Page 18 of Tempest Blazing (The Dragonne Library #3)

Tess

This was exactly the danger they'd warned me about. The door clicked shut, and silence slammed into me. I sat there, frozen, the magnitude of what had just happened crushing down on my chest.

Despite all my precautions, all the careful planning, I'd still ended up exactly where they'd said I would—trapped, collared, helpless.

The collar around my neck felt like a noose—not just the physical weight of the metal, but the knowledge of what it represented.

Control. Ownership. Everything that made me me , stripped away.

I lifted my hand to touch it, fingers trembling as they traced the intricate runes carved into the black metal.

The moment my skin made contact, agony ripped through my skull—white-hot electricity that split my brain in half.

I jerked my hand back with a strangled scream, stars exploding across my vision.

Message received. The collar wasn't just decorative.

Breathe , I told myself, panic clawing up my throat. You're more than your magic. You survived twenty-six years without it.

Lies. I knew it was a lie. I wasn't the same person I'd been before Thalon. Before Kane and Mason and Draven and Ciaran. Before I'd learned what it felt like to have power humming in my veins, to be strong enough to protect the people I loved.

Where was Draven now? Could Mason feel me through our mate bond, or did this damned collar block that connection too? The thought sent ice flooding through my chest. If the bond was severed, if they couldn't find me...

Now I was just... human. Fragile. Breakable.

Footsteps. I straightened in the chair, spine snapping rigid despite the terror coursing through me. I wouldn't let them see me crumble. Whatever they had planned, whatever sick game this was, I'd face it with my chin up.

The door opened, and Garanth stepped inside, flanked by two other demons I didn't recognize. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Menace rolled off them in waves, turning the silk and crystal into a mockery of comfort.

"Time to go, human," Garanth said, casual cruelty dripping from every word. "Your audience awaits."

I stood slowly, testing my legs. They held. Barely. "Where are we going?"

His smile was all teeth. "You'll see."

The other demons moved to flank me, close enough that I could smell the sulfur on their skin, feel the heat radiating from their bodies like furnaces. Not quite touching, but the threat was crystal clear. Try to run, and they'd be on me before I took two steps.

We left the suite and descended into hell.

The elegant hallway gave way to rougher stone, torchlight replacing soft lighting.

The air grew thick with smoke and something metallic that made my stomach lurch—blood, old and soaked so deep into the stone that no amount of cleaning could remove it.

Each step took us further from the illusion of luxury, deeper into something that felt ancient and hungry.

Voices. Roaring. Growing louder as we approached a heavy wooden door bound with iron. Beyond lay a short tunnel that ended in blazing light and the sound of hundreds of inhuman throats raised in bloodthirsty excitement. Garanth gestured for me to go first, and I forced my feet to move.

The arena opened up around me like the mouth of some great beast.

The smell hit me first—blood and sweat and iron that made my eyes water. Then the sounds: hundreds of voices raised in bloodthirsty excitement, the clang of metal on metal, wet sounds of impact that made my stomach lurch. Finally, the sights that would be burned into my memory forever.

Tiers of seats rose around a central pit, packed with demons and fae and creatures I couldn't even name.

Their eyes glowed in the torchlight—red and gold and silver—and glamours shimmered around them like heat mirages.

Some had shed their human disguises entirely, revealing horns and fangs and wings that cast twisted shadows on the walls.

The pit itself was maybe thirty feet across, ringed with wards that pulsed with malevolent energy. The sand was dark with old stains, and I didn't want to think about what had caused them. This wasn't sport. This was a place where beings came to die.

I tried to reach for my magic again, desperate for even a spark, but the collar around my neck tightened like a noose.

Pain exploded through my skull—not the sharp lance from before, but a crushing agony that dropped me to my knees.

I stumbled, catching myself against the stone wall as bile rose in my throat.

Nothing.

It wasn't just suppressed—it was gone. Like trying to grasp smoke, or remember a dream that had already faded. The absence carved a hollow ache in my chest, as if someone had reached inside and ripped out a piece of my soul.

The crowd had noticed my arrival. Conversations died as hundreds of inhuman gazes fixed on me, and I felt stripped bare. They were looking at me like I was a curiosity, a novelty—something to be examined and dissected and ultimately consumed.

A voice boomed across the arena, magically amplified to reach every corner. "Ladies and gentlemen, demons and fae, tonight we have a very special treat! For the first time in our illustrious history, we present to you... a rare human fighter!"

The crowd erupted in cheers and jeers, and heat flooded my face. They were making a spectacle of me, turning my pain into entertainment. Was this just cruel amusement? Or was there something deeper at play here, some greater purpose I couldn't see? The humiliation was almost worse than the fear.

Don't flinch , I told myself fiercely. Don't let them see you break.

I lifted my chin and walked toward the pit, ignoring the catcalls and crude comments that followed my movement. Each step felt like walking to my own execution, but I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me cower.

The announcer kept talking, but I tuned him out, focusing instead on the growing certainty that I was about to die. Without my magic, without Thalon's strength, I was just a human woman with basic self-defense training about to face something that could tear me apart with its bare hands.

A gate opened on the far side of the pit, and my opponent emerged.

Massive. Easily seven feet tall and built like a linebacker. The crowd's energy shifted the moment he appeared—bloodthirsty excitement becoming something hungrier, more primal. His smile was pure predator as he stepped into the arena, and magic crackled around his fists like living lightning.

I was completely outmatched.

But even as terror threatened to overwhelm me, something else rose up to meet it. Anger. Stubborn, furious anger at being put in this position, at being treated like a toy for these monsters' amusement.

No , I thought, stepping into the pit and feeling the wards close behind me like a cage. I won't fold. Not for them.

A bell clanged somewhere above us, and the demon charged.

I barely had time to process his movement before his fist slammed into my ribs like a battering ram.

The impact lifted me off my feet, and I heard the sickening crack of bone breaking—not just one rib, but several.

Pain erupted through my torso, so intense it whited out my vision.

My left arm went completely dead from shoulder to fingertips, and I hit the sand hard enough to drive what little breath I had left from my lungs.

The crowd's roar was deafening, a wall of sound that made my skull throb. They were feeding off this—my agony was their entertainment, and they wanted more.

Gasping. Choking on the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I tried to roll away as his massive boot came down where my head had been. The sand exploded beside my face, and I felt the displaced air from the impact. If that had connected...

Adrenaline flooded my system, the only thing keeping me conscious as I scrambled backward on my hands and knees. Every movement sent fresh waves of agony through my broken ribs, but staying still meant death.

The demon stalked toward me, taking his time now. He knew I was finished—we both did. Magic continued to dance around his fists, growing brighter, more volatile. The air around him shimmered with heat that made my skin prickle even from several feet away.

I can't win this , the rational part of my mind whispered as I struggled to my feet, swaying dangerously. Blood ran down my chin from where I'd bitten my tongue. I'm going to die here.

But the stubborn part—the part that had survived my mother's cruelty, that had faced down ancient evils and bonded with a dragon—refused to give up. Even as my vision grayed at the edges, even as my legs threatened to give out, something inside me snarled its defiance.

No. I won't fold. Not for them.

I raised my one good arm in a pathetic attempt at defense, knowing it was useless.

The demon's laugh was like grinding stone as he drew back his fist, crimson magic spiraling around it like liquid fire.

The power radiating from him made the air itself seem to burn, and I knew with sick certainty that whatever he was preparing would end this fight permanently.

The charged energy built to a crescendo that made my teeth ache. I could feel the heat of it from here, could smell the ozone in the air as reality warped around his fist. This wasn't just going to kill me—it was going to obliterate me.

I saw it coming—the charged strike that would shatter every bone in my body and reduce me to nothing more than a stain on the arena sand—but my battered body was too slow, too human. My injured arm hung useless at my side, and my legs felt like water beneath me.

Time slowed as his fist descended, trailing fire and death. The crowd held its collective breath, waiting for the moment of impact. Waiting for me to die.

I braced myself for the end, terror and rage warring in my chest as darkness crept in from the edges of my vision.