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JORGE

She was taller now. Her frame leaner but still strong. Her wild curls were bound back, though a few strands had escaped to frame her face. Her violet hair caught the spotlight, shimmering like a living flame. It was her eyes that captured me.

Those sharp, determined blue eyes that hadn’t softened with time. If anything, they burned brighter, fiercer. I forgot to breathe as we stared at each other.

Blood dripped from my blade. Screams rose from the ground where the other fighters who'd dared raise arms against her were crying over their lost limbs andthe life slowly seeping from their bodies. I heard nothing but the soft utterance of my name from her perfect lips.

"Jorge?"

How had I thought she'd forgotten me? My name on her breath was a spark. That spark rekindled the promise between us. It caught quickly, scorching the distance between us until that vacuum of air was no more.

She reached for me, and I noticed her hands were smudged with dirt. The skin of her index finger had a cut. I knew it had come from one of the thugs. I wanted to turn and take another limb as penance for daring to mar the masterpiece that was her body.

Their murders would have to wait. Because I couldn't take my eyes off her. Couldn't turn from the center of my orbit.

"Jorge?"

Yes, it was me. Of course it was me. I'd promised I'd go wherever she was. I'd spent the last three years gutting trolls and fighting my way up the food chain so that I could be where I knew she would turn up. I never suspected for a moment that she would be on the very grounds I'd nearly died on.

"Jorge!"

I didn’t see the attack until it was too late.

A blade whispered through the air. I turned just intime to block the tip with my forearm—its deadly edge howling past, a breath away from my throat. Pain shot through my body as the impact jarred my prosthetic. I held firm. Then countered with a strike of my own.

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