The woman had somehow come out of the ordeal with the least amount of injuries as if she’d skated by mostly undetected until the very end. She was burly and had a frown on her face that looked trained into her facial muscles, a head of shaggy, brown dreadlocks framing her square jawline. I didn’t know her name, but she looked like a Helga. A hungry Helga. It was an unsettling feeling to find her dark eyes fixed on me when I glanced her way, her glare dissecting me and analyzing my demeanor just as I was studying hers.
Two men off to the far left of the infirmary were nursing numerous deep cuts as if they’d encountered bladed obstacles. They glowered at each other, the testosterone sweating off their dirt-layered skin stinking up the room. The remaining two men were out of sight, but I could hear one groaning behind a closed curtain. I wanted to assume he wasn’t going to make it through the night, but that was hopeful thinking on my part. His high-pitched tone was almost a screech.
For the most part, what I saw in my opponents was the same level of determination in their eyes that I had in mine. They weren’t going to give up their lives or a win easily. Most times, competitors were criminals fighting for a pardon. The whole idea had always seemed wrong to me, but at the very least, some more severe crimes were exempt from entry. Rape and mass murder were among them. Of course, people always found a way to wriggle past the rules. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that people didn’t squeeze trained killers into the race in order to profit off their winnings.
When my wounds were all patched up, I was allowed my old clothes back and directed to a building about two blocks from the arena where the contestants were supposed to sleep. On the walk, I looked at the morning-lit city. Large, old-world stone buildings stood erect and partially untouched as technology and new structures were built around them. Billboards were animated with colorful models showing off the latest trends around Nytho’s nightlife, but the thing that really caught my eye was the massive statue in the park, which I could see from half a mile away.
The thing was made entirely out of copper. Three, immense dragons were reared up toward the sky, their vast wingspan arched outward in different directions. Their tails coiled in a harmonious pattern. Their muscled legs and curved talons launched them up as if they were in the middle of taking flight.
I’d met very few Draak in my life and I’d never seen one in dragon form up close. I didn’t want to. As far as I was concerned, the farther I was from them, the better. As detailed and well-built as the statue was, the beasts it depicted inspired nothing but dislike from me. I would have spit on it if I were closer.
The competitors were fed a simple, healthy meal of steak and steamed veggies and then left on our own for the night save for some guards posted around the facility. There were a few rooms with metal, gated doors and a small common area with tables and chairs where we ate. There were no windows and everything was a drab, grey concrete that made the place cold and the air stagnant. No one spoke, but everyone stared. No one hid their studying gazes from one another.
I recognized everyone from the infirmary, even the two others when they ambled in at a later hour. One of them had his wrist wrapped in a tight bandage, perhaps from a sprain, and the other concealed an injury to his midsection behind a dark, blood-stained shirt. I suspected he was the one I heard screaming. Seemed the nurses didn’t dull the pain for him when they were stitching him up either. I wondered what sort of wound was under that shirt and watched him as he passed. When his eyes caught me, his brows sunk low over his beastly gaze.
We all had scars from plenty of different experiences. From the looks of it, these people were fighting for money. Money for themselves or money for their families or perhaps their towns. I didn’t care about the money. This was about much more than a few credits.
When we were all ordered to turn in for the day, we were directed to our rooms where the gates were locked behind us to prevent us from venturing out to kill or sabotage the other players before the next match. I’d heard stories of contestants doing it in previous races. Taurus never allowed me to watch them growing up, but people talked about them all the time. Every year there was at least one premature death or unruly murder while players were in their dorms. At least up until three years ago when they finally implemented locked cells for contestants.
The Red Race was the biggest event of the year. People killing each other for reward, entertainment, and fame. Stories of virgin sacrifice from before the Draak and human races were at “peace” made the race seem like the Draak were doing humans a favor. Instead of one unwilling sacrifice, there were eleven willing ones. In truth, the whole system was a ploy to get people used to death. If it wasn’t a shock, corrupt dealings went virtually unnoticed. It made me sick to know I had volunteered to participate in such a cold ritual, but I didn’t exactly have time to come up with a better plan. Maybe I was an idiot for volunteering, but if I did win, I’d have a chance to put my life back together.
My small bag of belongings was placed in my room beforehand. I opened up the leather pack to find a worn, cotton sweater that reached down far enough to cover my thighs. I took a quick shower to clean off the day’s filth, carefully rinsing my new stitches before dressing in my oversized sweater and sitting myself down on the bed, back against the stone wall. The cool surface soothed the cut on the back of my shoulder and the raw bruising on the base of my skull.
Unable to sleep, I sat there in thought, eyes closed to quiet my nerves. The lights were left on, but the building was silent. I wanted to get some shut-eye, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to get much until the race was through. The thought of having to take lives in just a few hours wasn’t exactly comforting.
After a while, I opened my eyes again and found myself staring across the room at a young boy who was standing just outside my quarters. He was looking at me, hands holding the bars of the metal gate in front of him. His dark hair was cut short and laid in a mess around his face. He looked no older than seven, but his eyes glowed with that dangerous, fiery orange color that most Draak had. His was subtle. It circled his pupil and was surrounded by a brilliant silver. One could almost miss the signs, but I knew that gaze anywhere, no matter how tame the fire was. This kid was a Draak. A pure-blooded little shapeshifter standing right there in front of me like I was an animal at a zoo. He looked innocent enough, but they all grew out of that.
“Hi,” the boy said, his voice soft.
“Hello,” I answered him in an even milder tone, unsure what to do in this situation.
“What’s your name?”
“Everly,” I cocked my head. “What’s yours?”
“Ronan.”
I swung my legs over the mattress and placed my feet on the floor, leaning forward on my knees.
“What are you doing here, Ronan?” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“My brother said I could look at the players when the rooms are locked.”
“Why?” I snorted. “Placing bets?”
The boy nodded, despite the fact that I was trying to make a joke.
“And?” I said. “Who are you rooting for?”
“You,” the boy said.
“Really?” I raised a brow. “You’re choosing the scrawniest one here?”
“The other ones scare me.”
“I think that’s the point.”
“And you’re talking to me. The others didn’t. I like you.”
I laughed at that statement. This kid was a naive little thing and he was betting on me for all the wrong reasons.
“Well,” I said. “I’m going to make you a lot of money tomorrow, kid. I’m going to win.”
“Good,” Ronan smiled brightly as if he didn’t even know the point of the game.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” I said when the boy didn’t leave.
He began tapping the bars lightly with his fingers as if bored. “I don’t sleep very much. It’s hard.”
“Why’s that?”
He shrugged, scratching his head and suddenly avoiding eye c
ontact. “I have bad dreams. I almost died once and when I sleep I think about it.”
“You have dreams about it?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Slayers tried to take me and kill me. They cut my neck,” he gestured toward his throat where a gnarly scar ran horizontally across his tender skin.
My heart stopped briefly. There were certain rules, even for slayers, and killing children went against them. I could only imagine that whoever hurt Ronan was no better than the beasts they killed.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” I said. “I almost died once, too. I had dreams just like you for a long time.”
“Slayers?”
“No,” I chuckled. “Just someone who liked to do bad things. They left a mark on me, too. The man who raised me said that scars tell a story, though. Yours tells everyone else that you survived and that you’re strong.”
“I like my scar,” the boy said. “My brother has lots of them and everyone is scared of him. He’s the biggest Draak anyone has ever seen. Everyone’s heard of him. Have you? His name is Drav—”
“Probably not, kid,” I dismissed. “I don’t really keep track of that kind of thing.”
“Well, he’s scary.”
“Yeah? I guess scars do make you look scary sometimes,” I smiled. “But you’re too young for that, right? Wait till you’re older to get more of them, huh?”
The boy nodded. “I will. I should go. I’ll yell your name today.”
“You’re actually watching the race? Aren’t you too young?”
“No. I watched last year, too. My mom doesn’t like it, but my dad says it’s part of our socety,” He backed away from the bars and started to walk away.
Assuming the kid meant to say “society,” I chuckled and shook my head.
“Good night, Everly,” he said as he departed.
Part of me wanted to make the kid some money and the other part hated that he’d be watching at all. It was just like them, though. Draak thrived on violence, just like any feral beast would.
The time had come and every muscle was throbbing from the previous challenge. I pulled my hair into a tight braid again, this time twisting it into a bun to avoid getting it tugged at like before. I wore a pair of black, leather pants and my boots with a long sleeved shirt that covered my scars. In front of me, the arena had been rearranged and set up with a whole new obstacle for the remaining players to face. The crowds gathered and cheered just as loudly as the previous day, drowning out any other sounds aside from the announcer’s voice on the speakers. I stood, focused on the course before me, while the emcee came on to explain the new challenge.
Before me, the arena had been made into another death-trap. Narrow pillars stood throughout, all at varying heights. There were other platforms scattered as well. Thicker ones. Moving ones. There were ramps, crates, and other things to utilize in order to get over the dangers that were on the ground. Spikes, glass, nails, hungry alligators in pools. There was really no limit to the creativity the designers put into the course. Wires, bars, and ropes hung overhead for contestants to use as they deemed fit.
The players that made it across the course would fight to the death until one person remained. Whatever their request in the end, the Draak were obligated to grant it. Somehow, the whole thing had become accepted by the masses. The damn thing moved every year -- from one sector to another -- giving each one a chance to share in the wealth it accumulated.
Despite my dislike for the whole thing, I had my own request tucked away safely and was prepared to earn it. I was really going to have to impress someone, though. What I wanted wasn’t exactly routine. I was risking everything and in the end I wasn’t even sure my plan was going to work. But I was almost there. Almost done with the entire situation. One way or another, I was going to see it through.
“Be strong,” I said to myself, standing on the starting platform and taking controlled, deep breaths.
The emcee announced every contestant’s name, drawing an earthquake of shouts from the audience every time as those who bet on each individual cheered them on. When my name was announced, there was a bit of hesitation before anyone expressed any enthusiasm, but that only made Ronan’s voice more audible. I could hear him calling my name, just as he said he would, from a private viewing box above. He was jumping up and down with a bright smile on his face, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile back. This was a blood sport, not a game of hide and seek. Either he was about to witness me kill everyone or he was about to witness me get torn to shreds.
Staring at Ronan’s innocent face almost made the man standing behind him go unnoticed. He was large, dark hair framing a chiseled face, and even from down below I could see the glow of his silvery eyes. No doubt he was one of the Draak the boy had mentioned.
“This is it!” the announcer finally said, tearing my eyes from the viewing box. “Get ready, players! When you reach the other side it’s a game of ‘king of the hill.’ Last one standing wins!”
The announcer had the entire crowd joined in on his countdown, which sent my heart into a nervous frenzy. I glanced side to side at my opponents. They looked malicious. Someone was going to push me the first chance they got and why not? I was planning to sabotage them as well. Those pillars were narrow and these thugs didn’t look too balanced. Hungry Helga especially. The screamer from the infirmary looked agile, but that wound wasn’t going to do him any good. I listened to the tremor of voices count down, glancing at a big man to my right with a shiny, bald head. He was going to make it across. I felt it. Three...two...one. The bell shrieked and off we went.
I saw the end of the platform nearing and made a point to stagger my position with the others. One of the men gave the screamer a hard shove from behind just as the platform ended. I skidded to a stop when he was thrown off balance and came stumbling my way. I pulled from his path as he flipped over the edge of the platform and plummeted twelve feet down into a bed of spikes, that same, high-pitched scream filling my ears. I quickly continued on to the first obstacle, keeping my eye on the offender as she entered the course beside me. Of course it was Helga.
The first challenge was a narrow set of rods over which each player had to balance their way across to avoid the spikes below. Some pillars were bigger than others and some were smaller but provided a more straightforward path. I chose the smaller ones in hopes that no one else would follow. I put my arms out to the sides, distributing my weight so I could move quickly along to a forest of columns. In my peripheral, I was watching the others, trying not to look directly at anyone and break my focus. The idea of being unprepared if anyone veered in my direction was putting me on edge.
When I reached the first pillar, Hungry-fucking-Helga was headed my way. She was going to try something, but there was little room for me to evade her. She leapt with an animal grunt and shoved me off my small foothold. I couldn’t fight her, but I was going to hold onto her as I was thrown toward piles of glass below. If I was going, she was coming, too. I grabbed her shirt and yanked her with me. The two of us landed in a sea of shards and I felt pieces pierce my side where I’d absorbed most of the impact. Helga fell next to me, her exposed arms leaking blood almost as soon as she hit.
I jumped to my feet and rushed her. Once more, our brawl was on one of the big screens as the crowd went wild. Leaping on Helga’s back, I tried to pitch her down into the glass, face first, but she was stronger than three of me put together. She flipped me over onto my back and swung downward at my face with her fist. I rolled out of the way, each move cutting me in a new place. Her knuckles hit the glass, shredding her skin, but she was unphased and swung at me again.
Getting back up, I curled my fingers over a large shard and used Helga’s slow movements against her. I spun around to her back and jabbed the piece of glass into the side of her neck. I had to have hit her artery. I knew where it was on a human body, but everything was so fast I wasn’t sure once I’d stepped away. I pulled the glass from her nec
k to give way to any blood that followed. When a stream of red began to spurt from the slit I knew I’d beaten her. She’d be dead before she could climb back up onto one of the platforms.
I pocketed the shard and ran through the pillars, glass still embedded in my skin, until I reached a ladder attached to the side of one of the columns. I climbed, grinding my teeth as glass dug into my palms with each grip. Once I reached the top, I began bounding from one surface to another toward the other side of the course. Glancing up, I could see baldy standing on the ending platform, a large machete in hand. His arms and chest were painted red with blood and two bodies laid out around him, their insides splattered on the white floor. I stopped two pillars away from the platform and caught my breath for a moment.
The first one to reach the fighting floor chose their weapon from a rack and usually tossed the rest over the side. All I had was a shard of glass in my already sliced up hand. I was going to have to make it work. I transferred the shard to my other hand and pulled the sleeve of my shirt over my cut palm before switching grips again. It didn’t provide much comfort, but it was something. I wished I trained with both hands more than anything at that moment, but alas, I was only good with my right.
Holding the glass tight, I stared my opponent in the eyes and prepared to charge. Baldy was smiling. He thought he’d won already. He was a big guy with a large tattoo on his chest in the shape of a dagger. It was a common prison tattoo, so this guy had fought his fair share of enemies, I was sure. He’d chosen to take off his shirt at some point to show off his swollen muscles, but all I saw was exposed flesh that was easier to cut into. I took a deep breath and thought about my reward once more.
I launched myself onto the platform as baldy charged. Everything happened in slow motion. My feet hit the slick floor as the man drew back his blade to cut me in half. I dropped to my knees and ducked, letting the machete sweep over my head as I slid forward on the fresh blood, dragging the glass across his abdomen. It wasn’t enough.
Ash Bringer (A Storm of Fire: Paranormal Dragonshifter Romance Book 1) Page 3
