Page 79 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
“Dress, Vampress. Now.” His voice was rough and commanding.
“As you say,” she murmured. She slowly stepped into the dragon scale armor. It held tight against her skin, though it didn’t grate. Just as languidly, she lifted the top over her head. Even as a vampire princess who performed executions for her uncle, she’d never had such fine protective gear. Nothing but a direct hit with a sword from a powerful demon would pierce the dragon’s scales. She layered the oversized clothes over the armor. Lastly, she pulled a pin off the vanity and wound her hair into a bun on her head. When she finished, she stood there. “All done, Zarathos. You can come out of hiding,” she taunted.
“About time,” he snapped as he reappeared. He drew out his potion and downed it.
For the hundredth time, she wondered why he’d take something that caused him to have seizures. What horrible condition was he trying to cover?
Rage flashed in his eyes, but she noted the slight scent of arousal drifting off him and the hint of desire behind the glow in his gaze.
He grabbed a pair of boots that rested next to the wardrobe and set them before her. They were bent and worn but as she stepped into them she noted their comfort.
He surveyed her, then opened the door to his bedchamber. “Let’s go,” he growled.
“Yes, master.” She moved past him into the hall. He shut the door and stalked grimly at her side.
As they walked, Aryana’s mind switched to her upcoming task. The first trial. She rubbed her hands together. The trials would be violent and terrible, and yet she was finally getting into her element. No more time in chains pretending to be a prisoner.
Now, at the very least, she was permitted to struggle for her own survival in a fair fight.
“Try to avoid showing too much excitement,” Zarathos said quietly, his eyes still flashing with anger as he took her arm and urged her forward. “You’ll ruin my reputation in a single morning.”
"You’re awfully sarcastic today. Could you be nervous?”
“You’re supposed to appear as though you spent the last few nights being tortured in my bedchamber. If you would at least pretend like that possibly happened, we might make it through this.”
“As you say.”
Aryana went limp and Zarathos swore, dragging her forward, down the flights of stairs to the dungeons. Her fear probably wasn’t as strong as it should be for their act, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t worn her down or injured her. They’d have to make do. By the time they were there, Aryana’s arm ached from Zarathos’s grip and dirt covered her clothes. She let loose a soft cry as he delivered her over to the guard. “Here she is, or what is left of her.”
He turned and stalked off.
She ran a hand over her middle, feeling the armor hidden beneath her attire. Yes, in time, she would have the demon arch king eating out of her palm.
The guard took her to her cell and forced her inside. She looked over at the other kalators and frowned. She saw no sign that they had received any medical attention from the events of the past couple of days. Although Pohan was sitting up, his shirt used to wrap up his wings, and he’d made an attempt to wash the blood from his face from a small pan of water. Neri also had torn a part of her dress to bandage her injury, though she still kept her head down. Jesir the imp sat in his cell and nodded to Aryana as she entered.
As soon as the door clanged shut and the guard stepped away, Pohan leaned forward, his hand opening between their bars. It was a piece of stale old bread. She drew in a breath. But she knew that scent. It wasn’t just stale. She gazed at him in disbelief. “How did you get this?” she whispered.
Pohan’s hand extended farther, and he motioned to her earnestly. The sound of the guard’s footsteps indicated he’d made his round and was coming back. Aryana reached out and snatched up the bread, shoving it in her mouth, its taste sour against her tongue.
By the time she had swallowed it, the guard had come into view.
He popped open Neri’s cell and dragged her out of it.
Aryana pushed against the bars as she watched Neri’s slight form being pulled across the ground and she stumbled to get her feet under her. She disappeared around a corner. “Where are you taking her?”
“None of your business, vampire,” spat another guard. He leered at them as he reached up and took a cord hanging from the ceiling in his hand. He shoved a cloth over his mouth and nose. “Your destiny awaits, kalators.”
Then he pulled on the cord and a soft hiss released through a grate above her head. The smell of belladonna reached Aryana.
Her head grew fuzzy, and she fell to her knees.
Aryana awoke in a massive pit, the cloying scent of belladonna still lingering in her nostrils. She lay near the wall, and as her eyes fluttered open, her heart stilled. A sharpened spike was positioned inches from her eye.
The roar of a crowd echoed above, confirming what she already feared: they were in the arena. The main floor stretched high above the pit where she lay, and beyond that, the spectators loomed as curious gods, peering down as if she were some rare creature in a menagerie.
She sat up slowly, taking in the long spear-like metal shafts that lined the walls of the circular pit. Other kalators also laid around the edges of their enclosure, too close to the spikes for comfort.
Neri gripped one of the bars and pushed herself upright. At least she was still alive. Her eye widened as she turned toward the center of the pit, and Aryana followed her gaze.
