Page 35 of Chained to the Champion
Irritation crossed her face. “The humans are kept in three separate locations. The ones they locked me with are ‘common slaves’ as they call them.” Disgust colored the words. “The three collaborators are usually housed in slightly better conditions near the pleasure dens. And the skilled ones like Larissa are kept at specialized camps outside the city.”
“How far outside?”
“No clue.”
I stood and stretched muscles wound too tight. The chamber was suffocating, barely large enough for one warrior, let alone two beings caught up in each other's gravity. Vega's presence filled the remaining space. Her scent mingled with arena dust. The tang of oil I'd used on my scales. The faint hint of old blood permeated everything in this cursed place.
“I tried to speak with Harkon at the feast,” I said, checking my blade's edge one final time. Steel caught torchlight. “He didn't say a word to anyone. Didn't touch food or drink.”
“Maybe he was meditating on all the ways he plans to dismember you,” Vega offered with false brightness.
My eyes narrowed. “Your optimism is inspiring.”
A hint of a smile tugged at her lips. She suppressed it quickly. “I'm just being realistic. You're going into this with a significant disadvantage.” Her gaze lingered on my wing. Too long. Too knowing.
“It's not a fight to the death,” I reminded her. Cold comfort. Preliminary rounds rarely ended in death, at least officially. But “accidents” happened. Especially when Skorai took interest in the outcome.
“Unless the Tournament Master decides otherwise,” Vega echoed my thoughts with unsettling precision. “He doesn't strike me as the type to let rules get in the way of a good spectacle.”
She was right. The Tournament Master's eyes had followed us too closely at the feast. He sensed something—perhaps not the truth, but enough to make him a danger to us.
“I could make it look like a fight,” I said, words tasting like ash, “then yield. One loss and I'm out of the tournament.”
Vega's eyebrows shot up. “You'd throw the match? Is that what you want?”
No.
The very suggestion made something primal surge against my ribcage, roaring in rebellion. I was a warrior of Scalvaris. We did not yield. Did not surrender. But neither did we typically participate in Ignarath bloodsport for the entertainment of enemies.
“It would simplify matters,” I said, not meeting her gaze.
“Would it, though?” She stepped closer. Her body heat washed over me, and I had to fight back the urge to reach out to her. I couldn't afford the distraction before the fight. “You think Skorai will just let us walk out of here if you lose?” She shook herhead. “Besides, I can work while you're fighting. Everyone will be distracted by the tournament.”
Her logic was sound, but it wasn't just strategy driving her. I could see it, the fierce light in her eyes. She wouldn't abandon the humans she'd found. Not when they were so close.
“I can't protect you while I'm in the arena.” The admission burned. I hated the vulnerability.
“I don't need protection,” she scoffed. “I need time. Keep them focused on you.” A pause, then softer, “Just don't get yourself killed. I'd be very annoyed.”
The understatement almost made me laugh. “I'll try to spare you the inconvenience.”
A horn blared from somewhere above, signaling the next match. My match.
Vega's expression shifted. Something vulnerable flickering across her face, gone before in fully formed. She stepped closer until her breath brushed against my scales.
“Don't die,” she repeated, and then, swift, unexpected, she rose and pressed her lips against mine.
Brief contact. Fleeting heat. But it sent lightning through my system. Stone struck by storm. By the time my brain registered, she pulled away.
“For luck,” she murmured. Not meeting my gaze.
Before I could respond, before I could process the storm unleashed, the chamber door swung open. A guard stood in the entrance and beckoned.
“Time, Scalvaris,” he grunted. “The sands await.”
I turned to follow but paused at the threshold and looked back at Vega. She stood in the center of the room, arms crossed tightly. Suddenly small and fragile in the vast darkness. An illusion. She was anything but fragile.
“Stay out of trouble,” I said.
