Caged Warrior

THREE

The lonayíp 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 across the back of his skull looked alive—a representation of a warrior’s potency. And a slave’s captivity.

“I am Leto of Clan Garnis. But you’ll call me sir.”

She stayed rooted to the hard cave floor. Clan Garnis? Many believed them extinct for centuries, although Audrey knew they yet maintained a place at the Council table. Mal believed them scattered so far across Russia, China, and the Americas that they’d assimilated into the human population. They maintained no known government and no stronghold. The myths they had imparted to their human worshipers were scattered to the winds.

Clan Garnis were the Lost.

That explained so much. This man Leto’s admiration for his dead comrade was plain. Perhaps he intended to forge a similar path in order to perpetuate his scattered clan’s bloodline. Brainwashed or not, he had as much reason to step into the Cages as she did. The futures of their families depended on it.

The last thing she needed was a feeling of kinship with this brute.

“Come,” he said more harshly.

With her teeth gritted but her belly full, Audrey obeyed.

♦ ♦ ♦

The guards slapped manacles on Nynn’s wrists. Leto refused to think of her by whatever human name she’d taken.

She stared at her metal-wrapped wrists. “What the hell?”

“They don’t trust you.”

The guards escorted him and his charge down a bright, open corridor. This one led away from the human quarters and mess hall, toward where the Cage warriors slept in personal dorms, and where they trained. He enjoyed the familiar sights and sounds and smells of being among his colleagues. His domain.

“You’ll never be without escort,” he said. “Unless you prove yourself beyond doubt, you’ll never be without manacles.”

“What about our collars?”

“They’re never removed. Why would it matter? Topside, I’m a holdover from long-ago gods that no one believes in anymore. I’d have to hide like a coward, as you did.”

“You talk of hiding and cowardice?” She laughed—a hard, grating sound. “Marrying Caleb was the bravest thing I’ve ever done. You let human criminals lead you around by your throat.”

To so thoroughly deny her heritage by uniting with a human . . . What Dragon King could do that? “You don’t deserve the honor of fighting here.”

The guards led them to a wide double door made of reinforced steel and the same restrictive properties contained within a collar’s matrix. They couldn’t escape the main training arena’s room by using their powers. In fact, the matrix of the door was amplified to paralyze anyone who breached it.

He told Nynn as much. “Some have tried, the fools. They became drooling cripples.”

The guards removed Nynn’s manacles and departed, locking the door.

She scanned the large square facility. Leto looked as well, though he knew their perspectives would vary radically. He saw the basics: the high domed ceiling lined with sound-muffling materials, weapons along the left wall, the X-shaped whipping post in a shadowy corner. His back itched at that harsh reminder of past indiscretions. For the most part, however, he remembered moments earned, taken, beaten into submission. Those memories were more powerful than the cool air, the lingering scent of sweat, and the matrix’s buzzing ozone.

“Once locked inside the Cage, the collars can be deactivated.” He pointed to the mesh steel that comprised its ceiling and octagonal sides. “The training room’s doors keep us inside, but the reversed matrix of the Cage allows us free use of our powers. This floor is padded. Real Cages are twice as large, with brushed concrete floors with a five-inch layer of clay.”

“How does that affect fighting?”

Leto raised his eyebrow, surprised but gratified. “The clay is slippery. Makes for a tricky start. But it wears away. The concrete offers more grip. It also means the end to the fight is near. Combatants get tired. One wrong hit and bones are broken. Skulls cracked.”

Understanding shone behind her silvery-blue eyes. Leto didn’t like her sharp tongue or her obstinacy, but his initial enthusiasm returned.

He’d already assessed her body, but this was the first time her features had a more powerful hold on his attention. Wide, wide eyes caught his attention first. Equally wide cheekbones, exotic and high, came next. She had a full lower lip that dragged down at the corners in a stubborn pout. Even her nape was worth notice—slender, with strong tendons that accentuated her upright posture. Across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose was a smattering of freckles. When he found himself tracing patterns with his gaze, he looked away.

“We have three weeks before the first combat match,” he said. “And a lot of ground to cover.”

“What does a match entail?”

“Dragon Kings from here in the Asters’ compound compete in nonlethal contests. We perform in a genuine Cage, with seating in the round for the Asters’ guests. Betting is rampant. Winners are rewarded, and take one step closer to the annual Grievance.”

“A Grievance? That’s ancient—from when the Five Clans needed to clear bad blood.”

“Now it’s where the best warriors of the cartels fight for the ultimate prize.”

“Conception.”

Leto nodded. “And with the ultimate risk. At a Grievance we can be beheaded by a Dragon-forged blade, as punishment for losing.”

She blew breath out through her nose. “They’ve co-opted our traditions and made them into something disgusting. What’s the point of earning conception if it comes at the cost of slain Dragon Kings?”

Leto led his charge toward the Cage and opened the gate. “The perpetuation of our own lines. Protecting the futures of our families.”

She shrugged from under his touch. “That’s a selfish way of looking at our people’s march toward extinction.”

“Not my problem.”

He ignored her obvious disgust and locked them in together. The hum of the mesh steel’s reversal surged to life. His gift returned to him, following by white noise. It was a signal deep in his brain to prepare. The collar felt lighter. He stretched his neck from one side to the other. Muscles and joints loose. Ready for battle.

“So what can you do?” she asked, arms crossed.

“I’m Clan Garnis. What do you think?”

“Speed. Reflexes.”

In a blink, he shot behind Nynn. His crooked elbow held her in a chokehold. She gagged when he pressed just above her collar. “A great deal of speed, and excellent reflexes.”

His reflexes were so astonishing that, on occasion, he felt as if he could see his opponents’ moves before their minds twitched with the thought. To his knowledge, there were no other Cage warriors of Clan Garnis. He had no one to ask. Besides, why would he reveal something so advantageous to anyone he might one day face?

He shoved her away. Nynn landed on hands and knees on the padded floor. A coughing fit arched her back.

“Fight me,” he said. “Or I get nasty.”

She held up her middle finger.

Another blink of speed. Another surge of power. He kicked her in the gut.

She clutched her stomach and clasped one hand over her mouth, as if she was ready to be sick. The heavy supper would fuel her body. Eventually. Right now it was a hindrance. He’d be impressed if she managed to keep it down.

“This will only get worse if you resist.”

With blond hair in disarray around her heart-shaped face, Nynn glared at him. Fiercely. Her unearthly blue eyes took on the intensity of a predator. Leto was surprised by the snap of primal awareness. Manhandling her, watching her wash, hearing her beg—nothing had jolted him so strongly. Instead, it was her outright defiance.

A killer instinct, with titanium behind it. A true warrior.

He had hoped for competence. Maybe even skill. The wrath in her expression was a bonus that affected him physically. He would teach her, watch her win, and then he would have her for his prize.

Shaking his head, he reminded himself that her training was his true goal.

Again, a blink. He moved with speed that could barely be seen, or so he was told. He landed a punch against her right kidney.

“You freak! Give me a chance, for the Dragon’s sake.”

“You speak of the Dragon but you lived as a human,” he said, not even winded. “It’s blasphemy.”

“I can’t help how I was raised.”

“Bullshit, as you say.” Leto leaned against the mesh steel. “You were cast out, I assume. I can’t imagine he was worth it.”

She stood. Slowly at first. Knees unsteady. She lifted her chin. That killer instinct had returned. Leto breathed in and relished the sight.

“He was worth everything I’ve endured, everything I ever will. And you’ve never felt its like.”

Anger lifted in Leto’s chest. Almost pain. Almost shame. Because she was right.

Blink. Kick to the lower back. Scream.

This time she didn’t fall. She whirled on the balls of her feet. The blaze of her silvery eyes caught with his. An uncanny glow stopped him cold.

Fireworks.

He tried to shake away the illusion, but it remained. Intensified. Thousands of fireworks bubbled inside a concentrated circle between Nynn’s hands. Sparks. Pinging blasts of flame were trapped in a sphere of energy that built and built—a balloon ready to burst. Her face contorted. Sweat trailed down her cheeks. She shrieked with the fury of a Pendray in the throes of a full berserker rage.

The bubble burst. Leto scrambled out of its path, but even he wasn’t fast enough.

Pure concussive force threw him against the mesh steel. He hit face-first and grunted. He couldn’t hear. Had he landed on the brushed concrete of the genuine Cage, he would’ve busted both kneecaps. With any more force, she would’ve broken every bone in his back.

He used the mesh steel to climb to his feet, ready to defend himself. But Nynn was on her hands and knees, shaking.

He hadn’t expected her to leave her first Cage match with all four limbs intact. Part of him hadn’t believed the pictures of Dr. Aster’s damaged lab. A hoax? An incentive to challenge him? Yet Nynn possessed the most remarkable gift he’d ever witnessed. She was a volcano bursting open and flinging burning, breakneck debris.

Nynn rasped, “What was that?” Then she sagged onto the Cage floor.

He staggered forward. His extraordinary senses returned.

From a corner of the arena room came slow, deliberate clapping. A shuffle and the thump of a cane followed. Leto’s gaze sliced through the darkness. Entirely bald and pushing eighty years, Old Man Aster emerged from the shadows. His maniacal grin carved wrinkles into the pantomime of a clown’s smile. He was only missing the face paint. His sallow complexion—after having spent most of the last five decades belowground—was eerie enough.

No matter his value to the Asters, Leto was always disturbed by that warped, skeletal appearance.

“I told you.” His voice was cultured, but scratched by his advanced age. “She’s amazing. She’ll rival you one day, my champion.”

Leto straightened to his full height. Upon the raised floor of the Cage, he had the higher vantage. That didn’t matter when staring into his master’s eyes. His pride twitched. “Is that what you want, sir? For her to best me?”

“No, Leto. You are going to do what you do best: make our family very wealthy and make me very proud.” He nodded toward Nynn’s fallen body. “To do so, you will fight with Malnefoley’s cousin . . . as your partner.”