She forced the distracting details away. Look for a way out. A way to survive. The iron bars were a lost cause, but the floor was pitted concrete.
With a crack in the corner.
Audrey picked and peeled where moisture had worn away a small crevice. Her fingertips bled. Aching knuckles stretched shadow puppets along the wall. She wiped a sudden sweat from her forehead. Her toes gripped for balance as she scraped harder, faster. Only chanting her son’s name under her breath kept her going.
The steps echoed more loudly. Heavy. Determined. Certainly male. His footfalls hit too heavily for a lean man. A bruiser, then. One of the Aster cartel’s bodyguards. She didn’t stand a chance, but she kept clawing. Her breath became hot steam in her lungs.
A piece of concrete about the size of her fist gave way. She hefted it to test the weight. One pointed end had promise. If she could strike just the right spot on the man’s temple . . .
She edged away from the bars until her spine pinched against the hard rock wall. After twisting her long hair, she shoved it down the back of the hospital gown. She balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to spring.
As a member of the Honorable Giva’s immediate family, she’d been instructed in martial arts training from as early as she could remember. She’d never wielded the powers of her kind, and she was seriously out of practice, but she was not helpless. The chunk of concrete rested in her palm. It was the difference between dying—and dying while fighting.
A flashlight’s beam penetrated the recess of the cave. Audrey narrowed her eyes to slits. She watched through her lashes. The man had so many advantages. That realization should’ve cowed her. Should’ve turned her backbone to mud and left her weeping. But after having been a victim for more than a year—drugged, bound, helpless—she felt mighty by comparison. No manacles. No hallucinogens. Just a rock in her hand and a blaze of pure rage.
The man stepped into clear view.
Easily more than six feet, he was built for breaking bones and ripping off limbs. Brawn. Solid muscle. Powerful biceps and shadow-black hair. Plate metal covered his heart and vital organs, leaving his arms free. Calf-high boots were made of toughened leather. Bare, muscular thighs flexed with the slightest movement. But he didn’t seem the kind of man to make slight movements. Everything about him was overwhelming.
His jaw was fixed in an expression she’d learned to recognize: You will find no mercy here.
Audrey gave her flight instinct a hard shove, then pushed as far into the shadows as she could. Futile, really, when he aimed the beam directly at her face. She squinted and kept her right hand out of sight as the cage unlocked.
“Disgusting,” he muttered.
“And you’re a traitor,” she spat back. In the language of the Dragon Kings. A language she hadn’t used for nearly a decade.
Frankly, since meeting Caleb, she hadn’t given much thought to the old ways. Her happiness as a human wife had been too easy, too good. Too good to last. But long ago, the ways of the Dragon Kings had been her entire life. The ritual and the covert power.
No matter her ostracism from her clan.
More rage. Years of it came rushing back. The coiled ferocity in her legs exploded. She leapt forward. The cage door swung open on hinges that squealed a rusted protest.
But not even the momentum of her leap shifted the man from his kneeling stance. He only grunted. Audrey’s quick instincts brought that chunk of concrete up, up, in a violent arc. Her aim was true. The jagged edge of her weapon struck somewhere on the side of his face. Another grunt.
Then Audrey was thrown across the room.
Her shoulder hit the ground, followed by her head. A cry ripped from her throat. She slid three feet. Agony stabbed down to her marrow, as if pain had always been a part of her body.
He’d simply . . . hurled her. Just like that.
The big man needed only two strides to cross to where Audrey sprawled. He stripped the chunk of concrete from her hand and tossed it down the tunnel.
“Can you hear me, lab filth?”
The old language rattled in her brain. Words passed down from the blessed Dragon. Nothing quite worked. Her lungs wouldn’t take in air. Something ground painfully in her hip socket. She nodded out of pure reflex.
“If you ever attempt to strike me again, I will snap your spine in two. Think you could recover from that? Our kind can endure a great deal—much more than humans. But we’re not immortal.”
“Where is my son?” Only a rasp now.
“He’s better off dead. Now get up.”
He yanked her under both arms and thrust her against a wall. Shots of fire spiked out from her joints. She gasped as panic set in. She wanted to fight. Wanted to. But just as when Dr. Aster drugged her, or when her brain short-circuited because of his torture, she could not. That didn’t stop her from snarling and spitting.
If he spoke the language of the Dragon Kings, he belonged to one of the sacred Five Clans. But to actually work for that madman? He was the filth. Bile surged into her mouth.
“You’ve still got some spirit.” His muscles were tense, holding her immobile, while his breathing remained calm. “I can see why Old Man Aster has plans for you. We’re going to have quite the time.”
The flashlight had rolled across the ground until it illuminated her captor’s face. Blood streamed down from where she’d gouged a ragged hole in his cheek. He was smooth-shaven, and his black hair was shorn close to his head. Eyes the color of teak were fathomless, unreadable. Dark lashes cast shadows along his sharp cheekbones. A scar on his upper lip told stories of past battles. A damping collar encircled his thick, muscular throat.
A tattoo of a serpent wrapped around the back of his head. The tongue hissed toward one temple and the tail flicked toward the other. The Aster family icon.
Realization settled like ice in her belly. He was far deadlier than a brute from the laboratory.
Part boogeyman, part myth—he was a Cage warrior.
“The Aster cartel owns you now, lab filth. But they’re done with experiments.” His scarred lip curled into a snarling smile. “You’re here to fight in the Cages.”
• • •
Leto had not expected so much resistance from the woman. The prospect heated his blood. For too long he’d only found satisfaction in preparing for the annual Grievance. The ultimate prize, the most dedicated warriors.
Warriors like Leto.
Performing against his comrades in monthly Cage matches was essential to keep his skills sharp. But training humans to die honorably in those matches was drudgery. They rarely possessed the true courage to stand up to him in combat. Dragon King volunteers—called neophytes until they won their first fight—were more interesting. Unpredictable. Some were as weak and sniveling as humans. Others went on to greatness. Leto had trained many such victors.
His cheek was bleeding profusely. This nasty castoff from Dr. Aster’s lab had surprising spark.
“You’re insane,” she snarled. “I’m not going in there.”
“Have you ever seen a Cage fight?”
She shuddered. “Of course not! They’re for barbarians.”
With a swift movement that had nothing to do with his powers, Leto spun her. “Now is the time you listen. If you think I’m a barbarian, then you know my threats aren’t idle. Your suffering won’t weigh on my conscience.”
“Because you have none.” The words were muffled with her cheek pressed against the damp cave wall.
Leto loosened his grip. Any harder pull would dislocate her shoulder. The goal was not to impair his charges but to ready them. Instead, he added another incentive for her to obey. With his free hand he reached down and grasped between her legs.
“No conscience,” he repeated with a cruel smile. “And I will have my way.”
She stiffened. She stilled. But Leto realized his heart was beatin
g far too fast. Need had gathered in him for three weeks. Cage warriors were permitted female flesh only after a victory—unless they chose to violate their charges, as he threatened. Some mentors indulged too often, but their neophytes became submissive, not resilient and strong. Leto had never needed to use such crude methods. He had other means, including stores of patience.
And he never lost. The regular reward of satisfying his sexual needs was not something every Cage warrior could claim.
She bucked against his hold. “If you think worse wasn’t done to me in the Asters’ lab, then you have no idea what goes on there.”
“Doesn’t matter to me.” He gave her pussy a last, hard squeeze. At least this time she flinched and tried to pull away. Any reaction could be twisted to his advantage. “Maybe you’ll enjoy it. Pleasure can be another incentive.”
She threw her head backward. Her skull smacked the bridge of his nose. Pain rocketed through his brain. The woman scrambled from his arms and took off running. Leto shook his head. Part of him was dazed that she’d got the jump on him. Mostly he was amused. Where did she think she could go?
From down the corridor came a female shriek. Pure frustration. She was certainly loud enough to use the sonic assaults that accompanied the berserker rages of Clan Pendray. They annoyed the fuck out of him. Shaking off a week-long migraine was the price of victory over those Dragon-damned Reapers.
He took a strip of linen from beneath his chest armor and wiped his face. The gouge in his cheek was deep, nearly a puncture. The woman continued her tirade. High-pitched bellows echoed up the corridor.
“She-devil bitch,” he muttered to himself.
Still, he was surprisingly eager to get started.
Leto set his shoulders and lifted his chin. The Aster family ran the most powerful human crime cartel in the world. His victories over their cartel rivals—the Townsends of England and the Kaneshiros of Hong Kong—had earned him many privileges. First among them was the right for his sister, Yeta, and her husband, Dallnis, to conceive a little girl. Soon, with the Dragon’s blessing, his efforts would earn protection and care for their comatose younger sister, Pell.
He would win the Grievance, year after year. To keep his family safe. To ensure Clan Garnis would live on.
Confidence gave him extra swagger as he trod down the sloping corridor to retrieve his screaming neophyte. She stood with her back against the gate. Wrought iron. Floor-to-ceiling. And Leto had no key. He was let in and out by the Asters’ human guards. Cattle prods, tasers, and napalm bullets kept even the most powerful Dragon King in check. The collars made it so.
Leto had never fought back. Why would he? This had always been his place of glory and purpose, where his father had fought. And where his father had died.
Decapitated by a Dragon blade.
“Stay away from me!”
“I won’t.” His words were as assured as he felt.
She tried to dart sideways. Though slender, she was wily and surprisingly strong. But she would never be his match. He caught her around the middle. Momentum threw her onto his forearm. Her sternum crushed against his bones. Again he threw her to the ground. He pinned her with his boot heel on her collar, right over her larynx.
“You’ll only hurt yourself. Save this fire. You’ll need it for the Cages.”
She cradled her elbow and glared up with pale, pale eyes—maybe blue.
“I’m to train you for your first bout in three weeks,” he continued. “Normally we’d have more time. But Old Man Aster wants you ready by then. He’ll be hosting many important people.”
He removed his boot and grabbed a fistful of hair—a honeyed brown shade that trailed down her back. He’d need to fix that. His actions were proof of how dangerous long hair could be in battle.
“Let go of me!”
“No.” He dragged her back to the main body of the training room. He shoved her into a wide crack that had been carved by a steady trickle of water. “Wash yourself. I won’t work with garbage.”
She hissed as cold water drenched her face, sluiced down her back. The thin paper hospital gown clung to her body. Soon it would be as useless as wet tissue. He had proper armor for her to change into. Eventually. First she needed to learn her place.
“Soap?”
Leto crossed his arms. “What was that?”
She pinched her lips into a tight white line. Honey-colored hair darkened beneath the water’s trickle. A shiver began around her middle and shook out in both directions. Arms and legs trembled. She closed into a protective ball.
If the woman didn’t ask, Leto would have a despicable chore ahead of him. On a certain level he would enjoy breaking her. Yet he craved a real opponent. She had that potential, if she proved smart enough to know when to back down.
“May I have some soap?” The effort of asking contorted her features with fury.
“Perhaps.”
Slowly, he knelt before her. He’d trained enough for the Cages to know when the appearance of gentleness held greater power than aggression. She backed deeper into the crack, but her fear was nowhere to be seen. Those pale, almost silver eyes were visible through the water dribbling down her face. Already she was cleaner. He could see more of her features. Stubborn. Every feature stubborn.
“I will not give much advice beyond techniques for fighting. But listen to me now: save your hostility. I am not your enemy.”
“Bullshit.”
She whipped wet hair back from her heart-shaped face. A pointed chin was haughty, but her lips were delicate. Thin. Tremulous. As with every Dragon King, her skin was naturally tan. Hers was overlaid with a shimmering luster, like gold beneath a blazing light. Wide cheekbones were streaked with freckles, not the dirt he’d assumed. The water darkened her lashes and framed those eerie, almost translucent eyes. Her gaze was canny. She assessed every detail, even through her fury.
Intelligence in a trainee was a twin-edged sword.
“Become a half-dead cripple for all I care,” Leto said with a shrug. “You know it takes a great deal to kill a Dragon King. But the crowd loves when combatants bleed and scream. No one mourns.”
“My son would mourn me,” she whispered.
“He already does. Dr. Aster will have told him you’re dead.”
“I was promised my son. One year more.”
One year.
He almost pitied the woman’s naiveté. She’d be lucky to stand or talk or chew after her first match. Yes, she would heal, as all Dragon Kings did, but the process was imperfect. Amputated limbs never grew back. Minds cracked into mad pieces. Scars remained. His split lip and lashed back were a testament to that.
He masked his pessimism and long-ago pains. This was his responsibility. He had yet to fail the Old Man. He wouldn’t let this woman destroy the respect Leto had spent years acquiring.
“Learn to fight,” he said. “Or you’ll suffer as others have.”
She shuddered. The hospital gown clung to her. She tucked her legs beneath her and crossed trembling arms across her breasts. But the water let her keep few secrets. “And you’re here to teach me?”
“You would’ve saved yourself a lot of abuse had you asked that question twenty minutes ago.”
“Bathatéi.” The worst curse word in the language of the Dragon Kings.
Leto only laughed. “Your name. Now.”
She lashed out with a tight fist. He caught it easily, then the next one. The only weapon she had left—one she might not have realized—was the surprise of her breasts. The soaked paper gown outlined their lithe, luscious shape. Leto forced his gaze back to her face.
“Your name,” he said with growing menace. “Unless you enjoy being called lab filth.”
“My name in exchange for soap.”
He grinned. This was going to be fun.
“Agreed. Now. Tell me.”
A swallow disappeared beneath the edge of her collar. She lifted her chin, all defiance. “My name is Audrey MacLaren.”
CHAPTER TWO
“Your real name.”
Dragon be, his calmness was irritating. He let go of her fists.
Audrey had lost most feeling in her fingers and toes. The hospital gown had disintegrated into little balls of paper along her shoulder.
“It is. I’m Audrey MacLaren.”
“Maybe out there with the humans. I won’t speak that dirt down here.”
“Sure, because this place is so pristine.”
“My rules.”
“You sound like my son. Petulant. Expecting to get your way.”
He stared down at her with abject condescension. “And I suppose he got his way in Aster’s lab?”
“You piece of shit!”
“Call me what you like. That won’t change your situation. Now. Your Dragon-born name.”
Everything about his raw brawn and arrogant posture said that fighting back would be a useless waste of energy. She was too numb, too weak with hunger, too shattered by pain to resist with more than words.
But she did have words. “I was born Nynn of Clan Tigony.”
The man flinched. Finally. She’d dented his arrogant exterior.
“A Tigony? In the Cages?”
“You heard me.” Hers was a grin of victory. “Malnefoley, the Honorable Giva, is my cousin.”
Malnefoley was the leader of the ten-person Council and keeper of the Dragon Kings’ floundering ancient traditions. Only the last she’d heard, her cousin was deep in hiding after an assassination attempt. Even if she could escape, she might never find him. Or her son.
And she would never hold Caleb again.
“Your origins don’t matter down here.” The man recovered as quickly from mental surprise as he did from physical attacks. “Here, we only fight for the Asters.”
She couldn’t read his magnetic brown eyes, but she compensated with other clues. His shoulders were not quite so relaxed. Tension had replaced the grace of his assured movements. The deep lines around his mouth tightened. The scar on his upper lip stood out an eerie white against the tan skin of all Dragon Kings.
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