Damn it. The man actually makes me want to hike my skirt up and let him have me any way he wants.
He leans in again, voice going deep. “And for the record, I have not hated you for centuries. It’s our clans as a whole that have hated each other. Rather, I’ve much enjoyed our interludes.”
I snort at that because our interludes mostly included viciously battling each other while drawing blood and spilling guts. I mean, there was that one time under the belly of the Coliseum when we hate fucked, but now I’m not so sure it was driven by hate.
Maybe that was pure attraction, but disgust that we acted on it within ourselves.
So confusing.
Before I can give Ronan an answer to his bet challenge, Rishka and Ilona walk up behind Ronan. I take a step away from him, causing him to frown, but a sneering Rishka comes around his side. “What are you doing near my sister, Bluff Dweller?”
Ronan merely smirks at Rishka, who is dressed in full battle armor because she’s a warrior through and through. However, she will not be participating in the games; instead, she’s one of the esteemed guests called upon to judge.
Sliding his gaze to me, then to Rishka, he says, “I was just placing a little bet with your sister for when we face each other in the arena.”
My eyes implore him not to tell her what the bet was, and I’m relieved Rishka doesn’t ask. Instead, she regards him with disgust and says, “It matters not. Eliana is going to destroy you.”
Ronan bends a bit toward her, his grin big. “It’s cute you think that, Meadowlander.”
He then straightens, gives Ilona an actual small bow of farewell, and then cuts his eyes to me one last time. “See you in the games.”
“See you in defeat,” I retort, but inside, I’m still jumbled up over the fact that no matter who wins, we both agreed that the prize was somehow sex.
“Honestly, Eliana,” Rishka snaps, and my attention goes to her. “What were you thinking by talking to a Bluff Dweller?”
“We were just discussing the games,” I reply in defense. “There’s a truce… remember?”
“The truce says we can’t kill each other.” She stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. “It doesn’t mean you should converse with them.”
Her attempt to shame me works. Reminds me that I’m being disloyal to my family merely by talking to Ronan. Forget about all the beautifully dirty things we did at my condo. I have a feeling, even though it’s been a thousand years, Rishka would call for my wings if she found out. It’s mainly that fact that gives me great pause.
Is this really worth it?
A clandestine rendezvous with Ronan after the arena games. Just one more time before we go our separate ways.
I can feel my hidden-away wings twitching because they are such an integral part of me that I’m not sure I’d emotionally survive their loss.
And no man is worth even considering such a choice.
CHAPTER 7
Ronan
It’s the last arena game of the evening, and the amphitheater has powerful orbs of light hovering above to illuminate the fighting ring. All the games prior had been individual combats—one on one and chosen at random—with winners advancing through tournament-style until one was crowned. Nimeyah gifted that winner with a specially created amulet by the queen herself to grant the user invisibility for a short period. It was more novelty than anything else, but the winner also got a shiny gold medal to wear around his neck.
These last games are not one on one, though. Basically, twenty warriors are thrown into the ring and the last man standing is the winner. It’s a fascinating study on society and brutal violence because allies are quickly formed, and loners easily picked off.
None of these fights are to the death as iron weapons are forbidden, but once someone is dealt what would be a serious wound resulting in a mortal’s death, that fighter is ejected from the game. Several judges stand around the perimeters to make those calls, and I can actually feel Eliana’s sister, Rishka, watching with hawk-like precision every time I battle.
The whole thing, start to finish, doesn’t last long. If we were mortals, it would be short mainly because the human body has limits on strength and stamina. As fae, we do not.
It doesn’t last long because the fae who participate in this particular contest are seasoned warriors. The Brevalians are not the only fae who live in warring realms and thus have combatants with keen skills. As such, all twenty who started this contest are inherently powerful and dangerous, which is why this is always the most exciting event of the festival.
Immediately, two distinct groups form, and because Meadowlanders and Bluff Dwellers hate each other, Eliana and I are not in the same allied group. There are seven that don’t ally up and they are dispatched easily.
The two groups then turn to face off against each other, swords clashing, spears twirling, and some dropping weapons to go hand to hand. All in good fun.
Combatants start dropping like flies, and I keep Eliana in my peripheral vision. I have no intention of engaging her until the end, and I can see by the way she’s fighting with such fluidity and confidence, she’ll be the one left standing against me.
She looks like a warrior goddess with her blonde hair plaited in a crown of braids. She’s wearing cream-colored suede pants stained with dirt and black fae blood, brown boots, and a vest of the same material as her pants. She has plates of armor strapped to her shoulders, elbows, shins, and knees. Unlike some of the others, she doesn’t bother with a breastplate, which is a personal choice. Going without gives more freedom and speed, but it makes a mortal blow much more likely.
Admittedly, it’s a bit distracting she doesn’t have chest armor as the vest she’s wearing is cut provocatively low, showing the swell of her breasts. I happen to notice more than one fae ogling her and the minute they are cut down, I suspect that was part of her strategy.
At one point, Eliana takes on two fae at the same time, and I nearly get my own head lopped off as I stare in amazement at her blood-red wings unfurling so she can lift herself off the ground just out of their reach. She conjures a bow with two arrows already nocked before letting them fly at the same time. Both strike her opponents through the throats.
They’re disqualified from the competition and helped off the field, where healers will attend to their injuries.
One by one, more fae fall, and it might surprise the legions of fae screaming in the stands, but it doesn’t surprise me—nor I’d bet Eliana—when we’re the only ones left standing on the hard-packed dirt, which is covered in fae blood.
She’s not even out of breath, but neither am I.
We face each other, circling, and the crowd roars in delight that the final combatants are actual true enemies who have a running tally of wins and losses against the other.
I take in what I know about fighting her in the past, what I’ve seen today, and what could be her greatest weakness.
Knowing she might use her wings, I get rid of my sword and conjure a long spear with a spiked end. She grins, ditches her own sword, and summons a battle-ax.
Then it’s on.
I twirl my spear in a dazzling display of athleticism, helicopter it over my head, swirl it around my back, and then make several thrusting lunges her way. Eliana uses the battle-ax to deflect each one, but as she’s circling it around to her front, I lunge one more time and slide the spear tip through one of the curved sides of the ax. I draw my spear up hard, catching the battle-ax and jerking so swiftly it dislodges from her hand.