Page 42 of Wrath of the Dragons
“Just so you know, I’m not dressed for this.” I gesture toward my outfit. It’s like what I wore to Aestilian, made of dark blue fabric but embellished with a mixture of white and light blue beading, and trimmed in white fur to match my cloak. It flows behind my calves like a dress while still granting me access to my knife-clad legs covered in black pants to match my boots and waist belt.
Sighing, I yank up my hood and assess my surroundings, pointing toward a puddle a rat scurries through. “Is that my new bathing chamber? You really have an eye for decadence, Delly.”
She stomps her feet and nudges me toward the back entrance of the building, and, accepting the task my pushy dragon is forcing upon me, I reach for the lockpicks in my boot. I hum to myself while slipping them inside the keyhole, utilizing the technique Cayden showed me. My breath puffs in front of my lips as I try to turn the picks but meet resistance each time.
Delmira huffs again and shoves me with her snout before sinking her fangs into the wood, biting out a huge chunk, and swallowing—doorknob included. The creak sounds more like a scream as the half-eaten door swings open, making me cringe.
“Subtle…and highly nutritional.”
I pull one of my dragon daggers from the sheath on my thigh and hook a black mask over my ears while entering the dark stairwell. The door swings open again as I try to close it, but thankfully Delmiradidn’t eat the deadbolt, so I slide that in place and disregard the fact that more than half the wood is missing. It’s someone else’s problem.
She flies away as noise pulses against the bottom of my boots, so I turn in that direction to seek out the source. I can’t see the bottom of the stairs through the darkness, but I keep my hand on the wall to steady my footing. A sliver of light bleeds into the opaque shadows along the floor, and I continue sliding my hand along the smooth wood. My eyes adjust given the meager light, and I wrap my fingers around a lever, yanking it up to pry open the hidden door.
The energy of the room swallows me like an oncoming wave I have no hope of fleeing. The mixed scents of blood and sweat hang heavy in the air, accompanied by smoke that casts a haze over the basement and rises to the cracked wooden beams above. Nobody notices me as I close the door behind me; they keep their focus entirely on the two men pounding their fists into each other in a single raised ring.
I step farther into the room, and my boots stick to the floor in what Ihopeis spilled ale. If I’m wrong, I don’t want to know.
“I was wondering when you’d find your way here.” A hand wraps around my wrist, and I jut the tip of my knife between the person’s ribs. “Do me a favor, sunshine, and don’t let him see you pointing that thing at me. I fear he’ll throw me into the ring, and I quite like my face as it is.”
I lift my gaze, staring into an unfamiliar pair of blue eyes shadowed by the brim of a cap. The man is also wearing a mask, which muffles his voice, but it’s so…familiar. I retract the knife. “Ryder?”
He lifts a finger to his mouth. “No names. Why are you here? Did something happen?”
A tugging sensation sends my gaze back to the ring, and my shoulders stiffen further when I realize it’s not simply two fighters in there…one of them is Cayden. This must be the business he owns. The tonic he told me about makes him almost unrecognizable at first glance. His hair and most of his face are covered, but he’s still just as tall and muscular. His skin is free of the scars and ink I’ve become familiar with, the markings that make him the man I know him to be.
Home.
Delmira took mehome.
“No, everything is fine.”
The opponent slams his fist into Cayden’s ribs, and I suck in a breath as if I’m the one who’s taking the hit. He easily could have dodged it. I’ve seen him take on several soldiers at once and come out without a scratch. Cayden dodges the next hit, but leaves his bad shoulder open, letting his opponent take advantage of the vulnerability.
“Why is he doing this?” Blood beads under my nails from where I dig them into my palms. “You know he could easily beat this man.”
“He could easily beat anyone who steps into that ring.” Ryder wraps his arm around my torso to keep me from fighting my way to the ring.
“You both have made enough money.”
“It’s not only about the money anymore,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
Ryder shakes his head while turning back to Cayden. “He could’ve stopped fighting once he became commander. I even brought up the possibility of selling this place to protect him from those who would pry into his past when he ascended in rank, but violence is how he copes. Cayden is always in pain and he’s not the type to talk about whatever is happening in his head.”
I cringe when Cayden takes another hit to his ribs. “But why does he take so many hits?”
“Coping isn’t always pretty.” He jostles me a bit in a brotherly way, pulling me closer into his side as the crowd becomes rowdier. “He’s fine. He’s much better since he met you. He’ll probably love that you’re watching once he realizes so take a breath and let him make a few more syndrils to pay for the ring he’s going to put on your finger.”
I take a deep breath despite the air having a bitter tang to it and laugh weakly. The white wrappings on his knuckles are splattered with blood, and sweat glides down his chiseled torso, making my body heat. Something else courses through me when I realize I’m not the onlyone who notices. He’s beautiful in the ring, moving with a grace so few ever master.
Nearly all the women in the crowd watch him with desire written plainly on their faces. Do they linger when he finishes? Do they touch him as he walks through the crowd? Has he been with any of them before? I don’t know this part of his life. I don’t know this version of him. But I want to.
I take a step away from Ryder, submitting to the pull that has drawn me to Cayden since I met him, and it’s as if that one movement triggered something in him because his gaze collides with mine. His eyes are unhinged and filled with so much malice that it sends a chill through me. Whoever he’s fighting isn’t who he sees in his mind. He can temporarily erase the scars from his skin, but he can’t extract the memories that make healed wounds bleed. He does a double take, his brows coming together like he truly doesn’t believe I’m here as he shoves his opponent back by the shoulders.
He makes his next move faster than I can blink, slamming his fist into the side of the man’s face, sending him tumbling to the ground where he remains as Cayden ducks through the ropes. The roar of the crowd is deafening, but instead of flocking to him as I suspected they would, they do the opposite. His dark gaze never leaves mine as he stalks toward me like no force in this world could alter his course.
“That’s five wins for the Viper! Collect your winnings at the window and place your bets for the next fight,” the announcer calls out.
