When iron doors groaned open, Il Mastino stepped through the widening crack.
The Hound.
He wasn’t a male so much as a ruin of flesh that still walked upright. Like me, he was one of the Overseer’s experiments gone wrong, but a survivor. Scar tissue laced his arms and chest like bands of melted wax. Both ears were missing completely. His hair hung in dirty ropes, threaded with bone charms, carved from his victims.
He stalked onto the sand slowly, rolling his shoulders, joints popping like dry wood, his gaze fixed on Emberline. Then his lips pulled back from his yellowed fangs, and he roared like a feral beast.
My stomach clenched so hard, I bent over. The guards heaved me upright, bracing my arms out to either side to force me to watch the carnage.
Emberline stared up at her opponent steadily, nothing on her face except boredom.
No, no, get out of here. Run.
Slowly, calmly, she stripped her jacket off, tossing it aside as the crowd murmured.
She wore nothing but a dark shirt beneath, the fine fabric clinging to her ribs, showcasing her fragility. Bruises covered her throat, her arms—faint purples and yellows blooming all over her pale skin, and anger raged in me so fiercely, my vision blurred.
She lifted her braid, tucked it down into the back of her shirt, then laced her fingers together and stretched, as if she was stepping into a training ring.
As I’d seen her do a hundred times before.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t fuckinghelp her.
“No, no, no,” I whispered. “Run. You need to turn and run, you can’t…”
Her gaze flicked to me again. One quick glance, sharp as a blade, and in her eyes, I read her warning clear as day.
Trust me. I have this under control.
I shook my head. Not against him. Not when I could barely stand, and she was a third his size. Not when this fucker had killed over two hundred prisoners and stalked toward my fucking wife like she wasprey.
The Overseer clapped his hands. “Rules,” he announced, voice ringing through the cavernous space. “No mercy. Only one of you leaves. This is to the death.”
The crowd roared approval.
The Hound stepped forward, his scarred hands curled into fists as big as anvils, and twice as hard. He could crush a male’s skull with one blow. I’d seen him do it, his signature move.And his reach was at least four feet… she would never get inside his pocket.
But Emberline didn’t step back.
She circled him instead, light on her feet, moving like water—smooth and precise—matching his every lumbering step as he tracked her, snapping his teeth at her like a fucking beast.
He feinted once, a lazy swing meant to test her reaction.
Emberline ducked away, flinching, throwing both hands up as she stumbled in the heavy sand. The entire crowd caught its breath. I frowned. A clumsy move, one I’d never seen her make before. Usually, she was lithe as a cat, lethal and deadly.
But she was exhausted. Injured. And I knew how this place took a toll on your strength.
My pulse hammered. The Hound lunged.
He moved faster than anyone that big should ever be able to move, four hundred pounds of brute strength, the intensity of a born killer, with bloodlust in his eyes.
“No,” I screamed. “Go left, Ember, go…”
Graceful as a dancer, Emberline slipped sideways, and his hammer-like fist punched through nothing but empty air. She pivoted as momentum took him past her, staying too damn close, hand drawn back?—
And for a heartbeat, I thought she was insane.
Then she struck.
