Riot (Scarred Souls 4)

With every slice and every cut gained, I waited with bated breath for Master to give 901 the signal to kill. But the minutes dragged on and Master remained relaxed in his seat.

175 suddenly charged 901, obviously tired of the charade. His hard expression showed his want and need to kill. But as 175 struck out with his dagger, stabbing through 901’s thigh, 901’s eyes drifted to Master in the stands. I froze, along with 901, waiting for Master’s order. None came. Just before he looked away, 901 met my eyes. My heart broke when I saw this tender stare.

More minutes passed, both fighters dripping blood. I had to distance myself mentally from the excited roar of the crowd. Just when I feared Master was going to allow 901 to die waiting for his sign, he sat forward in his seat. I looked to the pit just in time to see 901 catch Master’s flick of the wrist. 901’s entire demeanor changed in an instant. He slid to the sandy floor, slicing the back of 175’s thighs. 175 dropped to the sand, his ability to stand stripped away. 901 stood to tower over him and finished 175 with one final stab into his throat, 901’s blades running him through.

Blood ran freely from the wound as 175 drained of life. 901 panted heavily on the spot, glaring down at his kill. The crowd jumped to their feet in celebration, but their cries were muted to my ears. I watched as 901 took hold of his Kindjals’ handles and wrenched them from 175’s throat. 901 then wiped his blades clean on 175’s lifeless torso.

901 turned to stare up at Master. He had a bloodthirsty look in his eyes as he stared the older male down. His legs and arms twitched. For a spilt second, I felt he was about to fight his way up the stands to end Master’s reign. Fortunately, 901 planted his feet into the sand and waited to be dismissed. He was covered head to toe in blood, a mixture of 175’s and his own. His blue eyes were wild, and he looked every inch the killer his reputation boasted.

Eventually, Master stood and flicked his wrist in dismissal. 901 turned to run down the tunnel, but not before glancing back and staring at me with desperate eyes. He was silently telling me that he had done this for me. He had taken this beating, endured these injuries, for me.

My heart almost leapt from my body. The feelings rushing through me, knowing he had done this for me, were filling me with the brightest of lights.

Master stood and congregated with some of the crowd. A few minutes later a guard came to me and ordered me to stand. I winced as I did. My pulse raced when I was led in the direction of the champions’ quarters. With each step I gasped for breath at the bruising on my stomach, cheek, and ribs. But that pain was overridden the closer I came to 901’s cell.

As we made our way through the narrow hallways, I wondered why Master was doing this. I believed I wouldn’t be given back to 901, no matter the outcome of the match. But from the minute the match ended, Master had ignored me just like he did when I was first given to 901. Like he had to distance himself from what he was about to let happen.

I racked my brain for answers, but when I arrived at 901’s cell, those questions fled my mind. Right then, I didn’t care about the consequences. I was here with 901. He had fought for me. Obeyed for me.

I wanted this with all my heart.

When the guard opened the door, a chiri was just finishing sewing up 901’s wounds. The blood that had been covering his skin was now covering the towels on the floor.

901 looked up at me in the doorway. Just as the chiri made the final stitch to the wound on his chest, 901 knocked her hand away and got to his feet. His large body swayed and his face screwed up in pain. Then his eyes fell on mine and never moved.

The chiri gathered her things and quickly fled the room. The guard slammed the door shut behind her. We simply continued to stare. The ragged wounds from days ago and today had ravaged his muscled body. His hair was slick with the remnants of the bloody fight and sweat. He looked beaten and torn.

901 suddenly stepped forward. My heart leapt into my throat as he approached. With a gentleness I wasn’t expecting, 901 lifted his hand and ran his finger softly beside the sprouting bruise on my cheek and the broken cut on my bottom lip. “You are hurt,” he whispered, a deep pain to his rough voice.

And he spoke to me in Russian. He spoke in our language.

Reaching out, I placed my hand on his shoulder, the only nontainted area on his body. “So are you,” I whispered in response.

He swallowed, and a swooping feeling looped in my stomach. Standing here with him now felt different. Something had shifted between us. It was indescribable. It was raw, but it made me feel alive.

Something 901 thought had immediately changed his mood. His head fell forward and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Master took you,” he said plainly. I tensed.

His fingertip ran down to the bite mark on my shoulder, and I winced at the tenderness of my skin. 901’s jaw clenched and he bit out savagely, “One day I’ll fucking slaughter him. And I’ll make him pay for everything he’s ever done.”

“Shh,” I soothed, moving even closer. 901’s body was like an open flame, radiating a searing heat.

His skin twitched when I got to my tiptoes and placed my hands on his face. His blue eyes were wide, solely focused on me. I smiled as I felt his rough stubble under my fingers. My smile faded seeing a large cut to his face. 901 raised his hands to wrap around my wrists.

“What?” he questioned hoarsely.

“You keep hurting yourself to save me.”

His eyes dropped to look at the ground. When he looked back up, he said, “This time you were hurt trying to save me, too.”

I fought back the lump in my throat and said, “I couldn’t … I couldn’t bear … I didn’t want Master to kill you. I want you to live.”

901’s forehead fell forward to press against mine. I didn’t care that he was covered in blood. All that mattered was that he was alive, breathing and before me. Wanting me as much as I did him.

We stayed that way for minutes. Eventually, I slid my hand in his and guided him toward the washing area of his cell. A shower was fixed to the far wall. Releasing his hand, I walked over and turned the handle. I backed away to where 901 stood. Reaching up to the clips that kept some of my hair off my face, I released them, letting my long hair fall forward. 901 watched me the entire time with a focused intensity to his eyes.

Next, I moved my hands to the clasp at my shoulder, the one that held up my dress. When the clasp released, my dress pooled on the floor, leaving me completely bared to his eyes.

901’s nostrils flared as his gaze dropped to my breasts. Then a harsh gasp tore from his lips and he snarled, anger contorting his face. When I glanced down to see what had him so mad, I saw large bruises forming on my stomach and ribs. I briefly closed my eyes, then forced any bad thoughts away.

901 looked down to my face when I stepped closer to him. Silently, I raised my hands until they lay on the waistband of his pants, and slowly pulled them down.

901 hissed, his muscles taut as I dragged the fabric over his hips and down over his legs. I swallowed back my nerves as 901 stepped away from the gathered material at his feet. Feeling the heat of warm water from the shower billowing around the room, I reached down and took his hand in mine.

901 stared at our joined hands. Leading him forward, I guided him under the spray. 901 followed me without complaint. Second by second, the blood fell from his skin. I watched as he shut his eyes and tipped his head back under the stream.

He was so beautiful. When I was close to him, his incredible height and width made me feel so safe. I hadn’t experienced that before. At least, I didn’t think I had. And I definitely hadn’t experienced that since I had awoken as Master’s High Mona.

Shaking those thoughts away, I smiled as 901’s head fell forward. He sighed as the remnants of the match washed away.

Seeing a bar of soap on the ledge beside the shower, I picked it up and stepped under the spray. Sensing me close in, 901 opened his eyes. He never once looked away. Lifting the soap to his chest, I ran it over his identity tattoo, tracing each number slowly and with care.

901’s skin bumped even though the water was warm. Smiling, I looked up to his eyes and my heart skipped a beat at the look upon his face. 901 lifted a hand and stopped my hand on his chest, then he lifted his fingers to my mouth.