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Chapter Two

VOLAN

I saunter down row after row of cages. I can’t help the way that I walk; everything about my upbringing has taught me how to stand, how to appear towards others. Strong, confident, and capable. Even when I’m surrounded by beasts that snarl and swipe out at me with sharp claws, or by the taunts of outsiders.

Except for one.

I tilt my head, studying the young male. He’s waiting quietly at the back of his cage on the metal bench, his dark green skin and dark leather clothing causing him to disappear into the shadows. Too bad for him that I can see quite well in the dark.

My senses flare outwards, searching. All my life I’ve been trained to expect danger at every turn, especially when surrounded by outsiders. This could be a trap to draw me in, or it could be an ambush waiting for me to lower my guard.

Or it could just be a simple male, waiting patiently for his turn in the Pits.

“You are not like the others,” I remark as I step closer to the bars of his cage. Unlike the other warriors and downtrodden males waiting behind bars of their own, he doesn’t roughhouse, call out challenges, or glare at me with poorly concealed hatred. This male truly is different.

“What is your name?” I ask as I lean my light grey arm against the bars. The metal is cool against my flushed and heated skin. The fighting pits are never cool; having so many bodies pressed into the tight confines of one cavern quickly raises the temperature. After years of patrolling these areas, enforcing our own security and quelling any disruptive violence, I’ve become accustomed to the heat.

“Zoran,” the male replies. I don’t miss the slight quiver in his gruff voice. He does his best not to show it, but I know he’s afraid. After all, only a fool wouldn’t fear the Pits. I wonder if this is his first time. It takes considerable bravery to travel this far underground, alone, especially knowing you face certain death. Or maiming.

He must be desperate.

“I am Volan,” I flash the luminae markings on my body twice, introducing myself in the way of my species. The blue glow emerging from my skin brightens up his cell momentarily. I doubt Zoran will recognize the formal greeting; most other species don’t.

“Why are you here to fight, Zoran?” I ask.

The male shifts in his cell, before standing to his full height. He’s taller than me, but only just. I maintain my relaxed composure, not giving any sign that my body becomes tense as he approaches. He’s younger than I expected, barely an adult entered into his prime.

“Come to prove your worth to a female?” I ask.

Zoran shakes his head. “My tribe needs more medicine,” he states.

Ah. The prize that my father offers to the best Pit fighters. Too bad that many of them go through so much medicine just trying to obtain more from their injuries sustained in the fights. Still, a small amount is potent enough to bring a wounded warrior back from the brink of death.

I breathe out heavily as I study him. I wish I could help him, but there’s very little I can do. There’s not enough medicine to go around to all the tribes, and my father keeps a tight control on who receives it.

The male tilts his head, considering me. The action causes some of his dark black hair to fall to the side, revealing a partially shaved scalp covered with intricate, swirling tattoos.

Unlike the markings that cover my body, which glow a soft blue most of the time, his are dark and faded. If he were a Sulthari like me, I would consider him sick and potentially contagious.

“Are you mated?” I ask, blatantly staring at his markings. It should be easy enough to get a mate, at least for me… but these markings, they must be his fated mate marks. I know enough about harkcanas that they believe in that sort of thing. My father ensured that I at least learned the important things about each of the species that lived on the planet—at least enough to know how to strategize against them.

I just didn’t believe fated mates were real. It’s a concept that I find strangely appealing - that idea of one perfect female in existence who is destined to be yours. Someone you can trust. Someone who will always be at your side, so you never feel apart from those around you.

Zoran chuckles, his laughter a husky rumble. “Hardly. These are my tribal marks.”

I scowl, wanting to ask further without giving away that I know nothing of what he talks about. It’s rare for me to have the opportunity to talk to outsiders like this. Even now I am constantly listening to hear the shouts of my guards as they track me down. Even when patrolling in the past, it was always in a group. Always surrounded, and yet somehow never quite connected.

Zoran must recognize my inner turmoil, and for some reason, he takes mercy upon me. He flicks a finger towards his tattooed scalp. “This one shows that I belong to the Ma’Krosh tribe. Unlike you Sulthari, we have multiple tribes on the surface. They aren’t always friendly with each other.”

My spine stiffens when he mentions my people, but his voice doesn’t carry any anger or hate. He speaks as if it’s just common knowledge, and it’s times like this that I wish it were. Not many of the warriors that brave the depths, seeking the Pits, are happy to be here. Many blame us. Many accuse us of hoarding the life-saving medicine for ourselves.

Many would be willing to kill us just to get ahold of it.

It’s why they are behind bars, and I am in the common way, warily watching those waiting to be escorted to the Pits.

Surrounded, but never connected.

Zoran, ignorant of my thoughts, gestures to a tattoo that spreads across his upper arm and shoulder blade. “This means that I have mastered the spear. You should be able to see the spear itself running through the design.”

I can hear raised voices in the distance and I note that my time here is running short. The overall noise of the cavern increases as vicious beasts are disturbed from their slumber and fighters become riled up. The tension is already high, fear and anger thick in the air.

I already know what’s happening. The same thing that occurs every time I’m out of sight; my personal guards are searching for me. No one needs them stirring more trouble.

Especially this Zoran. He’s been helpful, polite even. He either knows who I am and is giving me the proper respect, which I highly doubt, or is simply just a kind male.

It’s hard to believe that he’s simply so kind. Aren’t outsiders all supposed to be vicious, practically beasts? They want nothing more than to tear their opponents apart. At least, that’s what my father says. I’ve always wondered how a civilization can possibly survive if everyone acts like that. This Zoran just proves that not everyone is out for blood.

“A word of advice, Zoran,” I say as I step back from his cell, putting space between the two of us. “Not many leave the Pits the way you’ve come. Your tribe will do better trading for the medicine than sending warriors to their deaths.”

Before he can say anything, I flash my markings again, turn, and leave. I’d probably just insulted him. Most likely. But maybe he’d take my warning to heart. Just maybe I’ve saved a life today.

I continue walking slowly between the cages, pretending to ignore the angry shouts and cacophony that grows louder and louder behind me. It’s rare I get an opportunity like this, to walk so casually, even if I am surrounded by outsiders. They represent a world that I’ve only glanced at, and for some reason find strangely compelling.

A large grey body comes to stand in front of me, blocking my exploration. The male spreads his legs wide, blocking my path with his muscular body and imposing height. I can almost imagine his fingers twitching, wanting to reach for his weapon.

“Prince Volan! I have been calling you,” the male admonishes me. His luminae markings glow fiercely in the dim light. He’s well-trained, but not well enough if he’s projecting his frustration so clearly. I suppose I did make him run through the entire cavern, past endless cages, each filled with potentially volatile enemies just to reach me…

I raise an eyebrow at him. I try to keep my voice haughty, just like how my father so often talks. “Really, Tanis, did you just chastise your prince?”

Tanis’s markings begin to flash rapidly as he realizes what he said and begins to panic. “Sire, I would never…”

“Are you sure, because that certainly sounded like you were upset with me,” I smile at him as I verbally prod him. Crossing my arms, I glance up at the male. And up. Tanis makes a good guard. He’s tall, especially for a Sulthari. And the male works out, almost non-stop. Almost everyone is fearful of him. Unfortunately, he isn’t the smartest of males. I’ve never once seen him question someone; he just always blindly follows orders. He’s good-humored though, and he doesn’t hold grudges when I tease him.

He’s also probably the closest I have to a friend.

Which is kind of a depressing thought. He’s literally paid to be by my side, day in and day out.

As a guard under my father’s employ, he’s never asked me for anything. In fact, he always patiently lends me an ear and listens to me talk through my ideas, even my outlandish ones. I’ve even gone so far as to tell him my ideas that maybe, just maybe, the outsiders aren’t as bad as we all perceive them to be. After all, they trade food and various items that we need… if it can be considered trading, paying the fee to be granted a position in line to fight in the Pits.

I’ve always wondered if this means that they are paying for us to take them to their deaths. Are we executioners, with just some long-winded process to cover our reputations? Since when did the glorious Sulthari sink so low?

Before me, Tanis shifts uneasily on his feet. I’ve been lost in my thoughts for too long, and the poor male’s resorted to panic. I laugh and hold up my hand, trying to calm him as he stumbles over his words. “Relax, Tanis. I was only stirring you. You can forgive me, right?”

Tanis’s shoulders collapse, and he breathes a huge sigh of relief. I cringe a little at his reaction. Even after all these years, he still fears me. Or more so, he fears who I will become.

For the millionth time, I wonder what it would be like to have someone who would just talk to me. Not listen to me out of duty, but to truly have a conversation with. Maybe even disagree with me.

My father is a strict male, firm in his beliefs and firmer in his punishments. I am not my father. Sure, I enjoy a good fight like the rest of my people, but I am not unnecessarily brutal.

“Come, Tanis, now that you are here, perhaps we can get a sneak peek into what today’s festivities will be. I’ve heard that the scouts have returned with all manner of strange beasts. I know you rather enjoy watching the fights.”

Ever since my father forbade me from participating in the fighting pits myself, they have lost most of their appeal to me. Still, they are traditional to my people. Many of our males will even go so far as to participate in them to win glory, and the hearts of potential mates. I’m pretty sure that Tanis has this in mind, given how much he trains.

At least my people do not have to worry about fighting for the valuable medicine. At least they don’t have to fear for their lives constantly, or send off loved ones in the desperate hopes of recovery.

I attempt to maneuver past my unmoving companion, glancing discreetly at his marks. It’s unfortunate for him that his markings have never glowed particularly bright. He is a fine warrior - indeed my best. He would make a good mate, if only a female gave him a second glance.

He’s the closest I have to a friend. I wouldn’t mind helping him… if he only asked. He listens, but he never tells me his opinions back.

Tanis moves to block my way, halting me from proceeding to the gates of the arena.

“Sire, the king has requested your presence.”

With those few words, my entire day is ruined.