Page 49 of Her Manticore Master
The question stops me cold because I'm not entirely sure of the answer. Was I protecting her, or protecting my own possessive instincts?
"Both," I say finally.
"Liar."
She turns away from me, silk rustling with sharp movements. But not before I see the hurt beneath her anger, the genuine pain my words caused.
I should apologize. Should explain what I was trying to do, even if I failed spectacularly.
Instead, I let my own wounded pride drive me away.
"Fine," I growl, stalking toward the far side of the holding area. "Think whatever you want."
"I will!"
"Good!"
"Excellent!"
We glare at each other across the space filled with curious gladiators, both breathing hard, both radiating fury. The air between us crackles with unfinished arguments and deeper grievances.
Other fighters wisely give us both wide berths.
I settle against the far wall and try to focus on the conversations around me—team strategies, opponent assessments, survival odds. Anything but the way Corrina looked when I confirmed her worst assumptions about my character.
But her voice carries despite my efforts to ignore it.
"I want more than this," she says, though I'm not sure if she's talking to me or herself.
"More than what?"
"More than silks and chains. More than being passed between masters like expensive property."
There's something in her tone—a desperate longing that cuts through my anger like a knife. When I glance back, she's staring at the stone walls with an expression of profound emptiness.
"I want to matter," she continues quietly. "To be valued for something other than my body or my ability to smile prettily while my soul dies inch by inch."
The raw honesty in her words steals my breath. Because that's what I saw in her from the beginning, isn't it? Not just beauty, but strength. Not just survival, but defiance.
Everything I just reduced to crude male bragging.
"Corrina—"
"Don't." She doesn't look at me. "Whatever you're about to say, just... don't."
So I don't. I let the silence stretch between us while around us, gladiators plot and scheme and pretend they have any real control over their fates.
But her words echo in my mind like a prayer: I want more than silks and chains.
Maybe, if we survive whatever hell Valdris has planned, I can help her find it.
If she'll ever trust me enough to try.
20
CORRINA
Iperch on an overturned barrel in the corner of the holding area, watching the gladiators interact for what must be the first time in years. Without the immediate threat of combat, they move around each other like cautious predators, testing boundaries and establishing hierarchy.
