Fear prickles my spine, and I step backward, away from the advancing guards. “Your brutes have already patted me down,” I say, keeping my voice level. This is true, but they didn’t do a thorough inspection beneath my uniform. If they had, they would’ve found the clamp in my chest.
Bax grunts. “Sweep her with the wand.”
The hairs on my body stand at end as the burly Otherworlder approaches with the metal detecting rod outstretched. I squeeze my eyelids closed and pray to Alyah for a miracle. I pray so hard my lips tremble.
The guard starts at my boots and the wand illuminates blue. “Take them off,” he orders.
I slip out of my steel-toed boots, and he works the device up my legs, pausing at the bottom button of my uniform shirt. He sneers, a wicked grin crossing his stretched face. He continues to move the wand higher, and when it flashes a bright blue over my chest, I stop breathing.
“Remove your shirt,” the guard commands, his voice thick with pleasure.
My mouth trembles open. My eyes flick over the others in the room and land on the prince. His arms flex as he grips the edge of the table, his features strained. I look ahead, close my eyes, and reach for the last button of my shirt.
Bax groans. “Enough,” he snaps. My eyes open as he marches over and rips the silver protector insignia from the breast of my uniform. “You won’t be needing this anymore.” He tosses it to the dirt.
I release my pent-up breath. But my relief is short as I’m hurried toward the opening, hobbling as I put my boots back on. I manage a quick glance over my shoulder at the prince, meeting his enlarged, worried eyes before I’m shoved into the Cage.
I cross over a metal plank connecting the caged ring and the chamber. Beneath is a trench filled with flowing dark silver. Mercury. It surrounds the inside perimeter of the Cage, flowing like a small, murky river.
“No killing!” Bax shouts. “Just hurt him good, protector.”
I’m shocked that Bax is talking to me as if I’m his accomplice—his partner. Like I have any intentions to murder an innocent stranger on his behalf.
But when the mountain of a man steps into the domed ring, I question myself. He doesn’t look innocent. He looks like he’s scented blood and is searching for the source, ready to mutilate anything in his path.
He’s wearing a similar, plain tunic as the others in my league, except his is red. It’s grimy and tattered, as if he’s fought a hundred battles. I tilt my head and look closer. His cuff flashes two blue lights. Cocking his head to one side, then the other, he cracks his neck.
Above my head, the electric field of blue and white crackles and pops like lightning.
The risers are filled to the top with citizens of the Otherworld—cheering, whooping, rooting for their contenders. They chant the name “Carnage”, and I assume that’s who is about to put a hurt on me.
My eyes land back on the guy working his way into the center of the Cage. He must be a Colossal, because he towers at least three feet above me, and his biceps are the size of tree trunks. He smooths back his long dark hair and wraps a band around the tail of his grease-streaked mane.
I back up a couple of steps, wanting to study his moves as he attacks.
He favors his left leg, and one of his gray eyes droops, the skin scarred and sagging toward the middle. When he lunges, I jump to my left, forcing him to use his right side to keep balance.
I continue to leap sideways, and he stumbles over his large, booted feet.
“You have to fight sometime, little girl,” he growls. Then he swipes, closing his massive arms like clamps, as he tries to lock them around me.
He lunges again, but this time I sweep his bad leg. He bellows as he grabs his knee and falls to the ground. The crowd roars.
Goddesses, forgive me.
I straddle his huge chest and anchor his arms to the earth with my feet. His eyes widen as he grunts and struggles, probably angered that a five-foot-nothing girl has pinned him. The mercury pumps in my veins, pounding against my skin and singeing my blood.
Bearing down harder on his heavily-muscled arms, I reach down and scoop a handful of the black, damp dirt and smear it over my face to cover the swirls of silver. Then I raise my arms above me and rip a scream from my core.
The crowd jumps to their feet with cheers.
I drop down and drive my forearm against his throat.
He gasps for air as I attempt to put him to sleep just as I did Crew back in the cell. Only he’s not blacking out. He grasps my thighs with his thick fingers and lifts me up. I lose my balance and release his neck, landing on my palms to brace myself.
“You’re strong,” he wheezes. He says this as a revelation. Then he backhands me, and my head snaps to the side with a blinding sting.
The roar of the crowd is muffled as the shattering pain throbs against my ears. I shake my head, and the world tilts as he sends a crushing kick to my stomach. He grabs my arm and leg, his large fingers encircling my limbs as if they’re nothing but twigs, and lifts me above his head.