To the untrained eye, this wasn’t a weapon so much as itwas a trinket. To me, it was one of my favorite tools for a clean death. Not that I wanted this awful creature’s death to be painless, but I needed him to die.
Both of us were gasping, the beast taking his time, choking me slow, watching me suffer. I drove the silver pick down, straight into one dark eye and deep into his brain, a pinprick of blood forming around the entry wound.
Quick. Clean. No flourish for the crowd.
His body jerked once, hand falling from my throat, landing in the sand with a hollow whump. Then he went still, his mouth falling open in a soundless exhale.
I collapsed onto my side, clutching my bruised throat, slipping the needle back into its hiding place.
The crowd was in frenzy, prisoners pounding the stone, shouting for another fight, for more violence, as if one death couldn’t satisfy their bloodlust.
But I only had eyes for Dante. For my husband, wishing I could tell himeverything would be okay.
He was chained and battered, his face pale beneath the bruises, but his eyes burned. Hunger and fury and love, all tangled together, and my world tilted when our gazes collided.
He didn’t look at me like I was fragile.
He looked at me with pride shining in his eyes, as though he finally saw exactly what I was. Not a pampered aristocrat of a business partner, but a fucking fighter.
I lifted my chin slightly, then gave him the smallest nod.
I’m here. This is almost over. Hold on.
The Overseer leaned forward, eyes gleaming, a rivulet of blood drying on his brutish face. He looked almost pleased as he stared me down. “Well,” he called, voice carrying. “The little bird can bite.”
My smile sharpened.
I lifted my hands slightly, palms open, as if to show I carried no weapons. A harmless gesture. A performance.
At the same time, I flexed my toes inside my boots.
The only thing I had left from my once-deadly arsenal—beneath the scuffed, worn leather, thin blades waited, turning a scuffed, worn boot into an assassin’s kiss.
My gaze flicked to Gabriel again, and this time I held his gaze for a fraction longer. His jaw clenched, finger tapping on his forearm, once, twice… three times.
Good.
I could stretch this spectacle out for another thirty minutes.
The Overseer descended from the platform, prowling across the sand with the patience of a rattlesnake. “You surprise me,” he murmured, staring at my downed foe, trying to decide how, exactly, he’d ended up dead in the sand instead of me.
“I expected a princess; instead, I found a killer. Interesting, how your uncle never mentioned your other… skills.”
“That’s because my uncle is a lying bastard.” I let the crowd’s cheers swell around us like a storm. “Your champion is dead. Make your next move,” I said, voice steady, holding his narrowed gaze.
His eyes glittered. “Oh, I plan to.”
His eyes turned colder as he debated, swinging his gaze between me and Dante, then the crowd, who quieted, shrinking back as his eyes skimmed over them.
I saw the moment he made his decision, beckoning two of his guards forward and stripping off his long coat, unbuckling the heavy breastplate, letting it fall to his feet, to be gathered up by his minions. I regulated my breathing, retreated to the far side of the ring, and started my countdown.
Twenty-nine minutes.
They picked the fallen fighter up by the heels and dragged him clear of the ring, cutting a deep furrow through the churned-up sand.
The Overseer stripped off his shirt and… gods.Oh gods.His body was a web of scars, white and pink and red, straight and rambling, and beneath the damage, his body was built for punishment, for brutality.
I could do this. I’d come here to win, to save my husband. I only had to survive twenty-nine… twenty-eight more minutes.
