Piper Cross, an undercover spy, must relive her past as a child gladiator in order to bring the underground arena to justice.
*****
Growing up gladiator is brutal. The cells are cramped...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"I'm doing this all wrong," Isaac said abruptly, pulling back at the last second. "I had all these grand plans to apologise and make amends, but seeing you on the stairs scrambled my wits."
My guard reared up. "Apologise? What for?"
"For taking advantage of your trust and putting you in such an uncomfortable position with the mate bond. For moping like an idiot when you said you didn't want it, even though I was so grateful you were still given a choice. For being too afraid of what you thought of me to communicate properly. For —"
"Isaac," I said gently, touching his cheek. We'd come to a complete standstill in the middle of the dance floor while everybody spun around us, the glittering heart of a deadly whirlpool. "It was an accident, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry for all those things, too. I also know what it's like to have a choice taken away."
His strong, beautiful face clouded with fury. "Who?"
"I think you know," I said, squeezing his shoulders reassuringly. Images tumbled from my mind to his, sharing what happened the night we rescued Ethan. The telepathic connection was new, a little fuzzy, but it testified to our growing hold on one another. "And I already gutted him for it."
He did not let go of his anger, but he tucked it away, biding his time for the day it would prove useful. "If I'd known back then, I would have told you to leave him to rot."
"No you wouldn't," I chided. "That's the difference between you and I."
His answering smile was sad, but earnest. His frustration with his perceived shortcomings did not diminish his pride in me. "I wish I could live up to your example."
You are strong and I am weak. It was like the faintest strain of music coming from his room at night, but I made out the thought regardless.
Yours is a different kind of strength, I replied, touching his cheek. One I've grown to admire.
Isaac frowned. I don't understand.
He truly didn't; I could see in his mind that he'd admired my brutal indifference for years. Had looked forward to our match as children with hope, because I was the one person who would deliver the ultimate mercy of death, irrespective of his father's wishes. I'd killed my own father; what was the life of a strange boy in comparison?
And then I had the audacity to escape. The cunning to turn on my master and flee beyond her cruel reach — or so Isaac thought.
My thumb caressed his jaw as I shared the truth of what happened that long ago day, when we were meant to fight to the death. Of how my mother let me go under the pretence of victory and lurked in my head for years afterward, leeching all the goodness out of me, rubbing salt in my wounds, turning me barren and cruel. The wonder in his eyes turned to anguish, and I loved him for it.
Your capacity to feel is the strength I admire, I sent, looking up into his stormy eyes, feeling the charge in every atom of my body. I've been holding myself apart for so long I don't know how to let go. The thing that saved me as a child is preventing me from truly living, but you've built yourself a life. A new family.
