Page 108 of What Lies Within Masks & Shadows

On scrambling feet, and a slide across the dirt later, Alora jammed her knee into his back. The cold metal of her blade pricked the back of his neck.

“Yield,” she ordered with a victorious grin.

The male’s tense body relaxed with a nod of his head in defeat.

Dilating pupils and electricity surging through her heart, Alora sprang to her feet. The chants of the crowd charged the air in prickling intensity. Deep roars and shrill screams of victory rang from all directions of the ring.

Torches in the clear night danced their amber glow into the fighter's path, illuminating sweat, blood, and metal.

One calculated scan of the ring revealed three fighters down. A leopard shifter struggled to catch her breath from the comfortof her back, another fighter leaned heavily against the wooden walls with the crowd’s hands patting his shoulders. The third made a quickened escape over the wall and joined the spectators with fists held high, cheering on a blond-haired female dressed in red with earth-melding power. Two High Fae males fought with bursts of their own magic and steel against her.

Alora grinned wickedly.

The female was overpowering them. Easily.

A rush of footsteps and boot scuffs against hardened dirt tore her gaze from the fight. She scanned over the grounds once more until an icy chill bit at her cheek. Flaming torches violently fluttered as she turned to her right.

Carnage.

The High Prince viciously dropped four warriors on their backs within an instant of charging at him. Luckily for them, only minor injuries covered their bodies but enough to leave them writhing in pain at their High Prince’s boots. His bloodthirsty orbs of night stalked two more in his path. Their swords were drawn in quaking anticipation. He tracked them as he stood deathly still; only his eyes glided across the space between.

Every muscle in his body rippled as they circled close.

Then, they lunged.

Malice twisted up the side of Garrik’s face.

With a sharp squeeze of his fist at his side, Alora watched with widened eyes as the two fighters were wrenched back on a phantom wind. Their bodies, as if in slow motion, hovered in the night air like feathers on a soft breath.

A flick of his palm and they were released from their slow-moving hold and hurtled through the air. Dolls to be thrown aside by bored hands. Their bodies pummeled into wooden walls as the crowd behind was swept back by his rock-solid shield.

The impact of the blast silenced the crowd. A hushed aura Alora suspected had never graced such a tournament before.

Garrik took a step, his lip curled, revealing sharpened teeth as he growled. Heavy footsteps crunched the dirt and rocks beneath. He reached an unconscious body, towering over the faerie before he grabbed the sword still enclosed in their fist.

The Savage Prince turned.

Smokeshadow tendrils escaped his monstrous form while he began to fix the darkness in his eyes on two of the three remaining—the female Mystic and her last opponent.

Garrik’s chin dropped low; eyes sharp on his path. The sword tip scratched the dirt as he stalked forward.

Then … he wasgone.

Only the diminishing cloud of ash and smoke lingered there.

The crowd screamed in electric anticipation once more.

Feet from the two fighters, Smokeshadows exploded as he stepped out, sword drawn in front of him.

Alora forced a swallow and twisted her boot into the ground. The High Prince’s back was toward her. The perfect opportunity for a surprise attack. With every bit of energy she could muster, her feet bolted across the dirt before she vaulted into the air.

A flash of metal and a sea of sparks met her blade.

She was instantly on her back.

Air refused to fill her lungs. She couldn’t move, held down by shadows, when the icy kiss of a blade touched her neck.

A muscle flexed in Garrik’s jaw as he gritted his teeth and wrath poured out from his voice. “It is hard for me to keep my fuckingpromiseto you when you do stupid shit your first weeks here.” Kneeling on one knee beside her, his blackened eyes burned into hers. An enraged face was half-hidden behind the smoke dancing off his shoulders.

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