Page 17

With my free hand, I rub my sternum as several thick, wooden doors inset into the walls of the arena lift.

From one of the darkened doorways, a cheetah slinks out.

The large cat looks severely emaciated, and as it enters the arena, the gladiators scatter about, running to grab a few weapons someone must’ve set out while names were announced.

Nero makes a disappointed noise. “I forgot about the hunts today,” he says.

Hunts? Memnon echoes down our bond.

From the other gates bound two snarling lionesses, both looking just as hungry and desperate as the cheetah.

The announcer is shouting something about the creatures as they pace across the arena, their eyes quickly fixing on the gladiators. I can see the bony protrusions of their ribs and hips and the ridges of their spines. The sight turns my stomach, and that pressure in my sternum deepens.

The crowd shouts as one of the lionesses slinks around a gladiator and gingerly swipes at the man, then roars again when the fighter jumps out of range. Nearby, the cheetah cowers at the noise from the stadium, its ears flicking as it glances around itself.

I hate this. I hate this so much.

The gladiator swings at the lioness and?—

The creature yowls as the blade strikes its flank, and I suck in a breath.

I can feel Memnon’s eyes on me, even as, on the other side of him, Nero chortles, then shouts some encouragement to the fighters.

Say the word, and we will leave.

One of the gladiators screams as the other lioness leaps onto him. He tries to get his blade between them as the lioness’s mouth closes around his neck.

As the two tussle, the wooden gates rise once more, and a third lioness leaps out from one. But it’s the other darkened doorway that draws my attention. From the deep shadows, a panther prowls out.

My heart slows as I stare at the creature.

I stand, every sense suddenly focused on the large cat.

Roxi?

That animal… I touch my chest absently again, my eyes fixed on the creature.

The panther is terribly emaciated, its spine and ribs prominent. It’s so painfully hungry, I swear I can feel an echo of that ache in my own belly. It’s also clear that the animal is too famished to be any real threat, even as its lips curl back and it flashes its teeth.

Without realizing it, I leave my seat and approach the edge of the balcony. Beyond the stone railing, the seating drops away to the arena below, where already the hunt has devolved into absolute chaos.

“Seems your wife likes a good hunt…” Nero’s voice drifts in.

Memnon makes a noncommittal noise.

To me he says, little witch, what is happening?

Can he sense through me that something is off?

I lean against the stone railing, my gaze still pinned to the panther, who so far has managed to skirt around the fighting.

I…I don’t know. My magic continues to beckon me toward the animal, and I am helpless under its compulsion.

I glance over my shoulder at Memnon. The Sarmatian king is standing up, his magic curling in waves around him. The emperor and the rest of the group around them seem unaware that anything is amiss, though I don’t know if that’s due to Memnon’s influence.

Roxi , he cautions softly, like I am a skittish horse. His gaze drops to where my hands white-knuckle the railing, then to the bloody arena beyond. If this is about marrying me, we can burn the document. I—I will leave you alone. Just please step away from the stadium’s edge.

I am deeply, deeply alarmed by Memnon’s words, but at the moment, not even that is enough to deter me. Some magical instinct has taken root.

It is not that… I face the arena once more, where already one gladiator lies dead, a lioness feasting on his innards. I can sense Memnon approaching me when I catch sight of the panther once more.

Resolve settles over me, and with a burst of magic, I vault myself over the ledge and into the arena.

I hear Memnon’s shout as, for an instant, I am weightless.

My feet hit the ground, my knees taking the brunt of the impact.

I catch myself on my hands while, around me, numerous gasps and shouts rise from the stadium.

Across our connection, I feel the sharp edge of Memnon’s panic, followed by resolve. But even that I pay little mind to as I step forward onto the bloody field.

The smell of sweat and excrement is so much stronger down here, as are the sounds of battle.

Fighters grunt and large cats snarl, and clouds of dust are kicked up from the skirmishes.

A desperate hunger grips me, carving me up from the inside out, and that pressure in my sternum builds and builds, threatening to crack me wide-open.

My attention remains focused on the panther, who slinks around a bloody gladiator, even as another round of shouts rise from the stadium. From my peripheral, I notice the roll of indigo smoke rapidly spreading across the arena, wrapping around man and beast alike.

I’m about to look away from the panther when the creature’s golden-green eyes swing from the gladiator to me?—

Mine .

The thought echoes as, all at once, the pressure in my chest erupts , and my magic rushes out to the panther. The instant it grips the creature, a connection snaps into place, the force of it bringing me to my knees.

I bow my head, my breath coming out in a shaky exhale, and I press a hand to my chest. Beneath it, I sense my bond to Memnon, but now, there is an additional connection there—one that binds me to…to the panther in front of me.

I only have a moment to wonder at this new bond when, as quickly as it’s established, my awareness moves down it, until I’m looking through the panther’s eyes.

I stagger—or rather, the animal staggers—as I stare out at the world, which looks sharper yet far less vibrant, the colors muted. But the smells are far more potent than anything I’ve ever experienced.

In particular, the iron tang of blood in the air has my gums aching with the need to bite down on something, that hollow pain in my stomach pushing out all sense of reason.

I turn my hungry gaze to the kneeling form across from me. Panic courses through me when I realize I’m looking at my own form, my head bowed and my veil obscuring parts of my face.

A sharp, frantic instinct to hunt pounds with my pulse, but as I stare at my own form, a far more dominant instinct overlies it.

Protect .

An instant later, I’ve snapped back into my own mind. I sway, thrown by the perspective shift as roaring comes at me from all sides. I glance up, realizing with alarm that while I’ve been preoccupied with this panther, we’ve been in the middle of an active Roman hunt.

I glance up at our surroundings, my power gathering within me. It’s only then that I realize the arena and the stadiums beyond are largely obscured by thick, blue smoke.

Memnon’s magic.

I push to my feet, slowly turning in a circle as I sense the panther approaching my side.

Behind me, Memnon stands amongst the magic that hides the other animals and fighters from sight.

His gaze moves from me to the panther next to me.

I have no idea what on Api’s good, green earth is going on , he finally says, but I am with you, my queen. I am always with you.

My good sense is only now returning to me, lifting the strange fog that clouded my thoughts.

I place a hand on the panther’s head. My awareness slips for a moment, and I’m in his mind once more. He’s still starving, still weak, but now, above it all, I feel kinship as I stare out its eyes before returning to my own.

A single word sings between us as I return to my own head:

Mine.

I glance to Memnon as he tentatively approaches me, again treating me like a skittish horse. It reminds me of what he said earlier about burning our marriage document.

We are with you too , I finally say to Memnon, answering his earlier words. Always.

Memnon’s brows pull together, his gaze bouncing between me and the panther even as a shadow of a smile curves his lips.

Thank the gods , he responds, relief edging his voice as he closes the last of the distance between us. Because I wasn’t certain I could willingly walk away from you.

His expression sobers. I have never known fear like the moment you jumped into the arena like that.

Beneath his words, I feel something else, some mixture of pride and desire.

That was one of the bravest, brashest acts I’ve yet seen.

He reaches out and lays a hand on my chest. You may have been raised Roman, but your heart is all Sarmatian.

I give him a shy smile, my words failing me.

The hushed silence around us has me finally lifting my gaze away from Memnon to the crowds above us. The stadium is eerily quiet, the spectators watching us with grim wonder. As Memnon’s magic clears, I realize why.

The arena is a graveyard, the sandy earth coated in blood and bodies. Every last man and beast has been stabbed, sliced, bitten, or bludgeoned to death.

All except for us.