Page 26 of Her Manticore Master
But as I close my eyes and try to find rest on the cold stone floor, I'm hyperaware of his presence across the narrow cell. The sound of his breathing, the slight shift when he settles more comfortably against the wall.
At last, I'm not alone with my nightmares.
I'm not sure if that makes me feel safer or more terrified.
11
RONAN
The cell door crashes open before dawn, jarring me from uneasy sleep. Thane and Korven stand silhouetted against torchlight, their faces grim with business.
"Up, beast," Thane barks. "Arena calls."
I rise from the stone floor, joints protesting after a night on cold ground. Across the cell, Corrina stirs in her silk cocoon, green eyes blinking in confusion.
"Early today," she observes, voice husky with sleep.
"Special exhibition," Korven explains with cruel satisfaction. "Dawn matches draw better crowds. Something about blood in morning light."
They chain my wrists with practiced efficiency while more guards appear for Corrina. She rises with fluid grace despite her circumstances, somehow managing to look regal even with straw in her dark hair.
"Where are you taking her?" I ask before I can stop myself.
"Not your concern, beast."
They drag us from the cell in opposite directions. As we part ways in the corridor, I catch her looking back over her shoulder. Something unreadable flickers in those green eyes.
"At least I'll have a few hours' peace from that insufferable woman," I mutter to myself as guards march me toward the arena.
But the words ring hollow even as I speak them.
The preparation chamber buzzes with activity—healers, weapons masters, guards laying odds on my survival. A curved sword waits on the familiar wooden table, its edge keen enough to split silk.
"Three shadow wolves today," the weapons master informs me casually. "Fresh from the northern wastes. Hungry."
Shadow wolves. Fast as lightning, smart as men, utterly without mercy. And I'm still healing from my last fight.
"Wonderful."
The arena gates grind open to reveal three sleek forms stalking across the sand. Each shadow wolf stands nearly as tall as a horse, their black fur seeming to drink the morning light. Yellow eyes fix on me with predatory intelligence.
The crowd sounds its approval, but something feels different today. More electric. More anticipatory.
I don't have time to analyze it before the wolves attack.
They come from three directions simultaneously, coordinated like the pack hunters they are. I roll aside as massive jaws snap where my head was moments before, bringing my sword up to catch the second beast across its muzzle.
It screams—a sound like tearing metal—and blood sprays across the sand.
The third wolf circles behind me while I'm engaged with the first two. I sense rather than see its attack, spinning just in time to take its claws across my ribs instead of my spine.
Pain flares white-hot as talons part flesh, but I manage to drive my blade between its ribs. The wolf collapses, but not before its dying swipe opens a gash along my arm.
Two down. One to go.
The remaining wolf is the largest, its eyes burning with intelligence and fury. It doesn't charge blindly like its packmates—it stalks, circles, waits for the perfect moment.
Blood loss makes me dizzy, but I will myself to remain focused. One mistake and those jaws will tear out my throat.
