Page 4 of Beast of Blood and Ash (Drakarn Mates #6)

REIKA

Terra had said "just show up" at least a dozen times since I'd arrived in Scalvaris. As if my mere presence in the training ring was worthy of applause. As if dragging my broken body from one place to another was some grand achievement to be celebrated.

Today, I showed up.

The training cavern opened up before me, an echoing chamber of grunts and impacts.

Dark stone stretched in every direction, swallowing light from the heat crystals overhead.

I stood at the entrance, fingers tight around my makeshift staff, watching my people, the humans who were making a life for themselves there, move through defensive drills on our designated half of the space.

"Keep moving!" Terra called, her copper hair gleaming as she circled the group. Her voice snapped with authority, her posture perfectly straight despite the years of fighting, crashing, surviving in that hellscape.

I inhaled, tasting the cavern's thick air. My hand flexed around the wooden staff, rough beneath my palm. The weight of eyes on me pricked my spine.

Don't flinch. Don't freeze. Just move.

The memory of yesterday's market burned fresh. His voice, Omvar, rough and strange, saying my name. His massive frame, red scales catching the light. The way he'd reached for me, and that wild, stupid fear that locked my joints, stealing my voice.

I shook the image away. I was there to train, to reclaim strength in the body that had betrayed me again and again. Not to dwell on terrifying encounters with seven-foot Drakarn warriors from Ignarath.

I knew better than that.

"Reika!" Terra spotted me, her face lighting with approval. "Welcome, I’m glad you made it." She closed the distance between us, ignoring the way I instinctively stepped back. "We're running defensive drills. Kira needs a partner."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Kira was already moving through the exercise, her small frame belying wiry strength. She held her staff like she knew what she was doing … and like she had a plan to do a lot more. She caught my eye and gave a little nod, not quite happy, but acknowledging.

We were all damaged in different ways.

I slipped the satchel from my shoulder and set it carefully against the wall.

The small collection of herbs I'd managed to purchase before Omvar appeared weighed heavy inside, wrapped in cloth. I should have left them in my room, but I couldn’t shake the feeling someone might take my stuff if I left it behind.

I couldn’t let it out of my sight. It was my shield against the dark, my pretend purpose when sleep refused to come.

Learn the plants. Learn to heal. Learn to be useful.

As if anything could fix what was broken in me.

I moved into position across from Kira, staff held at the ready. My muscles could manage this, at least. Basic defensive posture. Weight centered. Eyes forward.

"Begin!" Terra called.

We circled each other. Around us, a dozen other human pairs moved the same way, a dance of survival we'd cobbled together from military backgrounds, desperation, and hard lessons.

The cavern's other half pulsed with the true violence of Scalvaris. Drakarn warriors, massive, scaled, deadly, sparred with unbridled intensity. The clash of bodies sent echoes bouncing off the walls. Each snarl carried, amplified by rage and determination.

They fought with fangs bared, wings occasionally flaring for balance, tails lashing. Their training had spectators, other Drakarn lined the edges, watching, assessing, calling encouragement or mockery.

We humans didn’t draw crowds. We were barely tolerated.

Kira lunged. I parried, the staffs connecting with a hard thwack. The impact vibrated up my arms. She was fast, but I was getting faster. The months of captivity had stripped me down, but muscle memory was a tricky bitch.

I’d never been a warrior, but once upon a time, I’d been scrappy.

Sweat beaded at my temples. My focus narrowed to the movement—block, step, strike, recover. The rhythm was meditative. My chest loosened.

I could do this. I could be there. I could function.

"Good," Terra said, passing behind me. "Now switch. Kira, defend."

My next strike came harder, fueled by the smoldering anger I kept banked. Kira met it, her eyes widening slightly. The staffs cracked together. The force shuddered through me, not entirely unpleasant.

There was certainty in this. Black and white. Action and reaction.

"Better," Terra said. "But you're still holding back." She paused beside us. "You need more strength training. And cross-species practice."

My rhythm faltered, and I nearly dropped my weapon. "What?"

Kira missed a block. My staff tapped her ribs, too light to hurt.

Terra's gaze swept the Drakarn side of the cavern. "You need to learn to fight them, not other humans. If something goes wrong, it’s the seven-foot-tall lizard monsters we need to worry about.” She gave me a grimacing smile.

“You need practice against bigger opponents.

The kind with wings and claws. Darrokar agreed to let willing Drakarn train with the civilians for two hours each week. "

Ice water rushed through my veins, and I tightened my grip on my staff to keep my hands from shaking. "You want us to spar with them?"

"I want you to survive," Terra replied simply. "I’m not talking about warrior training. Just defense."

"That's suicide," I said before I could stop myself. The memory of Ignarath, of that desperate run for freedom with wings beating in the air behind me, of being pinned, helpless, flashed white hot in my mind.

Terra's expression softened a fraction, but she didn’t give up. "Darrokar and Khorlar will vet every volunteer.”

Kira shifted uncomfortably. "How do we know the 'volunteers' won't just use it as a chance to hurt us?"

"They won't," Terra said with absolute certainty. She had that luxury—her mate, Darrokar, was the most powerful Drakarn in Scalvaris. Her faith was protected by seven feet of scaled muscle and political authority. “Anyone who does more than leave bruises will pay.”

"I'm not doing it," I said, the words dropping like stones. I kept my voice steady, betraying none of the panic gathering beneath my skin.

Terra looked ready to argue, but something in my face must have stopped her. She nodded once, tightly. "I can’t make you do anything. But I need you to think about it. It will be good for you."

I swallowed the knot in my throat.

Terra left to watch Rachel and Eden. Kira and I returned to drills. My movements became mechanical, distracted by the weight of Terra's suggestion. How long before it became an order?

The wooden staff felt suddenly inadequate in my hands. What good was practice if the enemy could snap your spine with a casual twist? What good were our pitiful human efforts against creatures bred for violence?

The Drakarn side of the cavern grew louder.

I tried not to look, but my gaze kept sliding that way, drawn by some perverse fascination.

Their matches were brutal, elegant in their savagery.

Bodies writhing, twisting, locking together in contests of raw power.

Wings snapping open for unexpected leverage.

Bloody scales glistening under the heat crystals.

A sudden shift rippled through the crowd. The Drakarn drills faltered, attention drawn toward the main entrance. I followed their gazes and felt the floor drop out from under me.

Omvar.

He stood, massive and motionless, in the archway, red scales almost black in the cavern's shadows.

His wings were folded tight against his broad back, but even at that distance, I could see the tension in them.

His posture was rigid, unyielding. His eyes, those burning gold all-seeing eyes, swept the cavern once, pausing fractionally on our human training area.

My pulse jumped. Had he seen me? Was he looking for me?

Don't be stupid. You're not that important.

The murmurs started immediately. Even the humans stopped to stare at the enormous Ignarath warrior. The name alone was enough to trigger a fresh wave of nausea. They were the worst. The cruelest. The most vicious. And this one … this one had sought me out yesterday.

But those stuttering words of his, that apology … that hadn’t been for just anyone. I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to think about Ignarath. About why he wanted to apologize. If I could zap those memories and make them disappear, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

"Traitor," someone hissed from the Drakarn side.

If Omvar heard, and how could he not, he didn't react. He moved into the cavern with controlled power. I found myself watching the way he moved, balanced despite his size, dangerous in his restraint.

A young Drakarn male detached from the group, stepping into Omvar's path. His scales were an iridescent green, his frame lean and wiry compared to Omvar's bulk.

"Traitorous dog," the green-scaled Drakarn called, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Come to spy on our training methods?"

I bit back a gasp. The entire cavern went silent. Beside me, Terra stilled.

Omvar stopped. His expression remained impassive, but something in his posture shifted, a subtle coiling of potential energy.

He said nothing.

The green Drakarn, Kith—I was pretty sure that was his name from the marketplace—circled closer. "The Blade Council may have granted you sanctuary, but we all know what you are." His tail lashed, punctuating his words. "Murderer. Slave breaker."

My skin crawled. The words conjured images I'd spent months trying to bury: monsters with their cruel hands, their laughing eyes as they broke prisoners.

Had Omvar been one of them? Had he watched? Participated?

No.

I didn’t know him, not at all. But I was sure of the denial down to my bones.

Omvar's gaze flicked past Kith, unconcerned, almost dismissive. The younger Drakarn bristled.

"Let’s see what you can do when you’re not in your cheater’s ring," Kith demanded suddenly. A challenge. Public. Impossible to ignore.