Page 64 of Filthy Royal

He was going to be a better male for her. All grown up. Ready to be an Alpha she could be proud of.

He’d come to the tournament to prove himself.

But thanks to her, he’d discovered that he had nothing to prove—except that she was his everything.

He took another long drink.

The liquid cooled his parched throat. The thought of her caring for him soothed his soul.

They were going to be okay.

And after he won, he’d never put her at risk again. From here on out, he’d treat her like a queen. Worship at her feet. Hells, he’d even let her tie him up, just as promised.

Life was going to be so good.

He swayed on his feet.

“You sure you’re okay?” Crex’s worried face appeared right in front of him.

“Never better.” He pushed his friend aside. “Out of my way so I can win this.”

“You sure? You don’t seem right.”

The warning bell rang.

Damien took another quick drink for luck and reentered the ring—and had to blink twice when he noticed Crex back by his side.

“What are you doing back in the cage?” They’d both agreed he’d tap out right before the final round.

Crex’s usual lopsided smile was absent. “You’re off. Plus, you watched my back. Only fair I watch yours.”

“No, that’s… stupid.” Damien’s tongue was thick in his mouth. “You… need to go. It’s too dangerous.” He jerked his chin toward the exit as a strong wave of dizziness rolled through him.

“Something is definitely wrong with you.” The lines beside Crex’s eyes deepened, his friend’s concern obvious as he looked him up and down.

Shit. He must be tired. Or he’d gotten hit harder than he’d realized in the last round.

“Damien?” Somehow Crex had snuck up on him and gotten right in his face.

He shoved the guy back. “You should… go. Too much risk.”

“Which means more reward.” Crex clapped a hand on his shoulder, his expression determined. “I got you.”

Damien shook his head and widened his stance, willing himself to focus.

Scarlett was close.

“With the final round set to begin”—the announcer shouted to be heard over the crowds’ screams, his voice echoing through the arena—“we wanted to remind those left of just what they’re fighting for.” Gold coins flashed on every vid screen. “Money beyond their wildest dreams.” A drum roll gained in volume. “Fame.” The screen shifted to an image of a past fighter being carried on the shoulders of an adoring crowd. “And, of course, a prize any Alpha would kill to possess.”

Scarlett’s beautiful face appeared on the screen.

Damien’s fangs punched through his gums. She looked so fucking scared—and sad.

He followed the vid maker’s line of sight until he found her. Closer than he would have expected.

She was being led into a luxury suite section right near the announcer’s table, crowding her in with a wall of Alpha Consortium higher-ups and Brotherhood investors, including N’gal Verish, Andor Stormhart, and a whole lot of other pompous-looking fuckers Damien despised on sight.

His nostrils flared. There was nothing about her proximity to those Alphaholes that he liked.

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