The Darkest Surrender

Lazarus were now rolling in the snow, leaving pools of blood in their wake. Her stomach clenched.

Don’t worry. He can take care of himself.

That didn’t stop her from trembling as she crouched on the fringes of the crowd and sniffed, searching for her mother’s familiar scent. Nothing. She inched forward. Still nothing. To the right. Nothing. To the left—there!

She propelled in that direction, staying in the shadows as much as possible. All too soon the mountain’s incline stopped her forward progress. She glanced upward. Ice, jagged rocks. A ledge.

A ledge that most likely led to a cavern.

How cliché. Harpies could jump higher than humans, and even hover in the air for short periods of time, but because their wings were so small, they couldn’t fly. She had to do this the hard way and climb. She placed her hands and feet precisely, lest a pebble or ice chunk fall. If the women were up there—and she thought that they were, the unimaginative villains—the slightest noise could alert them. Oh, she didn’t doubt that they heard the chaos below, but that was something they’d expected.

The clenching in her stomach worsened when a voice she recognized as belonging to an Eagleshield whooped and shouted from below, “That’s the way, cowboy. Beat his face in!”

Who was the cowboy? Strider or Lazarus? Her money was on Lazarus because Juliette was an Eagleshield, which meant her clan would prefer him to Strider. Even though Strider was a delicious Lord of the Underworld. Idiots. They made her ashamed to call herself a Harpy.

“Holy hell, I think you broke his nose. Sweetest punch ever. Do it again! Do it again,” someone else chanted.

“Gut him!”

“I get to nail the winner!”

“No way. I do.”

You can’t afford to look.

Up she continued to climb, not pausing until she reached the ledge. Her arms shook and her thighs burned, but she held herself steady, listening. There was a murmur of voices, yes, but they were whispered and she couldn’t tell if they were male or female. Couldn’t even guess how many were speaking.

To find out, she’d have to go in.

If they spotted her, they’d fight her. But a fight was better than a secret meeting, where plans were made and enacted. At the very least, she’d prevent the attendees from solidifying any goals.

She inhaled a measured breath, reached down, dangling from the ledge by one hand and palmed a dagger. Then she did the same with the other hand, until she was two-fisting weapons and ice. Then she hauled herself over.

A mistake. One she knew she would regret forever.

She’d been set up, she immediately realized with dread.

There was no time to act. Manacles shot out from the bottom sides of the cavern and latched around her ankles, metal teeth digging so deep they hit bone. She stifled her cry of pain, even as her knees buckled. Can’t distract Strider.

Her mother and Juliette hadn’t met in private. They hadn’t met at all. They’d simply assembled a group of murder-minded Hunters. And those Hunters were staring at her, smiling, as if they’d been waiting for her all along.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

WIN, WIN, WIN.

As Strider fought the strongest immortal he’d ever encountered, his demon chanted excitedly, nervously. That wouldn’t have been so bad, or so distracting, if there hadn’t been another voice inside his head. Tabitha’s. Prodding him toward a raging darkness he’d never felt before.

They want to kill her. They will kill her.

He damn well knew the Harpies wanted to kill her. Would they succeed, though? Hell, no. But if Tabitha was talking to him, she couldn’t be meeting with Juliette. And if she wasn’t meeting with Juliette, why the hell had he accepted a challenge he might not be able to win, just to distract the ranks, giving Kaia time to infiltrate her enemy’s camp?

WIN!

You aren’t helping. Hard knuckles connected with his mouth, his teeth shredding the bastard’s skin. Not quite the silver lining of his dreams. His brain banged against his skull and for a moment, he saw stars. He hated stars. Blood coated his tongue, slid down his throat. Lazarus rolled on top of him, pinning his shoulders with firm, bony knees. Punch, punch, punch.

Bone cracked. Broke. Shattered.

WIN!

I damn well know, he mentally sneered. And he would win this. Just as soon as he found his knives in the blood-stained snow. Bastard was going to lose his head. Maybe. Hopefully.

Surely.

At the very least, Lazarus was going to spill his guts. He was a threat to Kaia. Threats to Kaia were not allowed to live.

She will die. Tonight. There is nothing you can do to save her. Tabitha again.

Punch, punch, punch.

More stars, riding the coattails of pain. Rage stormed through him, lightning caged too long, finally released. He bucked with all his strength, sending Lazarus crashing behind him.

Strider was on his feet in an instant. Through swollen eyes, he saw Lazarus smile with delight as he, too, stood. In the back of Strider’s mind, he knew Lazarus could have done a lot worse to him. Could have sliced and diced him. Could have gone for his man-business. Instead, the child of a god and a nightmarish monster had used his fists. What was up with that?

As the Harpies cheered, the warriors circled each other.

“How predictable you are,” Lazarus tsked under his tongue. And wasn’t that weird. He’d spoken in the language of the gods, used so long ago. A language the Harpies probably didn’t understand.

Strider replied using the same harsh tones and nearly forgotten words. “How pathetic you are. Lazarus the Lapdog, Juliette’s bitch.”

Bye-bye smile. Gold star for Strider—and suddenly, he really liked stars. Go figure. Defeat chuckled.

“You think you’ll be any different? Juliette will enslave you the same way she has enslaved me. What else do you think this competition is about? Not the idiotic games these females like to play. This is simply about punishing the redhead.”

“For what you did, the way I hear it.”

Lazarus shrugged, unconcerned. “She freed me. The blame falls on her.”

“She was a child.”

Another shrug of those wide shoulders. “And I was worked into a fury over my circumstances. I cannot control myself when the fury hits.”

Which meant he wasn’t worked into a fury right now. Or, if he was, the chains tattooed around his neck and wrists prevented him from doing anything about it.

“Start fighting again already,” a Harpy called.

“Seriously. Bor-ing!” This speaker tossed an empty beer bottle at him and the glass slammed against his stomach.

WIN!

Stupid Defeat.

You talk. She dies. And there was Tabitha yet again.

He gnashed his molars. He knew the bitch was simply taunting him, trying to distract him, to work him into a lather, convincing him to walk away from this altercation and purposely lose. Then he’d be out for the count and