Page 5 of Bloodguard

Her eyes are fixed on mine now, and neither of us moves. We don’t need to. The earth is moving beneath our feetforus.

She’s no more than twelve feet away, only a few feet above me, so close I almost think I could touch her, and yet—she might as well be in another kingdom. As I continue to stare, a soft pink highlights her cheeks. But she doesn’t look away, even when I raise one eyebrow in return. An emotion I haven’t seen in so long I’m almost not sure I’m seeing it now flits across her delicate features. For a moment, barely a fairy’s breath, I’m not a weapon or a face soon to be forgotten. I’m just a man.

Damn. I haven’t felt this human in years…until she lifts her chin up and away, as though I’ve been dismissed. And I’m slammed back into my hellish reality.

I should know better than to assume or desire respect from one of these assholes. I thought she was giving me something—something I’ve gone too long without—and hell if she didn’t take it all away with a simple gesture to remind me of my place.

Lord Peacock pivots his scowl from her to me. I ignore him, anger churning its way up my chest, and spread my arms, calling out to the woman, “What’s wrong, princess? Feeling a little dirty that you like what you see?”

She jerks her attention to her left, away from Lord Peacock, and pretends she wasn’t just eye-fucking me a minute ago. Her companion deepens his scowl at me.

“You think you can beat me?” I challenge him, my knuckles cracking as I widen my stance. “Step inside and let’s go, asshole!”

“What the hell you doing, boy?” Sullivan asks low, but I don’t bother responding. The truth is, I have no fucking clue what’s gotten into me.

Lord Peacock leaps up, reaching for the hilt of his sword. She stands, too, pulling at his arm and speaking fast. The lord shakes her off and moves forward, his foot on the low stone ledge, appearing ready to take me on.

Nobles can challenge anyone who offends them, even a gladiator. But if that noble does so within the confines of the arena, they agree to fight to the death, just like us.

“Filip, Filip—don’t do this,” she begs louder. “Please. I need you!”

To buy her statelier dresses, no doubt.

The commotion draws the attention of High Lord Vitor, who looks like he’s about to step in when his shit-for-brains son leans forward, a cruel smile dancing in his eyes, and says something to the young lord I can’t quite make out. Lord Peacock tightens his jaw and steps fully onto the stone ledge.

“You’ll pay for that disrespect, you filthy dog,” he shouts back at me, his shoulders tensing.

The two lords beside the brown-haired woman hurry forward, but they aren’t fast enough.

Lord Peacock leaps into the arena, his sword arm raised and his anger directed right at me. He swings, and I sidestep before catching him with a right hook. My punch isn’t enough to knock him out, but itisenough to stun him into dropping his sword. It’s in my hand, and I’m swinging just as he rights himself.

The steel is of the finest quality I’ve seen in years, the edge so sharp I barely feel more than a bump as I slice clean through his spine.

chapter 3

Leith

I toss the sword next to the headless body as the pretty elf watches her companion’s peacock head roll to a stop along the blood-soaked sand. The crowd is on their feet, invigorated by the bonus match that just occurred, but I keep my eyes locked on the woman, curious how she’ll react to the fact that I just beheaded her companion.

Her eyes widen with shock for only the briefest of seconds before she’s rounding on…High Lord Vitor, theregent. He nods as if he’s listening. She points in the direction of an entryway, but he only nods again. The woman says something more before lifting the hood of her cape and storming off.

That woman is cold. She didn’t raise her voice or shed a single tear.Well damn, aren’t you full of surprises?

Four old men appear from the gates that lead back to the tunnel. Two cart Filip’s body away while the third hoists his head and the fourth rakes gray sand over the red-soaked areas, then picks up the sword and follows behind the other three. Shame. That was a damn nice sword.

My attention shifts back to the highest-ranking nobles—High Lord Vitor and General Soro. Technically, there’s nothing they can do, but I’ve learned not to put anything past one of these assholes.

Vitor says something to his bet maker, who nods and scribbles on his notepad. I don’t know what was said, but it can’t be good if the smile Soro is fighting not to show is any indication. I almost rub my palms against my thighs but catch myself. No way will I give him the privilege of seeing me sweat.

Sudden drumbeats echo around the stadium, and my pulse quickens.

The time has come to announce the matches.

A few of the fighters ease their postures, feigning courage that’s long gone, and we all turn to head back to the wagon.

Typically, we’re routed to the stables to wait for our match. As though the games aren’t cruel enough, we never know who or what we’ve been matched to fight or the order until we are called. But today, before we can reach the wagon, the gate of the cage is swung closed.

The other gladiators murmur to one another at this change in protocol, but we don’t have long to wait.

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