The Overseer’s voice carried down from the platform, smug and bright. “Don’t bore us, little bird. Give us a show, I’m sure you can do better than dance around.”
That fucker.My mouth went dry for a second. Not because I was insulted, but because Dante heard it, and I could just imagine the depraved things that bastard had whispered to my husband today. Foul enough to earn himself that goose egg on his forehead.
I let the space shrink between us, watching muscles tense, tendons strain as my opponent came at me, still gasping for air, driven by ego and pride.
And then, when his weight shifted forward, when his stride lengthened, when he believed he had me… I moved.
A pivot backward, rolling to the side, my shoulders dropping low as his arm swept overhead in a crushing arc.
Then he was mine for the taking. As he surged past, I kicked out my right foot, cleaving apart that tendon running down the back of his leg. The point of the knife sticking out of the front of my boot gleamed red before I stepped back into the sand, and my opponent’s face changed.
Confusion first.
Then, pain, as his leg buckled as if someone had cut his feet out from under him. He went down hard, the sound of his body hitting the sand eclipsed as the crowd erupted.
Behind me, there was cursing—one of the guards.
Hopefully, the Overseer.
From the platform, all he would have seen was my opponent going down. Not how I’d done it. I stepped toward my downed foe, knocking my right boot into my left ankle once more, retracting the blade.
Funny, how these assholes only searched for the most obvious of weapons, when it was the smallest that caused the most damage.
Mr. Monster grabbed at his leg, roaring, trying to push himself up, but his leg was all but worthless. His wild gaze snapped to me, the first hint of fear flashing in his eyes as he tried to wheeze out a question. Or a plea.
Didn’t much matter.
“Gods, I’m glad I don’t have to listen to your whining. Now, you heard your boss. Let’s put on a good show. Come on, I’m sure you’re not finished. Let’s see what a big, bad male like yourself is capable of.”
He lunged from his knees, swiping at my ankles.
I stepped back. Calm. Patient.Careful.
Wounded animals did the stupidest things.
He tried to rise again, forcing all of his weight onto his good leg, using his arms to push himself upright. The wheezing was slowing, his windpipe healing, so I had better move fast.
He wasn’t quite balanced, but couldn’t stop himself from lunging, arms spread wide, intending to scoop me up and crush me against his chest. That’s when I made my second pass.
I moved in close, close enough to smell him—gods, did he reek—and with one quick tap, my other foot snapped out, same angle, other calf.
The second tendon ripped in half.
His scream tore through the ring.
The beast collapsed, both legs failing, all that muscle and might suddenly as worthless as his rage. He clawed at the sand, pulling himself toward me with just his arms, dragging the dead weight of his lower half behind him.
The prisoners were screaming now—gods, how this hideous place loved spectacle.
Because it wasn’t them on the sand.
It wasn’t them dying today.
I stalked toward him, staying out of range of those long arms, the noise washing over me as I dropped down beside him, my body blocking the view from the platform, knee crushing one forearm into the sand, but not his other. Triumph shone in his face when his other hand banded around my throat and squeezed.
The beast lifted his head, eyes bloodshot, lips curled back. “Whore,” he rasped. “I’ll still?—”
I was already reaching into my braid, plucking out the long silver needle.
