Page 40 of Tempest Blazing
Tess.
My mate.
Her hair was tied back in a practical ponytail, business-casual clothes doing nothing to hide the rigid tension in her shoulders. She walked through the crowd like she was trying not to flinch at every sound, every movement, every predatory stare that followed her path. Garanth Kreel stalked just a step ahead of her, his slate-gray skin gleaming under the arena's harsh lights.
My stomach knotted cold and tight.No. No. No.
The words from the VIPs echoed in my skull.The girl might show promise.This wasn't random. It was a calculated test.
This couldn't be happening. Not here. Not in this place designed to break souls and harvest suffering. Not to her—not to the woman whose very existence had turned my world upsidedown, whose courage I'd witnessed firsthand even as my own cowardice kept me running from what she meant to me.
For a heartbeat, I thought it might be a trick—an illusion crafted specifically to bait me, to force me into making a mistake that would blow my cover. But then one of the handlers, a burly demon with filed teeth, shoved her roughly toward the ring's edge. She stumbled, caught herself with a grace that was purely her own, and I knew with devastating certainty that this was real.
Even through my shock, I couldn't help but admire her. The way she straightened her spine despite the fear I could smell rolling off her in waves. The stubborn tilt of her chin that said she'd go down fighting, no matter what they threw at her. She was magnificent in her defiance, and it was going to get her killed.
Heat ripped through my veins, a searing pressure behind my eyes. The air crackled, tasting of ozone and impending storm. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to ground through the stone beneath my feet, drawing stability from the earth's ancient patience. I couldn't blow my cover. Not yet. Not when I didn't understand the full scope of what I was dealing with.
Tess climbed into the ring with her chin lifted in defiance, but I could see the fear she was trying to hide. More concerning was the collar around her neck—a band of dark metal that pulsed with sickly magic. Warded iron, etched with a containment glyph I didn't recognize. A demonic design. Meant to suppress, or punish. It feltwrongagainst my senses, like something fundamentally corrupted.
I didn't move. Couldn't move. The arena's protection wards were brutal, layered with detection spells and automatic responses. Any sign of interference from an unauthorized source wouldtrigger alarms that would expose not just me, but her as well. And she didn't even know I was here.
My gaze drifted upward to the glamoured VIP boxes, where two figures shifted behind glass that rippled like oil on water. Watching. Calculating. One leaned forward with obvious interest, and I felt it like a physical blow.
They were testing her. Maybe for the ring. Maybe for something infinitely worse.
I pulled deeper into the shadows, pressing my spine against the pillar, thoughts fracturing into desperate calculations. Get her out.Now.But the wards—a trap. The collar—another. Brute force could kill her.Think, Kane. Think.I didn't know where they'd taken her from, what kind of bindings or magical traps held her, what breaking the wards might do to her fragile human physiology.
She could die before she hit the ground. Or be whisked away through a portal to a place I'd never find her. My ignorance was paralyzing me.
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena, "Ladies and gentlemen, demons and fae, tonight we have a very special treat! For the first time in our illustrious history, we present to you... a rare human fighter!"
I flinched. They knew. Not everything, clearly, but enough to mark her as something unusual. Enough to make her bait.
Her opponent stepped forward from the opposite gate—a demon with thick, sigiled arms and a predator's grin that promised pain. My vision sharpened, cataloging the threats written across his body in magical ink. Blood magic runes pulsed along his biceps. Speed enchantments traced his spine. Berserker glyphs decorated his knuckles like brass rings.
She had no weapon, no armor. And the collar was suppressing her magic. Just her wits and a body that was strong, but painfully human.
The bell rang, and the fight began—
Her first block came too late, clumsy and desperate, leaving her ribs exposed. The demon's fist connected with a wet crack, and a choked gasp tore from her throat. She staggered, gasping, one arm hanging limp at her side. The crowd cheered. The demon smiled wider.
My composure fractured.
My glamour wavered, the edges of my disguise rippling as sweat beaded across my forehead. Fire simmered in my chest, threatening to consume everything. Air pressure built around me until I could barely breathe, my magic responding violently to seeing my mate injured.
I could end this... But that collar. If it was linked to the arena wards, a surge of external magic could trigger a fatal backlash. I could kill her just by trying to save her. I didn't know what spell they'd used to contain her, what that collar around her neck might do if I tried to remove her by force. I didn't know if breaking her bindings would shatter her mind or her soul.
Tess pushed herself upright, blood trickling from her split lip, her left arm still hanging useless. She swung wildly with her good hand and missed by inches. My breath caught—not in admiration, but in pure, crystalline dread.
She wasn't holding her own. Not really. And the demon could smell her weakness like her scent had changed with injury.
He drew back his fist, crimson magic spiraling around it, poised to strike. His grin widened, eyes glittering with predatory glee. Time seemed to stretch, each second hammering against mycontrol. I was three seconds away from sayingfuck the planand burning this entire arena to ash—
When a deafening crash split the air.
The ceiling above the eastern arch exploded inward, stone and enchanted metal shattering. A massive section of the roof simplyvanishedin a plume of wild magic and billowing smoke.
Screams erupted from the crowd as debris rained down on the spectator sections. I whirled toward the blast, heart slamming against my ribs hard enough to bruise.
