Page 99 of Forging Darkness

We’re going to make it.

A whip of fire wraps around the base of Steel’s wing and a loud cry bursts from his beaked mouth.

We tilt and lose altitude. Our trajectory veers back toward the arena floor.

The ground rushes to meet us. Steel twists, taking the brunt of the impact. His grasp on my arms releases, and I bump and roll before coming to a stop.

Rough hands haul me to my feet, but I come up swinging. I’ve miscalculated the Fallen’s height and end up throat-punching her, but it works to my favor when she drops to the ground clutching her indented windpipe.

Power surges in my veins, but can’t be unleashed because of the stupid gem Seraphim slapped on my wrist. Fire pools along either side of my spine, straining painfully for release and reminding me of the first time I morphed. Even the cool sensation from the spirit gem can’t quench the blaze inside.

I’m back down on a knee before I even realize what’s happened. A headache stabs my skull, muting everything in the spectrum world except the pain.

Pushing through the agony, I force open my eyelids, searching for Steel. I spot him to my left, back in his natural form, using only his fists to fight off several Forsaken. His movements are sluggish, and his punches poorly aimed. One shoulder of his shirt is burned off and the skin underneath is scorched. It’s only a few seconds before he falls under his enemies’ attacks.

Shoving to my feet, I sprint for him while Forsaken bind his hands behind his back and then force him toward the red platform in the center of the arena.

Reaching his first captor, I rip the Forsaken away from Steel. I reach my hand forward to clamp down on the second one, but I’m jerked away and flung to the ground before I connect. The wind knocks out of me when I hit the ground.

Charred air fills my nostrils, and a scorch mark is slashed across my middle. Before I can think about regaining my footing, a hand clamps around my throat and lifts me into the air.

Seraphim’s face hovers below my own as she snarls up at me. “That will be quite enough.”

She walks over to the platform while I dangle in her hold. Stepping up, she crosses it and then lowers me to the ground. I don’t have the opportunity to be relieved I can breathe again because she slams me back against one of the wooden poles with her deceptively strong arm. My back screams in protest, my wings fighting to be released, as my arms are bound behind me and around a pole.

“Let me go!” I scream.

Seraphim’s backhand snaps my head to the side, and I watch as Steel is secured to another pole a single body length away.

“I may have to hose you down before we merge. You’re filthy.” Seraphim’s words draw my attention; her face bunches in distain.

Blood has collected in my mouth and I spit it at her, spattering her face and the white fabric covering her chest with red. When she rears back, my laugh sounds crazed even to my own ears.

“Now we’re both dirty.”

Seraphim composes herself, throws me a glare, and turns her back. Walking to one edge of the platform, she raises her arms as the crowd I blocked out over the last several minutes quiets.

“Now that you’ve gotten a display of his powers, let the tournament commence!”

The familiar clang of rusty chains scraping against each other rings out, coming to an abrupt halt after a few seconds. Eight Fallen males march out from the darkened depths at various sides of the arena, ready for battle.

We never had a chance.

She simply wanted to give her people a demonstration of Steel’s power. The only part that hadn’t gone to plan was my participation, but it hardly mattered. Steel and I have both been rendered harmless, secured to these thick metal beams.

Seraphim rattles on as the Fallen champions move into position around the arena—spread out equally around the perimeter of the circular platform. Seraphim’s voice carries around the coliseum’s acoustics, but at least she’s projecting in the opposite direction.

Ignoring her, my eyes lock on Steel. His head is bent forward, his body slumped as if only his bindings keep him standing.

“Steel, talk to me. Are you seriously injured?”

His head slowly cranes to the side. Hair flops in his face and I can only make out one half-lidded eye. “That form . . . drains me. I get a large burst of energy, but I can’t sustain it for long.” He takes a heavy breath. Even something as simple as that seems hard. “It’s why I don’t change into a bull very often.”

I offer a watery smile. “And here I thought you were embarrassed.”

The weak smile he shoots back doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, there’s that too.”

I have a vague notion that Seraphim has given the word for the Fallen to start battling, but I ignore the violence raging around us.

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