Night's Darkest Embrace (11 page)

Leto stood and shook off his foreboding. Time to get food. She would respond to food.

He walked away without explanation, unsurprised when her shouts followed him down the corridor. Shrieks, curses, and the rattling of iron bars. He’d been confident in what to expect when first entering her training cell.

Now, he knew what she looked like naked.

He exited at the guards’ discretion and walked placidly between them toward the mess hall. He knew the turns and sloping underground tunnels well enough to walk them with his eyes shut. May as well. Images of Nynn overlaid his vision—images he tried to suppress. Waist and hips designed for a man’s hands. Supple legs to curl around a man’s lower back. Tight nipples waiting for a man’s eager mouth.

She’d got it all wrong. He had tamped down his arousal out of sheer mental discipline. He would not be limp when he bedded down that evening. In his private quarters, he would indulge those erotic images and release the grinding tension she’d ratcheted into his joints.

The mess hall was no more elaborate than Nynn’s training room, only bigger, having been carved out of granite deep within the earth. Dozens of human workers, all male, had gathered for the evening meal. Long wooden tables were flanked on each side by plain benches. Dozens of durable pewter plates held beans, rice, chunks of beef, kernels of corn, and buttered bread. Leto’s stomach rumbled.

The guards accepted their meals from a stumpy man named Kilgore, then sat to eat. Kilgore paid them no attention. “Here for your ration, Leto?”

“Yes, and one for my neophyte.”

“The girl? Caught a glimpse of her when they brought her in from the lab. Is she a looker? Couldn’t tell.”

“Food first. You know that.”

“You can be such a bore.”

Leto stood over him. “Earning the roar of a satisfied crowd is never a bore. Can you say the same for ladling beans?”

“Don’t rub it in,” Kilgore said sourly. His puckered little face didn’t need much incentive to curl in on itself. “Not all of us can be stars in the Asters’ empire.”

The man served up dinner and assembled a second plate with a lid.

While Leto sat in the mess, watching Kilgore distribute food to the remaining workers, he ate with silent relish. Quality fare.

He’d heard rumors of Dragon Kings who fought for the other human cartels, the Townsends and Kaneshiros. Some were fed no better than scraps. Their holding cells were disgusting, riddled with vermin and disease. They fought for prizes that were far from guaranteed. Only Dr. Aster had perfected the process of reproduction among Dragon Kings. No one knew how he’d managed to solve the problem—or why conception was a problem in the first place.

The two other cartels had achieved limited successes. Their warriors bore as many insane, malformed children as ones delivered healthy and vital. But it was a chance. A chance more were willing to take by the day.

Leto faced no such uncertainty. He was a god to the Asters. The best. Praised above all the other men and women who shared this warrior’s life. That Yeta had given birth to a healthy child meant he was respected, not just feared. Anyone who could earn the privilege to conceive was looked upon as immortal. A bloodline passed down.

That feat was becoming increasingly rare. In Yeta’s daughter existed the future of Clan Garnis. Few remained to take up that mantle.

He returned his empty plate to the wide washing sink and turned to Kilgore. “You ready for it?”

The small man stopped in the midst of lifting a scoop of corn. He ignored the thin, sallow-faced worker who waited for his food. Nearly every human in the compound started to look that way—pale, sunken, wasted. Life underground turned them into two-legged moles. Leto hid his disgust.

For millennia, the Dragon Kings had ruled over these people. For good reason. Mere herd animals, humans.

“Go on, then.” Kilgore’s dark, beady eyes were eager. “Her tits. Tell me.”

“Small but shapely.”

“And?”

“Tight buds. Dusky. Best I’ve seen in years.”

Kilgore exhaled slowly. A shudder of pleasure jerked the loose skin along his jowls. “You really are without peer, my friend.”

Leto hid a scowl. He was servant to the humans who rewarded him extremely well. He was the equivalent of a god to the rest. Yet he counted no humans among his friends—as if such a word existed for him. Sharing physical details about incoming neophytes spoke to Kilgore in the language of small minds. The human workers agreed to three-month contracts, with no chance of interaction with women. Their lust for news about female warriors and victims bound for the Cages was insatiable.

Kilgore would embellish those curt descriptions, earn clout for himself, and spread proof of Leto’s superiority. Such men eagerly bet on their favorite champion.

And Leto earned favors. Lots of favors.

Distasteful. But necessary.

He took up the second plate of food Kilgore had prepared. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a woman to break.”

CHAPTER THREE

The bastard.

The
lonayíp
bastard.

He left the tray of food next to her cage, just out of reach, and resumed his place against the wall.

Audrey’s stomach was a raging beast threatening to gnaw through her skin. It wanted free to scramble through those iron bars. To gorge. Dizzy on the scent of fresh meat and vegetables, she closed her eyes. There was nothing else to do unless she begged.

She had begged for mercy in the labs. Needles, scalpels, saws—they brought out the animal in a girl. When survival hinged on nothing more than a sadist’s caprice, the words had babbled from her lips. When Aster’s men stole Jack from her arms each morning, she’d held his frail, injured body for as long as possible. And she’d pleaded. Every day. She’d turned into some servile little creature.

But here . . .

Here, she had a chance.

The food would be cold soon, but she didn’t care. She was ready to eat the leather of her tunic, when once she’d shared in the grand feasts of the Tigony in their Grecian mountain stronghold. So much ritual. So much wealth. Malnefoley’s affection had secured her a permanent place at his table.

No one else had wanted her there.

Enough of this.

Audrey went through the list again. Her assets. She was clean and clothed. She was the Giva’s cousin. She had endured years of ostracism among her namesake clan, bearing the brunt of her mother’s supposed indiscretions—years that made her stronger. And she was free of Dr. Aster’s lab.

She felt like a person again.

To escape and find Jack, she needed to learn this complex inside out—from its physical layout to every single person inside it. Their roles. Their timetables. Their coveted bribes. And she would need to get a message to Mal. Pinning her hopes on one hastily penned letter wasn’t enough. The Council would not sit back while Dragon Kings of any standing were yanked out of their homes, tortured, and forced to fight as slaves for the worst human crime bosses.

Keeping her mind sharp was essential. Buying enough time meant she would need to fight in the Cages. Survive in the Cages.

That meant getting stronger.

That meant eating. Training.

And yes, that meant begging.

“May I have the food? Please?”

He nodded and shoved the plate forward with the toe of his boot.

Audrey pounced. Beans and rice. She ate with her fingers, relishing each bite. With her mouthed crammed, she looked up at her captor. Was this why he made no protest against being enslaved? If the Asters kept her for too much longer, she’d lose herself completely. She’d become like him.

Never.

The buttered bread was as sweet on her tongue as chocolate cake. Such an indulgence. She pulled the empty plate through the bars and licked it clean.

The man laughed. “The same with everyone.”

“You thought me any different after starving me?”

Dark eyes narrowed. His contemplative expression and golden-hued skin were at odds with his blunt features and scarred upper lip. He knelt, tossed her plate away, and grabbed her hair through the bars.

“This has to go.”

“My hair?”

“How easy is it for me to immobilize you? Just like this?” He gave a shake that rattled her teeth. The head of the serpent tattoo at his temple seemed ready to strike. “No weakness allowed.”

He unlocked the cage and hauled her into the cavelike room.

No weakness? Yeah, right.

Her knees were liquid. Sleeplessness and the cramped, numbing cage had left her weak. More than that, she knew challenging him without any sort of training would be futile. Adrenaline had propelled her initial fight. That fuel was long sapped, taking with it most of her defiance.

“Turn around,” he said, his voice a gravelly rasp. “Hands on the bars. If you so much as move, it won’t be your hair I cut.”

Audrey took a deep breath.
Do this for Jack.

Then . . . other words began to coalesce in her mind. New words.

Vengeance. Judgment. Reckoning.

She liked those words. Would live for them. For the first time, she made a goal beyond rescuing her son. Audrey would burn the whole place down for what they’d done to her family.

She turned and gripped the cold iron bars. Surprising tears came—just a blink of moisture. Caleb had loved her hair. Corn silk, he’d called it. He’d loved when she trailed it down his stomach on the way to sucking him into her mouth.

A lifetime ago.

She tightened her grip and heard the slide of metal being unsheathed. Was he so trusted that the Asters permitted him a weapon?

“Hold still.”

An inexplicable shiver danced up her spine. His voice was hypnotic. Just enough steel, just enough calm. That she could analyze it at all seemed a minor miracle.

The first cut was the toughest. She watched long, caramel-colored strands float to the grungy cave floor. He didn’t hack, but he didn’t take much care, either. Just another chore. A duty he performed without thought—only instinct. More hair scattered on the ground. With roughened palms he pushed her neck forward. The blade scraped up along her nape.

He sheathed the knife and stepped away. “That will do.”

Audrey turned her back to the bars. She ran shaking fingers over his handiwork. Cut close at the base of her skull. Chopped unevenly over her crown and along her temples. She was glad there were no mirrors in the cell.

Her mysterious guide down this dark rabbit hole stood with his arms crossed. Watching her. Sizing her up. An artist would begin a sketch of his body using blocky shapes. Unapologetic rectangles for his limbs. Strong squares for his trunk and head. That same artist would need flowing arcs, too. Swoops. Supple curves. His muscles were that graceful, that prominent.

Charcoal and paper,
she thought.
With a golden brown oil pastel for accents.

Her artistic training was making him into something impressive. He was not.

“We’ll train here in close-quarter combat,” he said. “But for now I want to see what you can do.”

“What, with hand-to-hand fighting? I was brought up learning the martial styles of the Five Clans.”

“No.” His voice was quietly mocking. “With your powers.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time. I have none. Never have.”

Inside her chest, Audrey’s heart began to beat with thunderous pain, but that always happened when she thought about her lack of a Dragon-born gift.

“Fine. Never mind that.” The man rubbed a calloused hand along his hard, square jaw. “You’ll still need to adapt quickly. Learn well and make your matches dramatic. The more entertainment we provide, the better we fare.”

“I don’t care about that shit. You know what I want.”

“Your son.”

“That’s right.”

“And what if regaining your son is your reward? You were promised.”

She stilled. “Dr. Aster won’t give him up until he’s cut down to Jack’s marrow. Dissecting him alive.”

“Another Cage warrior named Hull earned his brother’s freedom from the lab. He won ten straight matches, then bested every opponent he faced at the annual Grievance. The Old Man overruled his son’s protests.”

“And where’s Hull now?”

“Dead.” No inflection. No hint of emotion.

“What a waste.”

“No. His brother and sister-in-law lived. They conceived and bore a son. Their bloodline continues because of Hull’s sacrifice. Now come this way.”

Always that long, confident stride. He simply expected her to follow.

“What’s your name?” she called.

The question had jumped out of her mouth without thought.

He stopped. Looked over his shoulder. His cropped black hair shone in the dim lighting. The serpent tattoo across the back of his skull looked like a living thing—a representation of a warrior’s potency. And a slave’s captivity.

“I am Leto of Clan Garnis. But you’ll call me sir.”

For a moment, Audrey stayed rooted to the hard cave floor. Clan Garnis? Many believed them extinct a century ago, or scattered so far across Russia, China, and the Americas as to blend with the human population. They maintained no government and no stronghold. The myths they imparted had been scattered to the winds.

The Lost Clan.

That explained so much. This man Leto’s admiration for his dead comrade was plain. Perhaps he intended to forge a similar path in order to perpetuate his scattered clan’s bloodline.

Brainwashed or not, he had as much reason to step into the Cages as she did. The futures of their families depended on it.

She shook her head. The last thing she needed was a feeling of kinship with this brute.

“Come,” he said more harshly.

With her teeth gritted but her belly full, Audrey obeyed.

•   •   •

The guards slapped manacles on Nynn’s wrists. Leto refused to think of her by whatever human name she’d taken.

Eyes wide, she stared at her metal-wrapped wrists. “What the hell?”

“They don’t trust you.”

He nodded to the guards and offered his thanks. They escorted him and his charge down another corridor. This one led away from the human quarters and mess hall, toward where the Cage warriors slept in personal dorms, and where they trained. He enjoyed the familiar sights and sounds and smells of being among his colleagues. His domain.

“You’ll never be without escort,” he said. “And unless you prove yourself beyond doubt, you’ll never be without manacles.”

“What about our collars?”

“They’re never removed. But why would it matter? Topside, I’m nothing but a holdover from long ago that no one would believe exists. If humans found out what we really are, we’d all have to hide like cowards. Not just you.”

“
You
talk of hiding and cowardice?” She laughed—a hard, grating sound. “Marrying my husband was the bravest thing I’ve ever done, while you let human criminals lead you around by your throat.”

Leto made no attempt to hide his disgust. To so thoroughly deny her heritage by uniting with a human . . . What Dragon King could do that?

He sneered. “You don’t deserve the honor of fighting here.”

The guards led them to a wide double door made of reinforced steel and the same restrictive properties as were contained within the collar’s matrix. They couldn’t escape the main training arena’s room by using their powers. In fact, the matrix of the door was amplified to kill instantly anyone who breached it.

He told Nynn as much.

“Some have tried, the fools. They wasted their lives. And I was left to explain why my neophyte lay in a melted heap by the door, rather than standing tall in the ring, ready for combat.”

She only nodded
.

After removing Nynn’s manacles, the guards departed to wait in the corridor.

She scanned the large square facility. Leto looked as well, though he knew their perspectives would vary radically. He saw the basics: the high domed ceiling lined with sound-muffling materials, the array of weapons lining the left wall, the X-shaped whipping post in the far corner. His back itched at that harsh reminder of past failures.

For the most part, however, he saw moments earned, taken, beaten into submission. This was where he had trained with his father to become the greatest Cage warrior. Those memories were far more powerful than the cool air, the lingering scent of sweat, and the matrix’s buzzing ozone.

Nynn lifted her gaze to the octagonal training arena. Although only two-thirds the size of the performance Cage, it was still impressive.

“Once locked inside the Cage, the collars deactivate.” He pointed to the mesh steel that comprised the sides and ceiling. “The training room’s doors keep us inside, but the reversed matrix of the Cage allows us free use of our powers. This floor is padded. Real Cages have brushed concrete floors laid over with a five-inch layer of clay.”

“How does that affect fighting?”

Leto raised his eyebrow. Questions. She was progressing faster than he’d expected. The intensity with which she assessed the training arena backed that up.

“The clay is slippery,” he said. “Makes for a tricky start to every contest. But it wears away. Scuffles. Boot treads. The concrete beneath offers more grip. It also means the end of the fight is near. Combatants get tired, sloppy. One wrong hit and bones are broken. Skulls cracked.”

“By your hand.”

“Yes.”

She shuddered slightly, but understanding shone behind her silvery-blue eyes.

She’s catching on.

Leto didn’t like her sharp tongue or her obstinacy, but a flicker of his initial enthusiasm returned.

The shorn hair helped lend her an appearance of strength. He’d already seen and assessed her body, but this was the first he’d truly looked at her features. Wide, wide eyes caught his attention first. Equally wide cheekbones, exotic and high, came next. She had a full lower lip that dragged down at the corners in a stubborn pout. The upper lip sported shapely swoops. Even her nape was worth notice—slender, but with strong tendons that accentuated her upright posture.

Across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose was a healthy smattering of freckles. They were . . . unusual. Intriguing. Colored only a shade darker than her skin, they added personality to the hallmark beauty of their race. When he found himself tracing patterns with his gaze, he looked away.

He knew from gauging her body that she was in good shape. Dr. Aster never let his patients atrophy. They lasted longer if fed well and made to exercise regularly. Rumor had it that some were deprived of the former and forced to do the latter as a corrective measure.

“We have three weeks before the first combat match,” he said. “And a lot of ground to cover.”

“What does a combat match entail?”

“First, culling humans who’ve betrayed the Asters.”

She made a face. “Quite a gruesome opening act.”

“Then Dragon Kings from here in the Asters’ compound compete with each other in nonlethal contests. We perform in a genuine Cage, with seating in the round for the Asters’ guests. Betting is rampant. Winners are rewarded and take one step closer to the annual Grievance.”