Page 15 of Filthy Royal

Still, he kept his footing and stayed upright as the buzz of the laser bars signaled their return to full power.

Victory. With only a slight charring on top.

Damien took stock. They’d packed each cell with fighters, and his was no exception. Big scowling brutes with bloody lips and ripped clothes squared off around the cell, aggression oozing from their pores, the rush of the recent brawl still thrumming through their veins.

Fangs flashing, he scowled back.

The three guys closest to him shuffled out of his way.

As expected. He knew how to handle himself. For better or worse, he’d seen the inside of more than a few holding cells over the course of his young but eventful life.

Could be due to his charm.

Or his trouble following the rules.

“In you go.” The shout from outside the bars had Damien turning around, just in time to see the laser bars dim again as security tossed an orange blur inside the holding cell—straight into the belly of another fighter.

Damien sidestepped the fray as they crashed to the ground.

“Hells, that hurt.” The new guy rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, blinking hard. The bitter odor of singed hair wafted through the space.

The other downed fighter shoved to his knees, his scales turning a dangerous red. “You knocked me down.” He cocked a fist.

The orange guy whipped out a vicious-looking barbed tail with barbs and slashed it in front of the other male’s beak-like nose. “Don’t even try it.”

The other male backed off, grumbling to himself as he shuffled to the opposite side of the cell.

Damien studied Tail Guy. He looked vaguely familiar. He was smaller than Damien, but still muscled, with pointed ears and long plaits that hung down his back.

“Wonderful.” The orange-skinned male pushed to standing and adjusted his shirt, fingering the laser burn holes as if he was going to make them magically disappear. “I chose the wrong guy to stand in line behind, apparently.”

Ah, right. The fighter next to him when he’d been trying to talk with the omega. The one who’d warned him security was about to taser his ass.

There were no allies in a place like this where only one could be the ultimate fighter, but Damien appreciated the guy’s warning.

Plus, while the guy’s stance was alert enough to mark him as a solid fighter and his tail was clearly a formidable weapon, his expression was kind.

He was no killer.

Damien calculated that the orange-skinned Alpha would last two rounds max without help.

Which was why he gave the fighter a rare chin nod—his arms were busy, anyway, still manacled behind his back—and said, “When they come back, I’ll make sure they know you had nothing to do with that.”

The guy’s eyes went round, his tail twitching. “Thanks.” He stopped fiddling with his shirt. “I definitely did not expect to end up here before I even made it in the training arena.”

Join the fucking club.

Damien hid a grimace.

Two heartbeats in and he’d already fucked up.

“I mean, it’s not as if I’m expecting to win the main prize.” Tail Guy gave a nervous laugh, his lopsided grin reminding Damien of his sister Anya.

“Good, because I am.”

A few other fighters in the cell grumbled. Orange-skinned guy, however, appeared unfazed.

“Oh yeah? The whole tournament? Wow. Good for you.” The other male was chatty. “My goal is to make it to at least the last sixteen fighters in the main event so I can win the consolation prize money. If I make it further, great, but that’s the bare minimum. I’m from Lezera, have six omega sisters, and no damned funds to get them prime omega contracts. Goddess only knows I can’t keep ‘em—but I want the best for them.” Genuine affection coated his words, but he was fumbling with the holes in his shirt, his tone strained. “We calculated that with even a small prize money, I’ll be able to get them some sort of contracts.IfI get there.”

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