Blood on Sand

FORCING THE HAND

Zoe waited and waited. He had a hard time remaining on his knees. At first, he'd lowered his head as a sign of resignation, but now he didn't have the strength to lift it even if he'd wanted to. The blood puddled around him, running down his body in a steady trickle. He couldn't keep his eyes open, and he was so thirsty he thought he'd die from that rather than the chief dog ripping his throat out. What was taking him so long? Zoe had done everything he'd planned to do, and now he deserved his reward—he deserved to die.

The sun warmed his skin, and he could smell the humid air, the vegetation, and the stones and rocks he'd sunbathed on when he was young. His tongue scented the air as the twittering from the birds started sounding more and more like growls. Zoe jerked, finding himself in the unforgiving spotlights. There were no chirping birds. No sun. And if the air had been humid he wouldn't have been so thirsty. He wasn't sure if the world tilted or if it was only in his head. It was almost as if he could see himself from above, yet he was unable to sort out what was happening around him. Every sound roared in his ears. There were people in the ring. He could feel one creature or another moving around, but no one was close to him. Why didn't they kill him?

His shield thudded as it fell out of his grip and onto the sand-covered cobblestones. He was cold, so cold. Why wouldn't they just finish him? Wouldn't it be entertainment enough to see the king beast sink his enormous fangs into the unprotected skin of his throat? He'd thought that would be enough to amuse them.

****

Wojtek had hurried to shift and get dressed once he'd managed to make Tedor understand that he wanted to talk. But as he glanced at the lizardian from the imperial box, he wondered if they'd been too slow. Tedor was in no hurry; that was for sure. The giant man had come sauntering a good five minutes after Wojtek and Satul had showed up. And he'd been brushing his hair as he walked—as if they didn't already know what an ugly creature he really was. They had more urgent matters to attend than Tedor's hairdo.

Wojtek's hand found its way to the ancient stone column as he saw the crawler wobble. What was taking Tedor so long? He'd already said what he wanted; all the man had to do was name his price. Wojtek chanced a glance over his shoulder and cursed under his breath. The cowfucker was playing with his phone.

What was he waiting for? It wasn't like there was much to discuss. Surely Tedor could see the waste of killing such a formidable fighter as his reptilian, and he wouldn't lose his fighter either. It was a win-win situation. They could even pit the fighters against each other again in a week or two.

He crammed his hand into the pocket of his jeans in an attempt to hide his frustration. This waiting was ridiculous, the crawler was dying, and the punters would be just as disappointed from having their debts collected over a death like this as they would be from having them returned because of a called-off fight. Not that they'd ever called off a match before; fight to the death was their thing. If the audience just wanted to see two creatures punch each other for a little while they could go to a human MMA fight or something equally tame. They offered the real thing, no rules, no interference...except.

"Sorry, just had to check up on my twitter feed. You want him to live?" Wojtek wanted to strangle Tedor; that was what he wanted. "Is he such a good fuck, the reptile, that you're willing to embarrass yourself in front of all these people?"

Wojtek snarled. He would never touch a fucking crawler, and Tedor knew it. Tedor just chuckled, though, obviously having a good time. Then all of a sudden he turned serious. "I'll tell you what, if you let him live I want a picture sent to me every day of you and him together. He'll be living in your quarters or not at all. Those are my terms."

"Never!" He pulled his hand out of his pocket just before his claws broke the skin on his fingertips. Have a lizard in his home? Out of the fucking question.

"Then kill him."

Wojtek stormed away through the arcade, throwing his clothes as he went. He let the change wash over him as he continued down the stone stairs, and onto the arena floor. His clawed feet scratched at the blood-stained sand, his tail swishing back and forth in an aggressive manner.

The entire stadium fell quiet.

The lizard tried to raise his head but couldn't. Wojtek was amazed that he was still as upright as he was. There couldn't be much blood left in him. He raised his hand, ready to dig the sharp points of his claws into the crawler's larynx. A growl, born from the excitement he felt for the oncoming death, echoed through the spring night. His mouth watered. It would've been so much better if it'd been a creature that would taste good. The creepy-crawlies were too cold-blooded, the blood smelled about right and there probably wasn't anything wrong with the flavour if you could just get over the temperature. Seemed like a waste to kill without having a taste.

He leaned forward, just a little, his hand coming down in a powerful blow. But before he could make contact the reptilian angled his head—not away from the oncoming impact, no he angled himself to make the kill easier for Wojtek.

He snarled. Hell no!

The fucker would not have this his way. He ruled here. And he decided if and when he would kill someone. He knew Satul was watching from the entrance, probably cursing Wojtek for not having killed the crawler yet. Well, he would just have to deal.

He bent down and hefted the warrior up over his shoulders. Lukewarm blood trickled down his naked back and probably clotted in his Mohawk. If the twat died on him now, when he'd humiliated himself in front of Tedor and his men, he might just have to kill him all over again.