match. He caught her around the middle. Momentum threw her onto his forearm. Again he hurled her to the ground. He pinned her with his boot heel on her collar, right over her larynx.
“You’ll only hurt yourself. Save this fire. You’ll need it for the Cages.”
She cradled her elbow and glared up with pale, pale eyes—maybe blue.
“I’m to train you for your first bout in three weeks,” he continued. “Normally we’d have more time, but Old Man Aster wants you ready by then. He’ll be hosting many important people.”
He removed his boot and grabbed a fistful of hair—a honey blond shade that trailed down her back. He’d need to fix that. His actions were proof of how dangerous long hair could be in battle.
“Let go of me!”
“No.” He dragged her back to the main body of the training room. He shoved her into a crevice that had been carved by a steady trickle of water. “Wash yourself. I won’t work with garbage.”
She hissed as cold water drenched her face, sluiced down her back. The thin paper hospital gown clung to her body. Soon it would be as useless as wet tissue. He had proper armor for her to change into. Eventually. First, she needed to learn her place.
“Soap?”
Leto crossed his arms. “What was that?”
She pinched her lips into a tight white line. That honey-colored hair darkened beneath the water’s trickle. Her arms and legs trembled. She closed into a protective ball.
If the woman didn’t ask, Leto would have a despicable chore ahead of him. On a certain level he would enjoy breaking her. Yet he craved a real opponent. She had that potential, if she proved smart enough to know when to back down.
“May I have some soap?” The effort of asking contorted her features with fury.
“Perhaps.”
Slowly, he knelt before her. He’d trained enough for the Cages to know when the appearance of gentleness held greater power than aggression. She backed deeper into the crevice, but her fear was nowhere to be seen. Those pale, almost silver eyes were visible through the water dribbling down her face. Already she was cleaner. He could see more of her features.
“I will not give much advice beyond techniques for fighting. But listen to me now: Save your hostility. I am not your enemy.”
“Bullshit.”
She whipped wet hair back from her heart-shaped face. Her pointed chin was haughty, but her lips were delicate. Thin. Tremulous. As with every Dragon King, her skin was naturally tan. Hers was overlaid with a shimmering luster, like gold beneath a blazing light. Wide cheekbones were streaked with freckles, not the dirt he’d assumed. The water darkened her lashes and framed those nearly translucent eyes. Her gaze was canny. She assessed every detail, even through her fury.
Intelligence in a trainee was a double-edged sword.
“Become a half-dead cripple for all I care,” Leto said with a shrug. “You know it takes a great deal to kill a Dragon King. But the crowd loves when combatants bleed and scream. No one mourns.”
“My son would mourn me,” she whispered.
“He already does. Dr. Aster will have told him you’re dead.”
“I was promised my son. One year more.”
He almost pitied the woman’s naivete. She’d be lucky to stand or talk or chew after her first match. Yes, she would heal, as all Dragon Kings did, but the process was imperfect. Amputated limbs never grew back. Minds cracked into mad pieces. Scars remained. His split lip and lashed back were a testament to that.
He masked his pessimism and long-ago pains. This was his responsibility. He had yet to fail the Old Man. He wouldn’t let this woman destroy the respect Leto had spent years acquiring.
“Learn to fight,” he said. “Or you’ll suffer as others have.”
She shuddered. The hospital gown clung to her. She tucked her legs beneath her and crossed shaky arms over her breasts. The water let her keep few secrets. “And you’re here to teach me?”
“You would’ve saved yourself a lot of abuse had you asked that question twenty minutes ago.”
Leto only laughed. “Your name. Now.”
She lashed out with a tight fist. He caught it easily, then the next one. The only weapon she had left—one she might not have realized—was the surprise of her breasts. The soaked paper gown outlined their lithe, luscious shape. Leto forced his gaze back to her face.
“Your name,” he said with growing menace. “Unless you enjoy being called lab filth.”
“My name in exchange for soap.”
He grinned. This was going to be fun.
“Agreed.”
A swallow disappeared beneath the edge of her collar. She lifted her chin. “My name is Audrey MacLaren.”
TWO
Your real name.”
Dragon be, his calmness was irritating. He let go of her fists.
Audrey had lost feeling in her fingers and toes. The hospital gown disintegrated into little balls of paper along her shoulder.
“It is. I’m Audrey MacLaren.”
“Maybe out there with the humans. I won’t speak that dirt down here.”
“Sure, because this place is so pristine.”
“My rules.”
“You sound like my son. Petulant. Expecting to get your way.”
He stared down at her with abject condescension. “And I suppose he got his way in Aster’s lab?”
“You piece of shit!”
“Call me what you like. That won’t change your situation.”
Everything about his raw brawn and arrogant posture said fighting back would be a useless waste of energy. She was too weak with hunger and too shattered by pain to resist with more than words.
But she
“I was born Nynn of Clan Tigony.”
The man flinched. She’d dented his arrogant exterior. “A Tigony? In the Cages?”
“You heard me. Malnefoley, the Honorable Giva, is my cousin.”
Malnefoley was the leader of the ten-person Council that protected the Dragon Kings’ ancient traditions.
“Your origins don’t matter down here.” The man recovered as quickly from mental surprise as he did from physical attacks. “Here, we only fight for the Asters.”
She couldn’t read his eyes—eyes the rich brown of an antique book’s leather binding—but she compensated with other clues. His shoulders were not quite as relaxed. Tension had replaced the grace of his assured movements. Lines around his mouth tightened.
Just what power did he possess? If she could learn his clan, she would know. Each had particular abilities, passed down through dwindling generations. The Tigony had not inspired myths of Zeus’s lightning bolt by accident. They harnessed and concentrated kinetic energy—which wound up looking very much like an electrical storm.
But her tormentor could be crossbred.
Though Audrey had been raised among the Tigony, few had let her forget her origins. Her unknown father was Pendray, one of the vicious berserkers that had inspired Norse and Celtic myths. Only Mal had forgiven her
