Page 22 of Rejected Mate

I frowned. It had to be the illness Maurica had mentioned. Another important bit of information for the memory banks.

Soon, there were only two vampires standing, Ares and Callan.

They were clearly the two strongest, and even though Ares seemed to be in charge of the games, Callan had taken great pleasure in watching Ares stumble through the dinner tonight. He’d cheered me on when I’d smacked Ares, and he clearly wanted a piece of him now.

Well, if he won, he’d pick Violet, so that would make her happy. And what if Ares won? Would he pick me again? Probably not after I smacked him. Did that matter to me?

No, of course not. Not in the slightest.

They were a well-matched pair, the two vampire males in apparent peak physical condition. Their swords glinted in the overhead lights as they circled one another. They should be tired. They’d had to battle and beat all the other vampires to get to this point. Yet, neither showed one ounce of fatigue, at least not that I could detect. So vampires didn’t tire like shifters did? Another thing to remember.

Callan’s dark hair was cut short and spiked in a deliberately messy way. His face was clean-shaven, as was the rest of him. He had mischievous blue eyes, an impish smile, and abs for days. Violet was watching him as if he were a meal worth devouring.

Callan was attractive, but if I had a type, Ares would be it. His dark hair and brows gave him a serious look, even when he smiled. And he rarely offered a real smile, not the fake one he gave the cameras, so when he did… I couldn’t help but notice.

But none of that matters, Wren! Get real!

“Come on, pretty boy,” Callan said loud enough for us to hear, his eyes flashing. He twirled the sword in a silver arch. “Make daddy proud and win the game.”

Daddy? Was William really Ares’s father? I’d speculated that fact, but wasn’t sure how that worked. Maybe the resemblance I’d noticed between them was genetic.

Ares frowned as he circled, more serious than cocky now. “I plan to win this, Callan. That was never in question.”

Callan laughed. “Take the first swing then, prince. If you’re so sure.”

Ares’s hand flexed on the sword hilt, and he gritted his teeth. “Gladly.”

He raised the blade high over his head and struck down with the force of a falling sequoia. Callan’s blade rose just in time to deflect the blow, but it was clear he was the slower opponent.

For all his talk, Callan was the inferior swordsman.

Ares raised his blade again, but this time circled around and swung at Callan’s ribs. Callan jumped back, missing most of the blade, but catching the tip in his side. He growled in pain, or maybe humiliation. Dark blood appeared in a line on his skin.

“Oh no!” Violet gripped my arm harder.

“He’s okay,” I said.

But Ares wasted no time. He charged, sword raised. Callan’s face went white. He knew he was done for.

There was a flash of movement off to the side. One of the vampires who’d been knocked out before intervened by sticking his leg out.

Ares couldn’t stop. He tripped and went flying.

“Oh!” I grabbed Violet’s hand. Was he hurt?

Ares skidded across the gym floor, his blade clattering to the floor. When he came to a stop, clearly stunned by what happened, Callan was there with the tip of his blade on Ares’s throat.

“Surrender?” Callan smiled smugly and pressed the blade harder into Ares’s windpipe.

“Cheater!” I shouted, rising.

It had been an automatic reaction. I wondered now why I cared. Self-consciously, I sat back down.

Keeping the blade on Ares’s throat, Callan glanced at the crowd. “Where in the rules did it say I couldn’t have help, hmm?”

Rules? What rules? I glanced around to see if there was anyone to intervene, but the cameras kept rolling, and no one jumped in.

“That’s what I thought,” Callan said, giving us a dark look before turning his attention back to Ares. “Surrender.”

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