Page 9

Dernin

The fighters’ barracks reeked of sweat and defeat. Dernin coiled his tail beneath him on his sleeping mat, focusing on reviewing his match strategies while Bariv’s voice boomed across the room.

“Did you see how I crushed that fool?” Bariv slammed his fist against the wall. “One decisive hit and down he went. That’s how a champion fights.”

Dernin’s jaw tightened as he tried to block out the noise. The cool stone floor against his scales helped ground him, but Bariv’s next words shattered his concentration.

“And when I win this tournament...” Bariv’s filaments quivered with excitement. “That little red-haired prize is going to be all mine.”

A muscle twitched in Dernin’s neck. He kept his eyes fixed on the wall.

“Those curves, those eyes.” Bariv’s voice dropped lower. “I’ll make her appreciate a real fighter.”

The other fighters laughed, egging him on. Dernin’s tail coiled tighter, his scales rasping against the stone floor.

“Hey, snake-boy,” Bariv called out. “You think you’ve got a chance with her? She needs someone who can actually hold her, not some cold-blooded reject.”

Dernin’s golden eyes remained fixed ahead, though his hands had curled into fists. The promise he’d made to Alaysia echoed in his mind, keeping him anchored. Starting a fight now would only jeopardize their escape plan.

“What’s wrong? Lost your voice?” Bariv laughed at his own joke. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your little girlfriend when I win.”

“Some of us are trying to rest,” Dernin said, his voice carrying across the room with quiet authority. “You’ve had your moment of glory. Let it go.”

“Or what?” Bariv’s filaments bristled. “You going to do something about it?”

“No.” Dernin stretched out, deliberately casual. “I’m going to win. That’s all I need to do.”

The quiet confidence in his voice made Bariv’s next taunt die in his throat. Several other fighters nodded with respect at Dernin’s restraint.

Dernin shifted on the cold stone floor, his tail coiling and uncoiling as sleep eluded him. The barracks had finally grown quiet, but his mind refused to settle. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw waves of red hair and bright blue eyes.

The memory of Alaysia’s scent lingered in his mind—rose and something uniquely her. His scales rippled with awareness. The way she’d stood up to Bariv, her chin raised despite her fear. How she’d approached him alone, taking control of her fate rather than accepting it.

“Damn it,” he muttered to himself, pressing his palms against his eyes. He was supposed to protect her, not fantasize about the curve of her lips when she smiled or how perfectly she’d fit against his chest. His warrior discipline seemed to mean nothing against the pull he felt toward her.

His tail lashed in frustration. She wasn’t some damsel to be rescued. She was plotting their escape right alongside him. The thought of her courage made his chest tight.

He rolled onto his side, trying to focus on tomorrow’s match instead of imagining running his fingers through that flame-bright hair.

But even as he mapped out combat strategies, his mind drifted to their conversation earlier—how her eyes had lit up when he’d promised to protect her, not possess her.

“Focus,” he growled to himself. These feelings were dangerous. They’d get them both killed if he let them cloud his judgment. But his warrior’s heart recognized something in her—a fighter’s spirit wrapped in silk.

His scales rasped against stone as he shifted again. The tournament, the escape—that had to be his priority. Not the way his pulse jumped when she said his name. Not how badly he wanted to wrap his tail around her and shield her from everyone who’d ever tried to break her spirit.

Sleep continued to evade him as memories of her fierce determination mingled with softer thoughts he had no business entertaining.

Tomorrow he’d fight. Tomorrow he’d be the warrior she needed him to be.

Tonight... tonight he’d allow himself to admit, if only in the darkness, that Alaysia had staked a claim in more than just his protection.

Fed up with trying to fall asleep, Dernin slithered off his sleeping mat. His muscles twitched with restless energy. The training center’s artificial lights cast long shadows across the equipment as he entered, the familiar scent of leather and metal filling his nostrils.

He wrapped his hands with strips of cloth, his movements slow and measured. The punching bag swung slightly as his fist connected—once, twice, three times. Each impact sent vibrations up his arms but failed to clear his head.

Red hair. Blue eyes. The way her spine straightened when she was determined.

His tail lashed out, striking the weighted post. The crack echoed through the empty room.

“Focus,” he muttered, moving to the climbing ropes. His powerful arms pulled him upward, his scales gleaming with sweat.

But even as he pushed his body through the familiar exercises, memories of Alaysia’s scent invaded his concentration along with the excited look in her eyes when she’d proposed helping him escape.

Dernin dropped from the ropes, disgusted with himself. “What’s wrong with you?” His voice bounced off the stone walls. “She’s not for you. She’s not even your kind.”

He moved to the weight station, loading plates onto the bar. The metal clinked as he added more weight than usual.

“You’re a warrior,” he reminded himself, positioning his body under the bar. “Act like one.”

The weights strained his muscles as he pressed upward. One rep. Two. Three. Each one accompanied by thoughts he couldn’t suppress.

The curve of her neck when she’d looked up at him. The way her presence made his warrior instincts surge with the need to protect, to possess…

The bar slammed back into its cradle. Dernin’s chest heaved as he stared at the ceiling.

Six months of fighting had hardened him, stripped away everything but the drive to survive. Then one human woman walks into his life and suddenly he’s... what? Swooning like some untried youth?

His tail coiled in frustration as he sat up. Tomorrow’s match demanded his full attention, yet here he was, distracted by soft skin and fierce eyes. When had he become so weak?

But even as he berated himself, he knew. She wasn’t his weakness. She was his strength, his reason to fight harder.

Dernin sat up on the weight bench and let his heated muscles cool down.

As he stared ahead at the wall, trying to push Alaysia out of his mind, his thoughts drifted to Nirum—the crystal spires that caught the twin suns’ light at dawn to the sacred training grounds where he’d earned his warrior marks.

The familiar ache of homesickness suddenly twisted in his gut.

The metallic tang of the training equipment faded as his mind conjured the sweet scent of jurla flowers that bloomed along the temple paths. He’d walked those paths countless times, proud in his warrior’s uniform, never imagining he’d end up in an underground fighting ring on Jorvla.

“Careless fool,” he muttered for what seemed like the hundredth time.

And then, without fail, Alaysia’s determined face flickered through his mind. The way she’d looked at him when they’d made their pact, her blue eyes blazing with purpose. For the first time in six months, possibility stretched before him like a path through darkness.

His muscles swelled with renewed energy. Working together, they might actually succeed. The thought of freedom—of returning to Nirum with his honor restored—sent a surge of power through him.

Dernin’s tail whispered across the floor as he headed to the barracks, his muscles still humming from the workout.

The bracket board caught his eye, its metal surface gleaming under the dim lights.

His finger soon traced the progression of names, confirming what he’d suspected.

If both he and Bariv won their matches, they’d meet in the finals.

The memory of Bariv’s crude comments about Alaysia made his scales bristle. The way that slime-covered excuse for a fighter had looked at her, like she was meant to be devoured.

“Going to be a pleasure putting you in your place,” he muttered, studying Bariv’s upcoming matches. The Jorvlen had raw power, but Dernin had seen some flaws in his technique.

The thought of Bariv’s filaments anywhere near Alaysia’s skin made his warrior blood boil. No. That wouldn’t happen. He’d make sure of it.

Dernin’s eyes narrowed as he memorized the rest of the bracket. Five more matches stood between him and Bariv. Five chances to prove himself worthy of the warrior markings he’d earned on Nirum. Five steps closer to ensuring Alaysia’s safety.