Page 161 of Echoes of the Banshee

“Beat her!” Grunt hollers.

“Uh… boss?” one of the fighters says, a tall goblin with orange hair, hesitating as he eyes me warily. “We can’t hit her,” he objects. “She’s got goblin favors. Multiple. Can’t you feel it?”

Grunt’s trying to convince me goblins are brutes. Meanwhile these two look ready to bow or bolt.

“No joke, sir,” another one with red hair chimes in. “My brother was there. Said there was a line.”

“Twenty-three,” I add lightly, grinning at him.

Grunt looks around, realizing, too late, that his command is slipping.

“She tricked twenty goblins into giving her their most prized possessions,” he growls.

A few goblins bristle at that, but one speaks up, the same one with the brother.

“No,” he says. “She told the first one that what she wanted most in the world was his pencil. Every single goblin offered her something valuable, and she picked the pencil in their pocket. Every time.”

Grunt storms into the cage and punches the orange-haired goblin. The guy shakes his head, apologetic. Guess there are some rules goblins won’t cross. Grunt’s eyes dart around the crowd as the others step back, refusing to touch me.

“Fucking cowards,” he snaps. He grabs me roughly by the arm and punches me to the ground. It stings, but I bounce back up and stare him down.

He hits me again. We repeat. This… this is nothing. He tries the stomach next. I take the hit like a gladiator. He keeps swinging as his anger gets the better of him. The sound of my rib breaking echoes in the quiet arena. I give away nothing. I’m not here, I’m with Lazlo. I watch as his eyes dart around the room, taking in all the goblins who are watching him fail to break me.

Grunt stares at me, doubt creeping into the cracks of his fury.

“Do you even feel pain?” he demands, almost disbelieving.

“Of course I feel it. I told you, you’re not going to be able to break me.”

He grabs my left arm, the one with the cuff.

He twists with slow, deliberate cruelty, waiting hungrily for me to beg. I don’t. The crack is louder this time. I don’t scream. I don’t cry. I don’t even break eye contact.

A gasp spreads through the crowd.

“Try harder, sweetheart,” I goad. Then lean in, low enough that only he can hear. “I’ve had every bone in my body broken, one by one. Healed, and rebroken. And that? That was a fucking spa day compared to the other things they did to me.”

His eyes go wide. He squeezes my broken arm, like he’s trying to wring out a scream. I raise an eyebrow and smile.

“Is it my turn yet?”

“Fucking freak.” He drags me by it to the storage room. I can tell he has no idea what to do with me now. Every plan he had has failed.

He tosses me into the cage, like he finally realizes that I’m the monster here.

I land hard, right on Benson, who groans beneath me. My broken arm twists; agony surges up through my ribs and shoulder. My breath hitches, laughter spilling out maniacally as I press my forehead to the floor beside him, riding the wave of pain.

The last thing I hear is the door slam before I let oblivion take me.

Zair

‘Friends,’ He Says While Stalking Her Home

Irecognize him right away. He’s the security guard who’s sat with Thea during a few of my matches.

“Have you seen her?” I ask, skipping the introductions.

His face tenses.