Page 67 of Slay Me

But as his gaze holds mine, the murderous rage within the copper depths momentarily steals my breath. This man is a predator; that much is evident in the distance between us. “Do you wish for aid?” he asks.

“Shut your fucking whore mouth, little bird,” Ivan snarls. His tentacle tightens on my ankle, and the bone snaps. I scream, pain shooting up my leg. Arching up off the pavement, I reach for my magic again, but still, nothing comes. Not even a blip of what little power I once held. What the hell did they do to me?

My vision swims, the pain finally pulling me under. At least, I’ll be dead before they do whatever it is they want with me.

“Answer me, woman. Do you wish for aid?” the stranger demands again, his tone more strained.

“Yes!” I whisper.

“What the fuck did I tell you!” Bryce starts for me, but he doesn’t make it two steps before he freezes in place. A thin streak of blood forms on his throat, but it’s not until his head slides to the side that I see the stranger has withdrawn a blade.

Ivan releases me and lets out a roar. Four of his tentacles shoot from his partially shifted body, but the stranger moves with the grace of a warrior. He spins to his left and right, slicing out until the grey flesh is wiggling on the pavement—no longer attached. Ivan falls forward, and the man drives his blade into the back of his skull.

I try to scoot backward, to escape, but my body might as well have been fused with the ground.

“You are going to regret that, asshole.” Shavers flexes his arms, and blades slide out of the sleeves of his leather jacket. I’ve seen him fight in the ring, put up against supernaturals until he became Ernest’s favorite pet. If any of these three is going to give the stranger a run, it’s him.

But the stranger doesn’t seem the least bit fazed.

Shavers attacks.

The stranger pivots, moving impossibly fast even for a supernatural, and drives his blade into Shavers’ spine. Ernesto’s pet throws his head back and roars, but the stranger doesn’t stop here. He grips the top of Shavers’ head and snaps his neck as though he were breaking a tiny twig in half, and not a grown man.

Shavers’ body drops to the ground, and the stranger turns toward me. Tears in my eyes, I try once again to access my magic, to move, but both actions prove fruitless.

Dressed in black jeans, a matching shirt, and crimson leather jacket, he looks every bit the savage he just proved himself to be. The question remains, though, am I better off now? Or should I have let Ernesto’s men drag me back to his prison of stone?

“Thank you,” I whisper. Tears stain my cheeks, mixing with the blood.

“Do not thank me,” he replies, moving closer and sheathing the short blade at his waist. “I do nothing for free.”

I swallow hard. No one does. Especially not in No Man’s Land. “I have no magic to offer.”

“I don’t need your magic,” he says as he kneels beside me. Closer now, I can see him clearly.

“It’s you,” I whisper, recognizing him now. How I had missed it before, I cannot understand. But he is unmistakable because I’ve spent the last two years dreaming of him to keep myself from going insane.

His face is sharp, features distinguished. He has no scars, no tattoos on his face or neck. Dark hair is short and styled so it’s longer on top of his head. There is no House ring adorning his finger, at least, not that I can see, given the blood-stained gloves covering his hands. Not that I would expect there to be.

The Ringmaster needs no House for protection because he is the leader of his own House. One that is not governed by any outside rules.

Even as I recognize him, even as I know he has nothing to do with Ernesto, the voices in my head scream that I need to get away. That I need to run from this predator. But I can do neither.

In my damaged state, I cannot imagine he could want my body, but given our location and his skillset, I cannot put it past him. So, swallowing my pride, I straighten. “My body is broken. But given time—”

“I do not want your body,” he growls, irritation crossing his handsome features.

I’m at a loss. I have no house. No family. No magic to offer as currency or trade. “Then what could you possibly want?”

A slow smile spreads over his face. “Your life.”

* * *

I shootup out of bed, heart racing, sweat beading on my body. The night I escaped Ernesto and wound up in Dante’s Circus is one I’ve never forgotten. But this is the first time I‘ve ever dreamt of it.

Punishment for sleeping with the very man holding me captive?

“Nightmare?”

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