Caged Warrior

THREE

The lonayip bastard.

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

Audrey’s stomach was a raging beast gnawing through her skin. It wanted the freedom to scramble between those iron bars and gorge. Dizzy on the scent of fresh meat and vegetables, she closed her eyes. There was nothing to do but beg.

She had begged for mercy in the labs. Needles, scalpels, saws—torture brought out the animal in a girl. When survival hinged on a sadist’s caprice, the words had babbled from her lips. Before 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 . . .

She had a chance.

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

Risking an entire year before seeing Jack again was unbearable. Cage fighting was a temporary measure. She needed to escape and save her son.

That meant learning this complex inside out—from its physical layout to every single person inside it. Roles. Timetables. Coveted bribes. She would need to try getting another message to Mal. Pinning her hopes on one hastily penned letter wasn’t enough. At the lab she’d managed to conceal three Post-it notes before her hands were cuffed. The pen had taken longer to find. Months of vigilance. Amazing that she’d lived in hope of finding what other people took for granted. Opportunity had come in the form of a careless assistant and his gaping lab coat. Writing had required as much of her blood as it had dried-up ink.

Reed of Tigony had been so broken. She had no way of knowing his fate, or the fate of her letter. She had no faith in the Council senators, either, who’d pressured Mal into sending her into exile after her marriage to Caleb. They’d been waiting for any excuse to exert power over the Usurper—the derogatory name used against Malnefoley. Common sense said the Council wouldn’t sit back while Dragon Kings were yanked out of their homes, tortured, and forced to fight as slaves for human crime bosses. But common sense rarely applied in politics.

Buying time meant she would need to survive in the Cages.

That meant getting stronger. Eating. Training. And, yes, that meant begging.

“May I have the food? Please?”

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

Audrey pounced. Beans and rice. She ate with her fingers, relishing each bite. The buttered bread was as sweet as chocolate cake. Such an indulgence. 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 too much longer, she’d lose herself. She’d become like him.

Never.

“Enough.” He knelt, tossed her plate away, and grabbed her hair through the bars. “This has to go.”

“My hair?”

“See how easy it is for me to immobilize you? No weakness allowed.”

He unlocked the cage and dragged her out.

No weakness? Yeah, right. Her knees were liquid. Sleeplessness and the cramped cage had left her weak. Adrenaline had propelled her initial fight. That fuel was long sapped.

“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.

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 had a goal beyond rescuing her son. She’d burn the whole place down for what had been done to her family.

She gripped the cold iron bars, blinking back surprising 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 her captor 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 care either. Just another duty he performed without thought. More hair scattered on the ground.

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

Audrey turned her back to the bars. She ran shaking fingers over where he’d cut close at the base of her skull. Choppy, uneven strands ran along her crown and temples.

Her mysterious guide down this dark rabbit hole stood watching her. Sizing her up. She would sketch his body using blocky shapes. Unapologetic rectangles for his limbs. Strong squares for his trunk and head. Yet a true representation would demand flowing arcs, too. Swoops. Supple curves. His muscles were that graceful, that prominent.

Charcoal and paper, she thought. With golden brown oil pastels 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.”

“You already got a taste of that. I was brought up learning the martial styles of the Five Clans.”

“No. With your powers.”

Audrey’s heart beat with thunderous pain, which always happened when she thought about her lack of a Dragon-born gift. But why?

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

“Lie all you want. You’ll still need to adapt. The more entertainment we provide, the better we fare.”

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

“Your son.”

“That’s right.”

The man rubbed a calloused hand along his hard, square jaw. “Regaining your son is your reward. You were promised.”

“I don’t believe it. Dr. Aster won’t give him up until he’s cut down to Jack’s marrow, dissecting him alive.”

“A Cage warrior named Honrovish won ten straight matches. As reward, the Old Man overruled Dr. Aster’s protests and released Honrovish’s brother.”

“Where’s Honrovish now?”

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

“What a waste.”

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

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

“What’s your name?” The question jumped out of her mouth.

He stopped. Looked over his shoulder. His cropped black hair shone in the dim lighting. The serpent tattoo