Page 5 of Filthy Royal

She didn’t dare look at him but she felt Damien’s emotions slam into her through their bond: pride, desire, and possession. Right alongside seething frustration, rage, and determination.

He wanted to tear out the eyes of every other Alpha looking at her. Rip their tongues from their leering mouths. Bathe in their blood.

The depth of his rage frightened her.

Fighters needed to rule their emotions, not be ruled by them.

And if he lost any of his matches this rotation…

“You want this golden, virginal prize leashed and performing for you in whatever position you desire?” The announcer’s taunt only amplified the fury she could sense thundering through Damien’s blood. “Then you’d better do whatever it takes to win your matches this next round.”

The lights in the arena flashed back on.

“Prepare!” At Egan Avitus’s sharp bark, fifty fighters hustled onto the rotating platform in the center of the arena, forming two lines on either side.

Scarlett was supposed to return to her stool.

She stayed where she was, her nose almost pressed to the crystal, unable to look away.

Scowling, a near-feral glint in his red-streaked eyes, Damien swaggered forward with the others, his movements sleek and graceful

Although younger than many of the other males, he moved with a rare, innate confidence. As if he already knew he was the best, his victory assured.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, Damien’s name a soft whisper among many. Already, he was proving a standout.

A few of the omega groupies shouted his name and waved.

The attention only made him stand taller, glow brighter, as if he soaked in the stares and used it to fuel his power.

He was rumored to be as good as the United Galactic Fighting Association’s favored fighters: Kadon Stormhart and N’gal Verish. Unlike her brother, who was owned and sponsored by the Consortium, those two males were fighters like Damien, independently trained warriors bankrolled by their own families.

Unlike Damien, however, Kadon and N’gal were the eldest sons of influential Brotherhood crime families. That meant preferential treatment, better trainers, and nicer sleeping quarters.

Perhaps she was biased, but despite these advantages, she still thought Damien was better than either favorite.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw security lead several prizes-in-training into another of the Consortium’s transparent cells on her level of the stadium. They were there to observe and learn, the Consortium always thinking ahead to their next source of profit.

Though fraternization among prizes-in-training was discouraged, three in the group were the closest company she had to friends: Rose, Ebony, and Amber.

She tried to catch their attention, but Rose’s gaze was glued to the floor, Ebony’s trained on Kadon Stormhart, and Amber’s locked on her brother, Luc. A usual occurrence.

Fraternization with other Consortium personnel was even more regulated and intermingling between non-familial Consortium assets strictly forbidden. However, that didn’t stop souls from longing for each other.

“Take your positions.” Egan’s barked command drew her gaze back to the fighting mats below.

Damien dropped into a ready stance across from his opponent, a plated Alpha with four arms and small spikes across the top of his shiny head and spine.

But her Alpha was not without weapons of his own. Damien’s muscled arms rose to defend his face as his knees bent, his red skin gleaming under the arena lights while his onyx horns snapped straight and his fangs flashed. He subtly shifted his weight, his claws lengthening as his thick, carved thighs bunched, preparing to pounce.

Her breath left her in a rush.

His body was a true work of art.

Dark bands tied around his bulging biceps and thick wrists seemed like they might split at any moment while the veins that corded along his forearms and thighs when he flexed made her want to trace each one with her tongue.

Equally appealing were his wide shoulders, powerful chest, chiseled stomach, and that mouthwatering V above the band of his low-slung leathers. Much of his visible red skin was covered in thick, scrolling skin designs and the fighting scars of a true warrior.

A drop of sweat rolled down his neck, over one flat nipple and the indentations of his stomach before disappearing into his waistband.

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