Page 32 of Bought by the Broken Beast
She scrambles down from the stands, her small feet flying across the sand, a beacon of life in this city of death. She runs to me.
I meet her in the center of the arena, my wounded leg forgotten. I drop the axe, the symbol of my victory, and it lands with a dull thud in the sand. I’m not merely a warrior. No longer a Vakkak. I am just a man, reaching for the only thing that can make him whole.
I take her in my arms, my hands tangling in her hair, and I crush my mouth to hers. The kiss is not a gentle thing. It is a desperate, frantic claiming, a collision of relief and terror and a love so profound it threatens to shatter me. I taste the salt of her tears, the iron of my own blood, the undeniable, irrefutable truth of her.
She is mine. And I am hers.
In front of the King, in front of the Senate, in front of the entire world, I claim my true honor. I claim my mate.
25
VOTOI
Iwake to the scent of dried herb and clean linen, a scent so alien it is a violation. The world is a soft, hazy blur. I am not in the arena. I am not in a cell. I am in a bed, a real bed, with sheets of a softness I have not felt since I was a child. A dull, throbbing fire burns in my left leg, a pain so deep it feels rooted in my very soul.
The memories crash over me in a brutal, chaotic wave. The violent roar of the crowd. The clang of steel. Malacc’s triumphant sneer. The impossible, beautiful snowstorm of parchment. The look on Zusvak's face. Victory.
But the victory is a hollow, meaningless thing. It is a ghost, a phantom. There is only one thing that is real. One thing that matters.
The kiss.
Bella.
The name is a raw, desperate prayer on my lips. My eyes fly open, scanning the opulent room. Gilded furniture. Silk tapestries. A window overlooking the sea. This is a chamber in the royal palace. But she is not here.
Panic, cold and absolute, seizes me. It is a terror more profound than any I felt on the arena floor. The betrayal. Lyra’s face, twisted with hate. Kor, his one eye blazing with righteous fury. The commotion in the stands. Was she hurt? Was she taken from me?
“Bella!” The name is a roar, a guttural, wounded sound torn from the very depths of my being. I try to rise, but the fire in my leg explodes into a white-hot agony, and I collapse back onto the pillows, a caged, powerless beast.
The door to the chamber bursts open, and two Minotaurs in the pristine white robes of the royal physicians rush in, their faces masks of alarm.
“My lord, you must rest,” one of them says, his voice a soothing, condescending drone. “Your leg… the bone was nearly severed. You have lost a great deal of blood.”
“Where is she?” I snarl, my voice a low, dangerous growl that makes them both flinch. “The human. Where is she?”
“The human hero is safe, my lord,” the other physician says, his hands held up in a placating gesture. “She is in the adjoining chamber, being tended to. She is unhurt, merely exhausted.”
The relief is so potent, so overwhelming, it leaves me breathless. She is safe. She is here.
“Take me to her,” I command.
“But my lord, your leg…”
“Now,” I roar, and this time, there is no room for argument. I am more than a disgraced gladiator. I am Votoi Saru, the Son of Saru, the hero of Milthar. And I will be obeyed.
They help me from the bed, my entire body a symphony of pain. They support my weight as I hobble, one agonizing step at a time, to the adjoining door. I shove it open.
She is there.
She sits in a large, cushioned chair, a thick blanket wrapped around her small shoulders. Two human servant girls arefussing over her, one trying to brush the tangles from her dark hair, the other offering her a cup of steaming broth. Bella looks small, pale, and utterly lost in the opulent surroundings, her eyes wide and haunted.
A wave of pure, possessive fury washes over me. They are touching her. They are crowding her. They are treating her like a doll, a curiosity.
“Out,” my voice is a low, guttural rumble that makes the very air in the room tremble.
The servant girls freeze, their eyes wide with terror. They look from me to Bella, then back again, their faces pale.
“I said, out,” I repeat, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper that is far more terrifying than any roar. “Do not touch her again.”
