Page 7

Alaysia

The plum satin dress hugged against Alaysia’s body as she shifted in her seat, the fabric catching the light from the arena below. Her fingers traced the gilded arms of her chair in the private viewing box. She tried to ground herself as Bariv’s massive form dominated the ring.

The Sytheran opponent’s metallic skin flashed under the lights as he ducked and weaved, but Bariv’s brute strength proved overwhelming. Each thunderous impact of his fists against the Sytheran’s chest sent vibrations through the viewing box floor.

“No, no, no,” Alaysia muttered. She pressed herself back as if trying to disappear into the cushions.

The crowd roared as Bariv landed a decisive blow. The Sytheran fell to the ground. Bariv pinned him with one knee pressing into his throat until he tapped out. Bariv raised his arms in victory, his filaments moving with excitement as he soaked in the applause.

“This can’t be happening.” Her words were barely a whisper, lost in the thunderous cheering below.

From her elevated position, she could see every detail of Bariv’s triumphant posturing—the flex of his muscled form, the way his slimy skin caught the light, the predatory satisfaction in his stance.

When he turned toward her viewing box, she instinctively shrank back into the shadows.

Her stomach knotted as Bariv made a show of bowing in her direction before leaving the ring.

Below, slave workers dragged the broken Sytheran from the ring as announcers prepared the crowd for the next match. Alaysia hardly heard them, too focused on steadying her breathing and fighting back the wave of panic threatening to overwhelm her.

Alaysia jumped slightly as Marcella slipped into the viewing box, carrying a tray with water and fruit. “Oh, I’m sorry to startle you dear.”

The older woman’s presence brought a small measure of comfort but couldn’t entirely dispel the cold dread that had settled in her.

“I can’t let him win,” Alaysia whispered. “You didn’t see how he looked at me, Marcella. Like I was already his property.”

Marcella set the tray down and took the seat beside her. “Tell me what happened.”

“He cornered me when you were gone. The way he talked, the things he said...” Alaysia shuddered, remembering Bariv’s filaments wriggling with excitement as he’d invaded her space. “If Dernin hadn’t stepped in...”

Marcella’s eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. “That’s interesting.”

“Is it?” Alaysia’s blue eyes narrowed. “He could be just as bad as Bariv for all I know.”

“Or maybe he’s exactly who he appears to be—someone who’s just trying to protect others.”

Alaysia crossed her arms. “Since when has any male in this place done anything that wasn’t self-serving?”

“You’re not wrong to be cautious,” Marcella replied. “But I’ve watched Dernin these past months. He’s different from the others. Maybe even honorable.”

“Honor?” Alaysia’s laugh held no humor. “What good is honor in a place like this? I won’t be anyone’s prize, Marcella. Not Bariv’s, not Dernin’s, not anyone’s.”

“Of course you won’t.” Marcella’s voice was gentle. “But until we figure something out, having someone like Dernin in your corner might not be the worst thing.”

Alaysia remembered how Dernin had placed himself between her and Bariv, his presence protective rather than possessive.

Alaysia found herself leaning forward in her seat as Dernin entered the ring, his golden scales shining in the harsh arena lights.

Her fingers twisted in the plum satin of her dress as Kren stomped in from the opposite entrance.

The Kolgari’s stone-like skin was covered in crystalline patterns.

His massive frame dwarfed Dernin’s impressive height as they stood face-to-face squaring off.

“Come on,” she whispered, surprising herself with the intensity of her investment. “Show me what you can do.”

The bell rang. Kren charged forward like an avalanche, but Dernin’s tail propelled him aside with fluid grace. The Kolgari’s fist cracked the ground where Dernin had been moments before.

“That’s it.” Alaysia’s knuckles whitened around the armrests as she tracked their movements.

Dernin landed three rapid hits to Kren’s kidney area with his fists. The Kolgari barely flinched, spinning with shocking speed for his size and catching Dernin with a backhand that sent him sliding across the ring.

“No!” The word escaped before she could stop it. She pressed her hand to her mouth, conscious of Marcella’s knowing look beside her.

Dernin recovered, using his momentum to right himself. Blood trickled from a cut above his eye, but his expression remained focused, calculating. He circled Kren, his tail leaving a trail in the sand.

“He’s studying him,” Alaysia murmured. “Looking for weaknesses.”

Kren lunged again. This time Dernin met him head-on, shocking the crowd. His tail coiled around Kren’s leg while he grappled with the bigger fighter’s arms. For a moment, they were locked in a contest of pure strength.

“Are you crazy?” Alaysia hissed through clenched teeth. “You can’t overpower him!”

But Dernin wasn’t trying to overpower Kren. As the Kolgari pushed forward, Dernin suddenly released his grip and dropped, using Kren’s own momentum against him. His tail yanked the brute’s leg out from under him, sending him crashing face-first into the arena wall.

The crowd roared. Alaysia found herself on her feet, her heart pounding. She couldn’t explain the relief flooding through her at seeing Dernin gain the upper hand or why her breath caught when his golden eyes flicked briefly toward her viewing box.

“I shouldn’t care who wins,” she whispered to herself, but her eyes remained fixed on Dernin’s powerful form.

Alaysia’s breathing got faster as she watched Dernin press his advantage. His tail whipped through the air, catching Kren’s legs again and sending the massive Kolgari stumbling. Each movement was precise, purposeful—so different from Bariv’s brute force display earlier.

“He’s actually going to do it,” she whispered, leaning forward as she stood.

Dernin’s muscles rippled as he dodged another of Kren’s wild swings. The Kolgari’s movements soon became sluggish. Dernin capitalized on this and struck like lightning, his fist connecting with Kren’s jaw. The impact echoed through the arena.

Kren dropped to his knees. The crowd erupted as Dernin coiled his tail around the Kolgari’s throat, applying just enough pressure until Kren tapped out.

A strange warmth bloomed in Alaysia’s chest as she watched Dernin release his opponent immediately. No showboating, no unnecessary violence. Just clean, efficient skill.

“If someone has to win...” she muttered and then caught herself. “What am I thinking? I shouldn’t want any of them to win.”

Dernin turned toward her viewing box and bowed, his golden scales catching the light. Unlike Bariv’s mocking gesture earlier, this felt... different. Respectful. Her cheeks flushed.

“Well, well,” Marcella’s knowing tone made Alaysia’s spine stiffen. “Seems our Naga fighter has taken quite an interest in you.”

“That’s the whole point. Isn’t it?” Alaysia’s voice came out sharper than intended. “I’m the prize they’re all fighting for.”

“Mmhmm. And I’m sure that’s exactly why he defended you from Bariv before he even knew about the tournament.”

Alaysia watched Dernin exit the ring, his movements fluid despite the beating he’d taken. She remembered the gentle way he’d spoken to her, how he’d maintained a respectful distance even while protecting her.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” she admitted softly, pressing her cool fingers to her heated cheeks.

The plum satin of her dress rustled as she shifted her weight, trying to process the conflicting emotions churning inside her.

“He didn’t have to help me earlier. But for some reason he did,” she murmured, more to herself than Marcella.

Her reflection in the glass caught her eye—flushed cheeks, bright eyes, red hair falling in waves past her shoulders. She touched her neck where Bariv’s filaments had nearly brushed her skin, remembering how Dernin had positioned himself between them without hesitation.

“The way he fights is different too.” She crossed her arms, analyzing what she’d witnessed. “No unnecessary brutality, no showing off. Just...” Her mind flickered to the deliberate and accurate movements, the way he’d released Kren the moment he’d submitted.

The crowd below began clearing out, and their excited chatter about the matches floated up to her position.

Maybe Marcella is right. Maybe he is different. But different how? And why?

She remembered the intensity in his golden eyes when he’d intervened with Bariv, the gentle tone of his voice when he’d spoken to her.

Nothing like the predatory gazes and crude comments she was used to receiving.

Alaysia sighed. Too many questions were left unanswered, too many pieces that didn’t fit the pattern she’d come to expect from the fighters in this place.

“I need to know more,” she whispered.