Piper Cross, an undercover spy, must relive her past as a child gladiator in order to bring the underground arena to justice.
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Growing up gladiator is brutal. The cells are cramped...
This chapter contains themes of sexual trauma. Reader discretion advised.
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The battle mages exploded into motion, trained to recognise and respond to that signal just as I had been.
Once, I'd made the foolish mistake of drawing out an opportunity to kill, stretching it so thin that the moment snapped out of my grasp. Corinne Cross escaped, and like a hydra she'd come back with extra heads — four battle mage guards, each one trained to recognise and respond to the same commands I had, once upon a time.
It would not elude me again.
I morphed without warning, letting my rage manifest in a larger body, closing my teeth around Corinne's head — or so I tried. An opposite force yanked me backward, hurling me into the sandstone, even though I felt no hands make contact with my flesh.
Something gave way in my chest as I slid down the wall, but the pain was a dim flicker at the edge of my attention, a faulty light I'd trained hard to ignore. I lunged for Corinne again, ducking and weaving through a forest of lowered spears, skirting sticky whips of magic the battle mages sent my way.
It had been so long since I took on this form. It was alarming how right it felt, how straightforward everything was. I was a predator. She was my prey. I tore apart anyone and anything that dared to stand in my way, splintering staffs and separating limbs from shoulders, riled up by the hot, coppery spray that flavoured the air and speckled my muzzle.
That force yanked on my tail again, sending pain ricocheting up the notches of my spine. I snarled and whirled around, swiftly realising nobody was there.
It had to be telekinetic magic. A distraction.
A chunk of sandstone shattered on the back of my skull, driving my nose into the wall. It was like being punched in the soul; to be struck so unexpectedly in the most sensitive part of my body made my thoughts fracture and disintegrate. Blood poured into my eye, but the stars remained.
Isaac let out a muffled sound, as if they'd clapped a hand over his mouth. I couldn't tell if it was in warning or a request for help, but either way it spiked my blood with a fresh surge of urgency. I blinked furiously, trying to clear the dark spots in my vision as I coiled and sprung again, only to be caught in the stomach by the blunt end of a battle-mages staff. It knocked me back into the wall and through it; the sandstone sucked me in and held me there, as if I'd been set in place with the ancient cement. The sound that escaped my throat was feral and guttural as I squirmed, testing the strength of my restraints, despairingly sound. I stopped when the sharp end of the glaive kissed the pulse in my throat.
Somebody yelped. "He bit me!" a battle mage cried, seconds before a severed finger hit the sandy floor by my head. The blade scraped fur and skin as my captor tensed.
"Let her go," Isaac blurted out. I could just make out the shape of him being dragged down by three others. "We'll cooperate. You have my word."
A battle mage slung a bit of leather between his teeth, pulling back on it to control the movement of his head. Corinne chuckled, a hateful, husky sound that was somehow devoid of any warmth. "It's your voice that's the problem, boy. I wish you would have found it sooner."
