Page 71 of Her Manticore Master
He pulled me into his arms, crushing me against his chest in an embrace so tight it felt like he was trying to merge our bodies into one. He buried his face in my hair, his own powerful frame trembling with the force of his relief. I was alive. I was a killer. And I was safe.
35
RONAN
Icrushed Corrina to my chest, my arm a steel band around her, trying to erase the last few minutes. The adrenaline from her near-death experience left me trembling, the image of her pinned beneath the orc, crimson spreading across her front, seared into my mind. I'd thought she was gone, and for a soul-shattering moment, the world had ended.
“Are you alright?” My voice is a raw, unfamiliar thing in my own ears. “Truly?”
“I’m fine,” she whispers into my tunic, her own body shaking with the aftershocks of battle. “I’m just… sticky.”
The absurdity of the comment, her attempt at a familiar, sarcastic normalcy in the face of such horror, almost makes me laugh. Instead, I just hold her tighter. The relief is a palpable, physical thing, a wave that threatens to drag me under. It’s a relief so profound it feels like its own kind of pain. I had watched her kill a man. I had watched her almost die. And the only coherent thought in my head is that I cannot,will not, let anything happen to her.
“You were brave,” I hear myself say, the words a rough admission. “What you did… that took courage.”
“It was terror,” she corrects, her voice muffled against my chest. “There’s a difference.”
“No,” I say, pulling back just enough to look at her, my hands still gripping her arms. Her face is streaked with dirt and blood—his blood—and she has never looked more beautiful.
“There isn’t. You fought. You won.” I see the dawning realization in her own eyes, the flicker of a fierce, newfound pride.
She's a killer, a survivor, and magnificent. My fate is bound to hers. My mission burns, but she fuels it.
Guards allowus a moment to recover. They remove the orc bodies, leaving stains. We get water and return to our pen, awaiting the final act.
“What happens now?” Corrina asks, her voice quiet as she sips from the skin, her eyes fixed on the arena floor.
“Now we watch,” I say grimly. “The final semi-final. Then us.”
The horn blows again, and two more teams enter the arena. This time, it’s a confident, well-armored team of two dark elves against a single, desperate human fighter. He’s a veteran, his body a tapestry of old scars, but he’s alone, and his eyes hold the grim certainty of a man who knows his luck has run out.
“This isn’t a fair fight,” Corrina whispers, her voice filled with a horrified pity.
“It’s not meant to be,” I say, my own voice flat. “It’s a spectacle.”
The human fought bravely but was outmatched by the dark elves. They inflicted numerous small wounds, prolonging his death for the cheering, bloodthirsty crowd. He eventually collapsed, his lifeblood spilling onto the sand, to the crowd's delight.
I feel a familiar disgust churn in my gut. This is the world I have been trying to protect her from, the casual barbarism that Valdris and his kind thrive on. I glance at Corrina. Her face is pale, her knuckles white where she grips the water skin. But she doesn’t look away. She watches the lone gladiator’s final, defiant breath, her expression a mask of cold, hard fury. She is not just seeing a spectacle. She is learning a lesson. In this world, mercy is a fatal weakness.
Dark elves bask in easy victory as the human body is dragged from the arena. A tense silence falls over the holding pen. The final round is next.
The herald’s voice, magically amplified, booms across the stadium, silencing the crowd. “The semi-finals are concluded! Two teams remain to fight for the ultimate prize!” He pauses for dramatic effect, letting the anticipation build. “On the southern sands, our victors from the last match, the deadly elven warriors, the Shadow Syndicate!”
The two dark elves preen, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd.
“And on the northern sands,” the herald continues, his voice rising in a theatrical crescendo, “the team that has defied all odds! The team that has shocked us all with their ferocity and their spirit! The Manticore Beast, Ronan, and the Lioness of the Harem, Corrina!”
The new title, so different from the mocking “pet” he had used before, sends a fresh roar through the crowd. They are no longer laughing at her. They are cheering for her. Her kill, her survival, has earned her a new name in their fickle hearts.
Corrina gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “Did you hear that?” she whispers, her eyes wide with a dawning, incredulous hope. “Lioness…”
“I heard,” I say, my own heart beginning a slow, heavy beat against my ribs.
“We did it, Ronan,” she says, turning to me, her face illuminated by a smile so bright it almost hurts to look at. “We actually did it. We’re in the finals.”
The promise of freedom hangs suspended between us, a tangible, intoxicating thing. It’s so close. So close we can almost taste it. For the first time since this nightmare began, I allow myself to feel a flicker of hope.
The crowd is a roaring, faceless beast, screaming our names. Corrina is caught up in the moment, her face flushed with a triumphant hope that is both beautiful and terrifying to behold. She grips my arm, her eyes shining. “We can win this, Ronan. I know we can. We just have to fight one more time. One more time, and we’ll be free.”
