Page 17

Dernin

Dernin shifted restlessly as he watched Bariv’s match from the fighter’s viewing area the following afternoon. Every muscle in his body tensed with each move his rival made, cataloging weaknesses and strengths for their inevitable confrontation.

Bariv’s opponent, a seasoned fighter named Krell, had Bariv pinned against the arena wall. The crowd roared as Krell landed blow after blow.

“Getting sloppy, champion,” Krell taunted, driving his fist into Bariv’s side.

Bariv stumbled, his movements uncharacteristically sluggish. Something wasn’t right. His instincts screamed that this fight felt staged.

Above in the viewing box, Alaysia sat watching. His mate’s presence made his scales bristle with protective energy.

“Watch your left side,” one of the other fighters muttered as Bariv was deliberately leaving openings.

Krell soon launched a devastating combination that should have ended the match. Instead, Bariv suddenly sprang to life, countering with impossible speed. One brutal strike later, Krell lay unconscious on the arena floor.

“Victory to Bariv!” the announcer bellowed.

The crowd erupted, but Dernin’s eyes narrowed on Fyret’s booth. The kingpin smiled, nodding slightly at Bariv.

Dernin’s scales bristled. That comeback had been too perfect, too well-timed. He remembered seeing Bariv talking with Fyret earlier, their heads close together in conversation.

“Something’s wrong with this whole setup,” Dernin growled.

“You’re just worried about facing him,” someone jeered.

Dernin’s tail whipped around, nearly catching the speaker in the chest. “I don’t fear that slug. But this match wasn’t right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked another fighter.

“Nothing.” Dernin straightened, his tail shifting in irritation. He couldn’t prove anything, but that comeback felt manufactured. The way Bariv had played weak and then struck with perfectly timed brutality...

“Semifinals, here I come,” Bariv crowed as he strutted past. “Hope you’re ready to lose, snake.”

“Save your breath for the ring,” Dernin snapped back.

“Oh, I’m saving something special for our match.” Bariv’s filaments twitched as his gaze drifted to the viewing box. “And for after.”

It took every ounce of Dernin’s warrior discipline not to strike him down right there. His protective instincts regarding Alaysia made his blood burn hot.

“Next match in ten minutes!” a guard called out. “Dernin, you’re up!”

Dernin pushed off from the wall. He’d win this match, and then he’d figure out exactly what game Bariv and Fyret were playing.

Dernin’s muscles coiled with anticipation as he entered the ring. His opponent, a hulking Jorvlen named Vrax, cracked his knuckles menacingly. But when Dernin looked at him, he saw Bariv’s sneering face instead, imagining those filthy hands reaching for Alaysia.

The thought set his blood on fire.

“Ready to eat sand, snake?” Vrax taunted.

Dernin’s tail whipped across the arena sand, his focus laser sharp.

The bell rang. Vrax charged forward with a roar, but Dernin was already moving. His tail swept low, forcing Vrax to jump. The moment the Jorvlen’s feet left the ground, Dernin struck. His fist connected with Vrax’s jaw, sending him staggering.

“That all you got?” Vrax spat blood.

Dernin’s tongue flicked out, tasting his opponent’s fear in the air. The mate bond pulsed fiercely in his veins filling him with primal energy. He glanced up at Alaysia in her viewing box, her red hair gleaming like fire.

Mine to protect.

Vrax landed a lucky hit to Dernin’s ribs, but the pain only fueled him. He grabbed Vrax’s arm and tossed him backward across the arena with surprising ease, the Jorvlen’s body flailing. Vrax crashed into the arena wall with a satisfying crunch.

“By the gods,” someone in the crowd whispered. “I’ve never seen him fight like this.”

Dernin advanced on his opponent, every movement calculated and lethal. His tail coiled around Vrax’s leg before he could recover, yanking him off balance. Two precise strikes to the head and Vrax lay unconscious at his feet.

The crowd erupted in cheers, but Dernin barely heard them. His focus remained on Alaysia. He watched her as she leaned forward in her seat, the relief evident on her face. The sight of her sent another surge of possessive energy through him.

The announcer soon shouted, “Dernin advances to the semifinals!”

One step closer to keeping her safe. One step closer to making her his. Dernin’s chest heaved as he left the ring, his golden scales shimmering with sweat and victory.

Fyret strutted into the ring, his gaudy suit catching the arena lights as he spread his arms wide. The crowd’s roar deepened as he gestured for the four semifinalists to join him. Dernin’s tail left smooth tracks in the sand as he slithered forward, his muscles still humming from his victory.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Fyret’s voice boomed across the arena. “Your final four!”

Dernin stood tall, his golden scales gleaming as he towered over the others. Beside him, Bariv’s filaments twitched.

“To my right, the undefeated champion himself—Bariv!”

The crowd erupted as Bariv raised his fists, feeding off their energy.

“And here stands the rising star, the fighter who’s captured all our hearts—Dernin!”

The cheers washed over him, but Dernin’s gaze sought only one face.

There, in the viewing box, Alaysia leaned forward, her flame-red hair cascading over one shoulder.

Their eyes met, and his chest tightened at the worry etched across her beautiful features.

His mate—that word still sent thrills through his body—looked pale and tense.

He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to wrap his tail around her protectively and whisk her away from this place. To tell her that she was his, that he would die before letting anyone harm her. The mate bond burned inside him, demanding he claim her, protect her, love her.

“Tomorrow,” Fyret continued, “these four will battle for supremacy, for glory, and for our special prize!”

The crowd’s attention turned to Alaysia. He saw her shrink back slightly, though she kept her chin high. Pride and protectiveness warred in his chest. His mate was so strong, yet she shouldn’t have to be—not like this.

“Don’t worry, snake,” Bariv muttered under his breath. “I’ll take good care of her.”

Dernin’s tail coiled tightly, his warrior training barely containing his urge to strike. Soon , he promised himself.

Dernin’s scales whispered against the stone floor as he went to the barracks.

The taste of victory still lingered, but something else caught his attention—familiar voices drifting from a shadowed alcove.

His warrior instincts kicked in as he pressed himself against the wall, his golden scales shifting to match the darkness.

“The snake’s getting too popular,” Fyret’s voice carried clearly. “Bad for business when the crowd favorite isn’t our champion.”

“I’ll break him,” Bariv’s guttural tone replied. “Just like all the others.”

“See that you do. I’ve got too much riding on you staying champion. The betting odds are already arranged.”

Dernin’s tongue flicked out to taste their emotions. Greed and malice saturated the air.

“What if he gets lucky?” Bariv asked.

“He won’t.” Fyret’s silk-smooth voice hardened. “I’ll make sure the referee knows when to look the other way. And if that doesn’t work... we’ll improvise.”

“And the girl?” Bariv’s filaments twitched eagerly. “She’s still mine when I win?”

“As promised. Though try not to break this one too quickly. She’s worth more than your usual prizes.”

Raw fury surged through Dernin’s body. His tail coiled tightly, muscles bunching with the effort of restraining himself from striking immediately. These insects dared to plot against his mate? His nails dug into his palms, drawing blood.

“Don’t worry,” Bariv chuckled. “I know how to make them last.”

Dernin’s vision tinged red. Only the thought of Alaysia—of keeping her safe—kept him from revealing himself and ending both their miserable lives right there.

Dernin turned quietly and made his way to the barracks, his rage threatening to consume him. The conversation he’d overheard played on repeat in his mind. Fixed matches. Corrupt referees. His jaw clenched until pain shot through his temples.

“Getting nervous about tomorrow?” one of the other fighters called out.

Dernin’s eyes fixed on the speaker, who immediately shrank back. “I don’t get nervous.”

Dernin finally settled in on his sleeping mat, every movement deliberate and controlled despite the fury coursing through his veins. The other fighters gave him a wide berth, sensing his dangerous mood.

“They want to rig this thing?” he muttered under his breath. “Let them try.”

No matter what underhanded tactics Fyret employed, Dernin would not lose. Could not lose.

“A warrior adapts,” he reminded himself, remembering his training. If they planned to cheat, he’d simply have to be so overwhelming that no amount of corruption could stop him.