Page 106 of The Blood Moon Oath

I smirk, flipping my blade in my hand. “Die? Sorry, big guy. That’s your role today.”

The crowd erupts as the fight begins. Rogar charges at me, his magic crackling in the air. Fire bursts from his hands, roaring toward me in a wave of searing heat. I roll to the side, the flames licking at the ground where I stood momentsbefore.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” I call, dodging another blast.

Rogar growls, his hands glowing with power as he unleashes another attack. This time, shards of ice rain down, jagged and sharp. I duck and weave, closing the distance between us with every step.

He’s relying too much on his magic. They always do. Warlocks like him don’t know what it feels like to fight with steel, to feel the weight of a blade in their hands.

I do.

As I get close, I feint to the left, drawing his focus, and then lunge to the right. My blade slices across his side, drawing first blood. He roars, spinning to face me, his hand glowing with energy. But I’m already moving, slashing at his thigh, his arm, anywhere I can reach.

“Not used to this, are you?” I taunt, grinning as blood drips from his wounds.

He stumbles, his magic faltering, and I press the advantage. My blade finds his shoulder, his knee, his gut. Each strike is precise, deliberate, designed to wear him down.

The crowd is screaming now, a cacophony of cheers and jeers, but I barely hear it. All I see is Rogar, his arrogance replaced with desperation.

“You’re nothing without your magic,” I sneer, driving him back.

With a final, vicious strike, I knock his weapon from his hand and send him sprawling to the ground. I plant a boot on his chest, pressing down hard enough to make him gasp.

With one swift, deliberate motion, I drive my blade deep into his throat, cutting through muscle and bone. His eyes widen in shock, his final breath gurgling as blood pours from the wound.

The crowd erupts, a cacophony of cheers and gaspsechoing through the arena. I don’t bother looking at them. My focus is on Rogar’s body as it goes limp beneath me, the light fading from his eyes.

I pull my blade free with a sickening sound, wiping the blood on his tunic before standing tall. The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood, the taste of victory sharp on my tongue.

“Strength respects strength,” I murmur, my voice low enough that only the dead can hear. “And weakness dies screaming.”

The crowd erupts, and I step back, wiping the blood from my blade. I turn toward Sable, who’s watching from the sidelines, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and something I can’t quite place.

I grin, raising my blade in a mock salute. “Told you, kitten. Bloody and quick.”

Chapter

Fifty-Seven

KAEL

The crowd is still roaring as I step into the arena, the scent of blood and sweat heavy in the air. Torin stands to the side, his blade resting on his shoulder, his grin sharp and unrepentant as Rogar’s lifeless body is dragged from the ring. The first fight was brutal, messy, and entirely Torin’s style. He thrives in chaos, and the bloodlust still lingers in his eyes as he gives me a quick nod.

“It’s all yours now, Alpha,” he says, his voice carrying over the noise. “Make it good. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the kitten.”

I glance over to where Sable stands on the sidelines, her arms crossed tightly as if holding herself together. Her green eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the noise fades. There’s something unspoken in her gaze, something that grounds me even as it makes my chest tighten.

I stride over to her, the weight of my blade a familiar comfort. “Are you all right?” I ask, my voice low.

She nods, but her lips press into a thin line. “I should be asking you that. Torin made it look easy, but I know this isn’t just about fighting. This is about making a statement. For all of you.”

“It’s always about making a statement,” I reply, my tone bitter. “Strength is the only language they understand.”

Her hand reaches out, brushing against my arm. The touch is so small, so fleeting, but it sends a ripple of warmth through me. “You’ll win,” she says, her voice softer now. “You always do. Just... don’t get yourself killed.”

“I don’t plan on it,” I say, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. “You worry too much.”

Her hand lingers, her eyes searching mine. “I have a lot to worry about, Kael. Especially when it comes to you.”

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