Page 32 of Chained to the Champion
I turned slowly, finding myself face-to-face with one of the guards who'd captured me at the arena. His eyes gleamed like a kid who just found a spider to pull the legs off of. Recognition. Malice. Anticipation.
“My master sent me to fetch refreshments,” I said, forcing my voice to sound meek, hating every syllable.
“Did he now?” The guard's claw tightened on my shoulder, talons digging in just enough to sting. “Strange. I could have sworn I saw you talking to the kitchen slaves. In that strange tongue of yours.” His other hand came up, tracing a line down my cheek. “Perhaps I should inform the Tournament Master that his guest's pet is misbehaving.”
Panic shot through me like an electric current, bright and hot, making my fingers tingle and my mouth go desert dry. If Skorai found out I'd been speaking to the other humans, asking questions …
I dropped my gaze, forcing myself to lean into his touch instead of recoiling. “Please,” I whispered, injecting a tremor into my voice. “My master will punish me severely if he thinks I've displeased him.”
The guard's tongue flicked out, tasting the air near my face. “Then I think we can reach an arrangement, pet.” His claw slid down my arm, grip loosening slightly. “There's an empty chamber just beyond the kitchens. No one would miss us for a few minutes.”
Bile rose in my throat. I swallowed it down, calculating rapidly. I could take him. One quick strike to the throat, my knife between his ribs before he could raise the alarm. But then what? The entire hall would descend on me. Zarvash would be implicated. Cover blown.
I needed another option.
“I …,” I began, but a shadow fell over us, cutting me off.
“There you are.”
Zarvash's voice was ice, sharp enough to slice through stone. He materialized beside us, his presence a sudden, overwhelming force. His eyes burned with barely contained fury.
The guard released me instantly, taking a step back. “I was just?—”
“Touching what's mine,” Zarvash finished, tone casual, deadly. He placed a possessive hand on the back of my neck, claws pricking lightly against my skin. “A mistake you won't make twice, if you value your scales.”
The guard's eyes darted between us, calculating, then dropped in submission. “Of course, warrior. My apologies.”
Zarvash's grip tightened, steering me away. Once we were out of earshot, he leaned close, breath hot against my ear.
“What were you doing?” he demanded, voice low and tight with anger.
“Reconnaissance,” I replied, matching his tone.
“Where did you go? We can't risk discovery.”
“You were busy with your new friend,” I shot back, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “Besides, I thought I was supposed to be 'useful.'”
His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking visibly beneath his scales. “This isn't a game. One mistake, and we're both dead.”
“I know that,” I hissed. “But I didn't come all this way just to stand around looking pretty while you make nice with these monsters.”
Something flickered in his eyes—frustration, anger, and beneath it all, a flash of that same heat I'd seen back in our room. His gaze dropped to my mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.
“The feast is nearly over,” he said, voice rougher now. “Skorai has arranged special … entertainment to follow. We're expected to attend.”
The way he said “entertainment” made my stomach twist. “What kind of entertainment?”
“The kind designed to showcase Ignarath's dominance,” he replied grimly. “Fighting pits. Slaves pitted against each other. Or worse.”
My blood ran cold. “The humans?”
“Some of them, yes.” His expression darkened. “It's considered an honor to have your slave chosen. A chance to display your property's worth.”
“And if I'm chosen?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Zarvash's eyes met mine, something fierce and protective blazing in their depths. “That won't happen.”
“How can you be sure?”
