Page 7 of Her Manticore Master
Footsteps move through the corridor—lighter than the guards', with the whisper of silk against stone. I don't look up from sharpening a piece of loose stone against the cell wall.
"Hard at work, I see."
The voice is honey over razors. I glance up to find her standing beyond the bars, emerald silk clinging to curves that would tempt saints. Her dark hair falls in waves over bare shoulders, and those green eyes sparkle with malicious amusement. Corrina. The pit master's favorite pet.
"Shouldn't you be somewhere painting your nails?" I return to my makeshift blade.
"How droll." She steps closer, fingers trailing along the bars. "I came to see how our new acquisition was settling in."
"Disappointed?"
"Hardly. Though I expected more chains."
I gesture at my shackled wrists and ankles. "Not enough iron for your taste?"
"Oh, these are just to keep you from hurting the guards." Her smile turns predatory. "The real chains are in your mind. Fear. Despair. The slow realization that you'll never see home again."
My hands still on the stone. "You think you know me?"
"I know your type. Big, proud warrior reduced to entertainment for my amusement." She leans against the bars, close enough that I catch her scent—jasmine and danger. "Tell me, beast, what were you before they caught you?"
"I was free."
"Free to do what? Kill? Rape? Pillage?"
The casual assumption ignites my temper. "To protect the innocent. Something you wouldn't understand."
Her laugh is like breaking glass. "Protect? Is that what you were doing in Oshta? Because from what I heard, your 'protection' got a young girl sold anyway."
The words hit like painful physical blows. I surge to my feet, chains clanking. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" She tilts her head, studying me like a curious cat. "Tell me, hero, how does it feel knowing she's probably chained in some brothel while you rot in here?"
Red rage floods my vision. Before I can stop myself, I lunge at the bars, reaching for that smug face. She dances back just beyond my grasp, laughing delightedly.
"Careful, beast. Your true nature is showing."
"My true nature?" I grip the bars until my knuckles go white. "At least I have one. You're just a pampered whore playing at being dangerous."
Her eyes flash with genuine anger for the first time. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Sitting in your silk tower, watching men die for sport while your master feeds you grapes." I bare my teeth in a feral grin. "Tell me, pet, do you purr when he scratches behind your ears?"
"You bastard?—"
"Truth hurt?"
"You know nothing about me," she hisses, her composure cracking like thin ice.
"I know enough." I lean against the bars, bringing us nearly face to face. "You think you're playing some clever game, but you're just as trapped as I am. The only difference is your cage has better decorations."
"At least I'm not the one fighting for scraps."
"No, you're just the one who gets wet watching it happen."
She pales, then flushes. I think she'll strike me, but she instead takes a shuddering breath and recomposes herself.
"Such eloquence from a dumb beast."
