Shiver (2 page)

He hit a narrow, dank corridor and the ground’s texture changed. No longer was it dirt, or the sawdust the Lepers spread in the cells to soak up the blood and filth. No, these were bare stone floors, and something so seemingly unimportant made him want to cheer.

People were everywhere—running and frantic—trying to figure out what was happening to the arena. Only a few seemed smart enough to coax the confused
away
from the danger, encouraging them to move in the direction Knox was headed.

The ground rumbled beneath his feet.

Knox paused and raised his arms to keep his balance. It didn’t sound like the explosion had come from the arena, so another part of this underground structure must have blown up. Was the Clash Arena under attack or self-destructing? The chippies suggested attack.

Some of the people crowding beside him screamed in terror, others cried. He’d never seen any of them before but assumed they were staff—cooks, cleaners, the many girls forced into slavery within these walls.

He turned his focus to the large monitor affixed on the wall. A woman in a tight outfit blocked most of his view, but he could see around her. The images flashing were of what he’d left behind, and chaos still reigned. As soon as the brunette ran off, Knox stepped closer and recognized the wild man who’d saved his life. The Recast was pinned down by a Thropod’s pincer.

“Fucking hell, he’s never going to survive
that
without a little help,” he whispered, itching to pull the antidote from his pocket. Knox wanted to repay his debt, but there wasn’t enough time.

The ground stopped shaking, so he reluctantly took off. He hated not being able to
 
return the favor, but if Knox wanted to escape he had to keep going.

The tunnel slanted upward and with each new step, his calves burned a little more, but he didn’t stop his ascent. He couldn’t help but wonder just how deep this arena was buried beneath the city of Clash. Knox had been unconscious when he’d been dumped in the dungeons, and didn’t remember much about his capture or journey—just waking up inside the damp and dank stone walls surrounded by crazed captives. He’d heard fellow prisoners mention the arena went for miles, and even reached the center of the planet Fray, but he assumed it was idle gossip.

With his arms and legs pumping, he ignored the lightheaded feeling sweeping over him and picked up speed until his heart thumped like mad. Glad he’d found what he hoped was an escape route, he wondered where everyone else was. The crowd of people had thinned to leave him in isolation, but he didn’t mind after the cramped dungeons.

When he spotted the aperture up ahead, he almost missed a step because he was so excited. He’d never seen anything more beautiful than the moonlight streaming in from the tunnel opening. He pressed on, determined to reach the outside world and breathe clean air into his lungs, or just run because he could.

Anything
, as long as it meant leaving.

Engrossed in his rampant thoughts of freedom, he lost focus of what lay ahead and caught his foot on something. He stumbled to the ground.

“Fuck.” He landed on his hands and knees, scraping his palms and tearing his jeans.

When he rolled over, he spotted a woman with short, blonde hair lying motionless on the ground. He made a move to stand because if he didn’t get the hell out
right now
, he wasn’t going to make it.
 

He pushed against the rocky ground until he was kneeling, never taking his eyes off the woman. Was she still alive? He’d seen her before, and vaguely remembered her from the arena. There weren’t many female fighters in the dungeons but she had been one of them—he was sure of it. If this structure was going to explode, she might not wake up in time. She might be another violent warrior forced to fight inside this pit, but the fact she’d made it this far proved she was both determined and strong.

Knox took several shallow breaths and was contemplating running when the ground shook a second time.

He stared at the unconscious blonde as the earth trembled and his eyes started playing tricks on him. She transformed into a girl with long, red hair and pale skin—
DD.
The sister he’d failed to protect and had been stolen from his life. If DD was unconscious and so close to safety, but some asshole had passed her by and left her for dead…

The image of his sister faded and she was once again the female gladiator.

No, I can’t leave her.
He’d get her outside, where she’d have a shot at survival.

As he crawled closer, his pulse quickened. Pressing a hand to her back, he waited until her heartbeat fluttered against his palm.

Having made his decision, he stood and took the woman into his arms. He didn’t have far to go, but carrying her made his every step sluggish. And for some reason, the beating of her heart was distracting him. Still, he moved faster, determined to escape before the rumbling reached its peak.

As he stepped outside, he nearly collapsed. The sight of the moonlight was too much to bear and he almost dropped the woman. He refused to dump her so close to the arena and instead held on tighter, stumbling forward and kicking up some dirt as his blood dribbled onto her face.

“Hey! Wh-what’s going on?”

Knox looked down to find the woman waking up. “We…the…” His throat felt parched and his breath erratic. He couldn’t answer.

She wiped away the blood droplets from her cheek. “What the hell?”

“We need to clear the blast radius.”

“Put me down.”

“Not yet—”

“I said
put me down!
” She didn’t give him a chance to respond, instead she squirmed hard enough to force her way out of his grasp. She landed on her feet and struck a defensive pose. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He paused, raising both hands. “I was saving your life.” Her untrusting blue eyes bore into his as if she didn’t believe him. Knox couldn’t blame her. “Look, the arena’s going to blow—”

She smacked him in the face—a quick and powerful jab. “Well, thanks, but I don’t need anyone to rescue me, okay?”

Knox shook his head, wiping the blood from his mouth. He didn’t give chase when she spun around and disappeared into the alley ahead. She moved even faster than the bloodsucker inside the arena.
 

If he didn’t hurry, the arena would blow him to pieces.

Not even vampire toxin can put anyone back together after an explosion.

He distanced himself from the arena’s opening, ignoring the protest of every aching muscle in his body. He should be running as fast as he could, but his limbs refused to cooperate, slowing his movements to a crawl.

When the force of the explosion finally hit, he hadn’t cleared enough of the area. The momentum swept him off his feet and sent him into the air. He flew through a wooden door at the end of the alley, landing headfirst on a stiff surface.

Knox could no longer feel his body, but at least he would die a free man.

Tired, disoriented, and weakened, everything washed out of him and he drifted into darkness.

Knox woke with a start. He absently lifted a hand, hoping to stop the annoying stroking motions against his cheek. Instead, he came face-to-face with a scruffy, gray dog. It took a cautious step back and barked, its penetrating black eyes staring into his.

“Did you just lick me awake?” Knox rubbed the slobber from his prickly face and neck, staining his fingers with a sticky layer of pink drool. “You gross dog! You just licked my blood.” At least this wasn’t one of the Recast trying to pass itself off as a dog.

The canine responded with a bark and a wag of its furry tail, its dark eyes shiny with intelligence and maybe a little amusement.

Knox waved an arm. “Shoo! Just get away from me, you mutt.”

When the dog didn’t move but its pointy ears swiveled like antennas, Knox sighed and attempted to stand up. Something cold pressed against the back of his head.

“I don’t think so. Stay where you are,” a male voice said. The old, grizzled man slowly made his way around, readjusting the end of what turned out to be a dirty shovel, until the metal tip put pressure under Knox’s chin. “I want to see your hands. Keep ’em where I can see ’em.”

Every muscle in Knox’s body tightened, but he wasn’t about to make any sudden movements. Getting knocked out again wasn’t at the top of his to-do list. He slowly raised both palms, trying to show he wasn’t a threat. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“What’re you doing in my stables, stranger?” The bearded man and the dog were staring at him as if he were some kind of criminal, and they both wanted a confession.

He wasn’t a criminal. He’d killed to stay alive, but never by choice. Knox cleared his throat, trying to ignore the parched sensation and the hunger scratching inside his empty stomach. “I’m sorry.” He licked his dry lips. “The explosion threw me. I didn’t mean to end up on private property.” How long had he been unconscious?

He glanced at the doorway and found the splintered door propped against the opening.

The man’s scraggy face hardened. “Were you part of that arena and what happened two days ago?”

“What? It can’t be days, it just happened.”

“I don’t think so. It’s been a couple of days since the blast. I couldn’t move you, I thought you was dead. You was bleedin’ all over my hay.” The man lightened the pressure on the shovel. “Figured as long as you were breathin’, I’d let you be. And if you carked it, I got someone to take care of that too.”

Knox looked up. “Do you know why it happened?” He recalled the chippies all over the stone walls of the arena. Did anyone take responsibility?

His eyes narrowed. “What happened is that Jenks Maine finally got what was comin’ to him, that’s what happened.”

Jenks Maine.
Knox had never met the ruthless bastard responsible for everything that went on inside the Clash Arena, but heard enough about his cruel operation.
 

He inclined his head toward the doorway. “Should I expect trouble out there?”
 

The man shrugged. “Not unless you make trouble for yourself.”

Knox decided not to agitate this man any more than he already had. “I’m sorry about your door.” He had lived most of his life on a farm and knew how hard it could be to make ends meet sometimes. He couldn’t pay to have it repaired, but he wasn’t a stranger to hard labor. “Want me to fix it?”

The man’s shoulders seemed to relax, but he didn’t drop the shovel. “I can take care of it.”

Knox nodded. He respected a proud man. Then again, the old guy probably just wanted to get rid of the pest inside his barn. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

The side of his neck seemed to have a throbbing heartbeat of its own, but was nowhere near as bad as the thirst and hunger tearing his stomach apart. He smelled a familiar metallic tang in the air. He’d lived inside the dungeons long enough to recognize the reek of blood, but it had never made his craving worse. The two noises he couldn’t identify were two drumbeats beating out of time inside his head. Where was that racket coming from?

“You can’t go out there lookin’ like that.” The man pointed, finally withdrawing his shovel from Knox’s chin with a heavy sigh. “Don’t you move an inch,” he said, taking a step into the shadows. “I got good aim, I can spear you with my eyes closed.”

Knox glanced down at his blackened and blood-smeared bare chest, as well as the smoldered jeans. The man was right. If anyone was patrolling the area for escaped gladiators, he’d be stopped for sure. The last thing he needed to do was advertise where he’d come from.

The man returned with a bundle of clothes in his free hand, while the other still gripped the shovel. “I might end up regretting this, but…take these.” The man threw a clean pair of jeans and a sleeveless shirt at him. “There’s some water in the trough, enough for you to clean up. And here”—he leaned forward and threw a well-worn set of boots that bounced off the hay before straightening up—“these will help you get the hell out of my stables.”

“Thanks.”

The man turned to leave.

“Where are your horses?”

“Sold ’em.” He walked away.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Knox called after him.

“And take your dog with you!”

“I don’t have a dog.” Knox stared at the lingering canine. “This isn’t my dog.”

The old man didn’t respond, just disappeared into the shadows. The sound of his steps slowly retreated into the darkness beyond the empty stables.

Knox reached out and the dog inched closer, sniffing his hand. He patted the top of its gray head, and the canine even let him scratch behind its ears. “I suppose you’re here to make sure I get out, huh?”

The dog barked once, but not in the same aggressive manner as before.

It took Knox a few attempts to get upright because of the thumping in his head. When he finally managed to stand, his vision swam. At least there was only one drumbeat now.

Several minutes later—under the watchful eye of the nosy dog—he managed to strip off his torn, tattered jeans, and dumped them. The water in the trough was warm, and combined with a small bar of soap he found was enough to clean his stubbly face and head. He then washed away the other filth he’d accumulated during his escape, and scrubbed as much of the blood from the side of his neck as he could. Without a mirror he couldn’t tell if he’d gotten it all, or check the condition of his wounds. A quick inspection with his fingertips confirmed Amon’s bite. He didn’t dwell on what that meant.