Blood Slave

Chapter 2

Three Reavers stand in a modern outdoor arena. The area was once a vast network of caves, but the roof was blown off during the most recent territorial wars. When the peace accords were signed, renovations began to clear out the space and create a massive coliseum. Abhorring anything similar to vampiric inheritance, werewolves from all over the kingdom could come to the arena and challenge one another for rank and prestige. And ownership of the only surviving blood slave.

"We don't care what you offered those fucking zombies," roars the Alpha wolf from his vantage point to one side of the arena. A deafening shout of praise meets his words. "This is our kingdom, and here, you only keep what you kill!"

The Reavers nod as one. "We are prepared to honor your tradition."

"We're prepared to honor your tradition," the Alpha mocks them in an exaggerated high pitch. He spat on the ground beside his throne. "You bunch of pussies! What do you know about honor? You brought three to fight against one. Lucky for you we consider that a fair fight, don't we boys?"

This time the howls of approval shook the stadium. The Alpha points to the opening gate where his champion is coming from. "After Rhys tears all those pretty gears out of you, we'll sell your parts for necklaces and see where you end up in three years."

The challenger, and owner of the blood slave is a gigantic hairy male with beefy limbs, but the Reavers have long learned how fast werewolves can move. When he begins to charge them, one Reaver breaks from the other two. It sprints at astonishing speed to encounter Rhys in the center of the arena.

Sunlight gleams off the deadly poisonous claws Rhys has out, showcasing them wickedly as they reach for his prey. It infuriates him that the Reavers have the audacity to try to look like people when they can't even feel emotions. One flick of his wrist and the head will sever-

"What the fuck?" his claws scrape deep grooves into the neck and chest of the Reaver he fought, but they didn't go as deep as he anticipates. Snarling, he's reaching out again to sever the thing limb from limb, but it's already gone.

For the next several minutes, Rhys wears himself out trying to do more than scratch into the Reaver. He can't remember having to fight this hard, not since the war. He just needs one opening.

"Got you now!" his grin is evil as he rips the arm off the Reaver so hard it rattles his entire body. It hurts to breathe.

He opens his mouth to cheer at the hard-earned victory, but chokes on blood coming out his throat. Blinking down, he sees that the other hand of the Reaver has punctured his chest cavity. With the last of his strength, he breaks the offending arm, clawing until it's no longer connected to its owner. Everything is spinning. The world around him loses all color.

As Rhys falls down with the robotic arm sticking out of his chest, he catches sight of the cage to the far side of the arena. His blood slave is in there. She's supposed to be watching his victory, witnessing his power over her life. His eyes swing wildly to the Reaver whose crushed his heart and lungs.

"Fuck," he chokes out before everything went black.

A vicious bark comes from the Alpha when several of his people made as if to rush the arena floor. He lets out the savage sound again when not everyone stops at his bidding. "Mother fucking sons of bitches!" he spits at the Reaver standing over his fallen packmate. "If you were flesh and blood, losing a hand and an arm would have ended the fight. Hell, Rhys would have killed you twice over with just his claws!"

"But we are not flesh and blood," said the two who did not fight. "And Rhys is dead, not us."

The Reaver with the missing limbs turns its scratched-up face toward him. "Your laws say we keep what we kill. The blood salve is ours. Will you honor your word?"

The Alpha's eyes darken with thinly suppressed violence. "Don't insult me, you fuckin' bot! Take the damned slave and get off my land."