Page 41

“Easy,” I snapped, glaring back at him pointedly.

“Remember what we discussed,partner,” he added, the reminder slamming my molars together. “Until the games begin, it would be better to be underestimated.”

Horns blew, and the announcer shouted my name.

“Fine,” I huffed. “You want me to play the part of delicate flower? You got it.”

Fates, this was going to be embarrassing.

As I entered the ring, the torque heated against my neck as it powered down, and my sorcery came rushing to the forefront. I gasped, welcoming it home like a long-lost friend. This performance would be a challenge. How did someone act fragile?

I called on the well of power at my center, drawing a single thread. My palms warmed, and I whirled my arms dramatically as though preparing to conjure the most horrifying of images, a sight certain to strike fear in every heart. I was the Queen of Nightmares, leader of the infamous Blood River Bandits. All who stood before me would feel my wrath.

Finally, I thrust out my hands, giving life to my creation. What appeared was…

A miniature pony.

The first pranced around me. Then I added another, followed by a third, fourth, and fifth. I gritted my teeth, pretending to strain with each addition. Until, at last, I’d created twelve prancing ponies. Once the beasts had made several laps, I clapped my hands, and the animals exploded, becoming flutterflies that twittered into the sky.

Snickers followed my display. Adding to my performance, I pressed a hand to my forehead and stumbled as though weakened.

“Runa?” Kronk’s worried voice reached me as I hit the sand.

One of the guards grabbed my wrist, putting me in direct contact with his skin. Sucker. Little did he realize I had more than one ability at my disposal. He dragged my limp carcass out of the ring while the other competitors chortled, dropping me at my brother’s feet. The torque around my throat heated, and my beautiful magic fell silent once more.

“Runa!” Kronk swept me up in his arms. “I do not understand. Her fingers haven’t turned black. Is it the sun?”

I cracked an eye open. “Boo!”

He flinched, dropping me into the sand once more. Air knocked from my lungs, my rounded ass breaking my fall.

“Rocks for brains,” I cursed and lumbered to my feet, dusting off my hands.

“I’m uncertain whetherIwant to be your partner after that pitiful display,” Drazen intoned, muscular arms folded over his coarse tunic.

Sadly, it was only the leech who seemed to understand the genius behind my performance.

“What did you get from the guard?” Victor asked.

At the reminder of what I’d extracted when the male seized my wrist, I shivered. That was one trip I refused to take again. “Something about the trial tomorrow involving Carcerem’s challenging landscape.” That, and he found the prancing ponies a turn-on.Gag.

The vampire’s smirk of approval sent a shiver coursing through me. Instead of analyzing my reaction, I decided to simply enjoy the ride. It likely wouldn’t happen again.

The announcer projected his voice, calling out, “Victor Custodis.”

Before entering the ring, the vampire selected a delicate sword. Something designed more for a petite woman than a warrior. At the edge of the circle, he stabbed his weapon into the sand. Then, he removed his course tunic, stripping down to his leggings while the audience’s animated discussion quieted. With their curious attention on him, Custodis strolled to the middle of the enclosure, indifference in his expression. Once there, he pressed his palms together, growing quiet. The rise and fall of his chest shallowed, his breaths slowing.

Unable to resist, I eyed his physique, expecting flaccid muscles on a milk-toast frame. Instead, muscle I didn’t expect tofind in an aristocrat bulged beneath his pale skin. Long white hair spilled down his back, falling over his wide shoulders. Sunlight played off his lean torso and defined arms. The vampire’s ridged abs glistened with sweat, his sculpted form warming under the unforgiving sun. I squirmed, wanting to fan my cheeks—due to the heat, of course.

Slowly, gracefully, he swept an arm out to his side, leaning into the motion, causing firm muscles to flex in his thighs. The controlled, precise action had me holding my breath. Then, he echoed the movement on the other side. By the time he’d repeated his warm-up four more times, I was breathless and near to passing out.

Speed increasing by slow increments, he brought his palms closer. Circling his arms as though he tamed the wind, forcing his unseen prey to submit to his will. Bending and twisting, he moved his body, conjuring some imaginary spirit. The two sparred, Victor defending, then attacking.

Again, his movements quickened when suddenly he flipped, seizing the sword.

My breath caught at the flawless motion, my eyes riveted to his performance.

I’d never seen the like. The competitors before him had offered examples of brute force and violence. I wasaccustomedto brute force and violence. Lived in it. Wielded it. Enjoyed it. In contrast, Victor’s demonstration was all about finesse and artistry. His movements were that of a skilled dancer.