Page 2 of Warlord’s Plaything

2

XYRON

S he shouldn’t have survived.

The Direfang should’ve torn her apart—should have cracked her bones between its jaws, should have ripped that stubborn, defiant fire out of her and left nothing but twitching, cooling meat on the sand.

But she’s still standing.

Dripping in blood, chest rising and falling like she’s just been fucked within an inch of her life, eyes bright and burning even as they drag her from the pit like a piece of discarded flesh.

Damn her.

I lean against the polished marble railing, gripping the stone hard enough that the jagged edges dig into my palm. The space is thick, pulsing, charged with something primal, something raw. Below, the crowd has already moved on to their next fix of carnage, but I can’t tear my eyes away from her.

Hira.

The fucking human.

A slave.

A thing that should mean nothing to me—just another piece of meat, another disposable distraction, another fleeting source of amusement in a world where entertainment is best served on a bloodstained platter.

But fuck if she isn’t more.

Something about the way she moves—like a caged animal too wild to break, like she’s just waiting for the chance to snap those pretty little teeth around the throat of the bastard holding the leash—twists low in my gut.

There’s nothing delicate about her.

Nothing refined.

She’s feral, sharp edges and bruised skin, covered in sweat and violence, and still, she glares up at me like she’s the one in power.

It should infuriate me.

Instead, I feel it like a fucking pulse in my veins.

A slow, dark thrill.

I don’t realize I’ve spoken aloud until the words leave my lips, steady and unyielding.

"Bring her to me."

The handler stiffens at my voice. His grip on the chain falters, just for a second, before he jerks her forward.

The little beast stumbles, just slightly, just enough for her knee to skim the dirt— but she recovers. Bares her teeth like a cornered animal and doesn’t fucking lower her gaze.

Interesting.

Very fucking interesting.

I watch as they drag her through the lower corridors of the arena, down into the belly of my father’s domain, through the tunnels that coil and twist like the guts of some ancient monster.

The blood in my veins burns.

I turn sharply, cloak billowing behind me, and stride toward the inner fortress.

The fortress of House Herox is built into the cliffs like a jagged black spine, sharp and unforgiving, towering over the world like a monument to cruelty.

The halls are carved from obsidian, dark and slick, illuminated only by flickering torches and mage-lights that pulse like dying stars. The air is cold, sharp enough to bite, filled with the faint scent of sulfur and old blood.

I step into my chamber, a vast space of deep silks and polished steel, where the only softness lies in things I barely use.

She’s already waiting.

Kneeling.

Her wrists are still shackled, but her chin is high, her body tight, her eyes locked onto mine with that same burning defiance.

Little warrior.

The guard who brought her hesitates before speaking. "My Lord, the human?—"

I flick a hand. "Leave."

He doesn’t argue.

The door slams shut behind him, leaving us alone.

The silence stretches, heavy and charged.

Hira’s breathing is even, too even, like she’s holding herself still through sheer fucking will.

I take my time, stepping toward her, slow and deliberate, letting my boots echo against the stone.

She doesn’t flinch.

Good.

I circle her, close enough to smell the blood on her skin, the sweat, the lingering heat of battle.

"You’re quiet," I murmur, voice low, silk-laced with something dangerous.

Her shoulders tighten. "What do you want?"

Direct.

No title. No "My Lord." No fucking fear.

Something deep in my chest growls.

I reach out, curling a strand of her wild, tangled hair around my fingers. Blood clings to it, dark and thick.

"Tell me," I say, tilting my head. "Do you fight this hard because you love the taste of victory? Or because you’re too much of a stubborn bitch to know when to die?"

She doesn’t even blink.

"Go fuck yourself."

The laugh that rips from my throat is sharp, unexpected.

Gods.

She’s fun.

I crouch in front of her, close enough to watch her nostrils flare at the scent of me, close enough to see the sweat glistening at the hollow of her throat, the angry pulse in her neck.

Her body is coiled for a fight, like she’s waiting for me to strike.

She doesn’t understand.

I don’t want to break her.

I want to watch her burn.

"You fascinate me," I say honestly. "You shouldn’t, but you do."

She exhales sharply, like she can’t stand the words.

"Fuck you."

"Not yet," I murmur. "But maybe soon."

Her pupils dilate. Just a fraction.

My lips curl.

Interesting.

Very fucking interesting.

Her gaze sharpens. "What do you want from me?"

My fingers ghost along the bruises on her arm, lingering over the marks the handlers left.

I drag my knuckles over the iron collar at her throat.

I watch her shudder, just barely, just enough to see.

"I want to know what you are," I murmur, voice deep, dangerous. "No mere human should have survived that fight. No human moves like you. No human looks at me the way you do."

I see the flicker of something beneath the rage.

Something she doesn’t want me to see.

"Go to the darkest corner of the Abyss and burn."

My smile widens.

"Darling," I say, brushing my thumb over her pulse point. "I already live there."

Her breath hitches—just slightly, just barely enough to notice. I pull away before she can school her expression, before she can hide the truth from me.

She’s hiding something.

And I plan to rip it from her, piece by fucking piece.