There was a murmur from those around her, and she wished she understood the significance.
“You’re on.” Varga’s voice was a deep, rumbling growl, as if the planet itself was speaking. “I wouldn’t mind a little human to fuck.”
“Never.” Baralt’s eyes blazed.
Relkhei laughed. “Then let the games begin.”
There was no other signal. The two males flew at each other as the arena erupted with cheers. They both moved with unbelievable speed, and her heart pounded along with the punishing blows they exchanged. Baralt roared, and she saw a streak of blood darken his white fur. Her stomach twisted.
“First blood,” Mehexip cheered.
Baralt barely paused before resuming his attack, but even though she could hear the heavy thud of his blows, neither they nor the rake of his claws seemed to affect Varga.
“Did you know that he can turn his skin to stone?” a tall female with ice-blue scales exclaimed to the female next to her.
“Really? Do you think he can do that all over? That could be…useful,” her friend responded, and they both tittered.
Her stomach clenched again. How could Baralt fight an opponent who could turn to stone?
“Varga’s weakness is the scars,” Mehexip answered her unspoken question. He was watching the fight with professional detachment, but she was too anxious for information to move away. “There? See that?” A thin trickle of gold flowed from a wound on Varga’s chest. “Baralt managed to catch the edge of one with his claws. First blood.”
“You mean second blood,” she blurted out.
“No. The contest is won by the first person to draw blood three times.” He shot her a triumphant glance. “I suspect most of it will belong to Baralt.”
The battle continued for what seemed like hours as she watched in horror, unable to look away. The heat of the three suns beat down on the arena, and the crowd screamed with every blow, but it all faded away except for the two males fighting on the sand. Even her untrained eye could tell that they were very evenly matched. Baralt dealt a punishing blow, knocking Varga to the ground, but it didn’t count as a blood blow. Then Varga caught Baralt across the scalp, and blood streamed down Baralt’s face. She couldn’t help giving a horrified gasp.
Mehexip laughed. “I knew you had feelings for the bastard. It will make it even sweeter when he leaves you behind.”
She ignored him, too focused on the fight to respond. If Varga managed to make Baralt bleed one more time…
But the next blood to be spilled belonged to Varga. They were tied. The pace of the match had slowed—they were both obviously exhausted—and the crowd yelled insults and encouragement. Varga aimed for Baralt’s stomach, but Baralt ducked back, and the blow missed. She watched in horror as Baralt’s knee gave out, and he started to fall, but with a last remnant of his incredible speed, he reached out and took Varga with him, slicing one of the scars in the process. Third blood. Baralt had won.
Baralt rolled out from under Varga’s body and pushed himself painfully to his feet, then turned to assist his friend up as well. It had been a good match, and he was oddly grateful that Relkhei had offered him the opportunity to end his fighting career in such a way.
“Well met, my friend,” he said, retaining his clasp for a second.
“Well met. Now go claim your female. Everything is prepared.”
His hand tightened. “I hope we meet again.”
“If only you weren’t going to that damn ice planet. I don’t like the cold. Now go. Your female is waiting.”
Baralt dipped his head and turned to the stands. The crowds cheered, throwing flowers and coins at his feet, but he ignored them, his only focus on Isabel. She was leaning over the side of the box, watching him anxiously. Was she truly concerned for him? Or only because he was her path to freedom?
No. He knew she worried about him, and he refused to believe it was only because he would be useful to her. He limped his way across the sand, no longer trying to hide his injury. There were no more opponents studying his weakness, and he found he didn’t care in the least. All he cared about was the female waiting for him.
“Congratulations.” Relkhei’s voice was as mocking as ever, but Baralt could see the fury in his eyes. It lessened somewhat at the sight of his injuries.
“I have need of my female,” he growled.
“Ah, yes. I remember your rather dramatic departure after the death match. Are you planning to—”
He had already reached Isabel and thrown her over his shoulder. Her small fists beat against his back, just as they had the previous time, but at least she was just acting this time. He hoped.
“Where?”
Relkhei eyed him, and for a terrible moment, Baralt thought he would renege on their agreement, but then he summoned one of his servants.
“Take our victor to the blue room so that he may enjoy his spoils. Come find me when you are capable of rational thought, Baralt. I have a proposition for you.”
He grunted an assent and followed the servant out of the box.
Chapter Thirteen
Relkhei’s servant led Baralt along a wide passageway, then threw open a set of double doors to a large room overlooking an interior courtyard. Although elaborate glass mosaic tiles in multiple shades of blue covered the walls and floor, the only furniture was a large bed in the very center of the room. The tall posts at each corner of the bed were draped with golden chains.
“Put me down,” Isabel demanded as soon as the door closed behind them. “You’re hurt—”
He let her slide down his front but put a gentle hand over her mouth as he checked for listening devices. Dark eyes glared at him, but she didn’t attempt to speak until he removed his hand. As expected, he immediately picked up a signal, so he activated the jamming device in his belt, then nodded.
“I’m sorry, my aria,
