What she wanted didn’t matter, however. Not now. Do what you gotta do to survive, Strider had told her.
It was time.
Finally she opened her mind to the heat, welcoming it, letting it grow, spread—consume.
Hotter…hotter… She didn’t know what to expect. Last time, the change had come over her so unexpectedly, she hadn’t had a second to stop and think about what was happening. What would she do if the flames refused to come?
Shock clouded her mother’s expression. There was a roar in Kaia’s ears, her body hotter, hotter, then all she could see was a cerulean haze. In less than a heartbeat, the flames had coiled from her pores, catching every inch of her in a raging inferno. Even her clothes burned away.
“Sorry about this, Mom,” she said. She leapt, closing the distance between them. Contact. They fell to the ground. Flames jumped from Kaia to Tabitha. She paused, waiting.
Where were her mother’s screams?
“You really think I would have slept with a Phoenix if I wasn’t protected against his fire? But I’m impressed. You fooled me. I had no idea you were capable of this.”
“I—I—” Had no response. Was too stunned.
Tabitha went on, “I can’t summon the flames, but I can withstand them. So, fight on.”
Once again Kaia was rolled to her back and punched over and over again. This she allowed, more from her own sense of astonishment than an inability to fend her mother off.
When her senses crystallized back into focus, she stopped trying to protect her face and neck. There was only one way to end this.
The punches continued to descend. As sharp pain exploded through her, her eyesight soon obliterated, her throat soon crushed—and knowing claws were coming next, and with them, the loss of her head—the heat was replaced by a return of her cold determination.
Do whatever it takes.
Kaia arched up, still taking the blows. Her mother suspected nothing, too lost in the rhythm of her fists, expecting Kaia to slip into unconsciousness at any moment. Kaia reached around her mother’s back and ripped. A shriek echoed through the air as warm blood coated her hands. Those fists finally stopped raining. The weight lifted from her shoulders.
Kaia brought her hands to her mouth and licked. Anything to survive, she told herself again. Blood, any blood, was medicine and she needed to heal. Her mother’s life force slid down her decimated throat and into her stomach. The effect wasn’t as powerful as when she drank from Strider, but her vision cleared somewhat and she sat up the rest of the way.
Her mother lay a few feet away from her, unconscious and naked from the blaze. She might have withstood a broken wing, but she couldn’t withstand a total loss of them. Her back was a mess, her wings completely gone. Kaia’s chest constricted. In sorrow that their feud had come to this, in pride that she had won.
She considered her surroundings. The rest of the fight had ended, as well. To her disappointment, she saw that the Eagleshields had defeated her sisters, who had in turn defeated the Skyhawks. Those who were still standing regarded her with stunned expressions. She only cared about her team.
Thankfully, every beloved member was alive. Held at bay by sword-point, but alive. One at a time, she met each of their gazes. They nodded in apology and appreciation. She didn’t care that they’d lost—only that they lived.
They would have a chance at vindication during the next competition. And perhaps she could have validation now. Unconcerned by her nakedness, she lumbered to her feet. No matter what happened next, there were now only three contenders for first place in round four. And whoever won there would win everything. Bragging rights and the Paring Rod.
Had Strider realized how close they were to ultimate victory?
Strider. Her sisters might be alive, but she had lost. By defeating her team, the Eagleshields had defeated her. Strider had just lost his own challenge.
No, she assured herself in the next instant. He’d only sworn to kill those who defeated her. Or was it hurt her? Either way, there’d been no time limit for his death-blow deliveries. Right?
She searched the cheering crowd, but caught no sight of him. There were Sabin and Lysander, who’d disappeared for a while, too, but had now returned. Both were tense, pale and agitated, clearly wanting to grab their women and leave.
Was Strider okay? Where had he gone?
Was he currently in pain?
She could have challenged the Eagleshields and continued the fight. But she couldn’t disable all of them at the same time. One of her team members would be harmed, maybe killed. So she had to decide. Save them, or save Strider agonizing pain.
Praying he would understand, she knelt, admitting defeat.
Three things happened at once. Their surroundings changed, the Coliseum no longer new and fresh but old and crumbling, man-made blockades and humans suddenly materializing around them. Juliette’s scream of rage and disbelief echoed from the walls. And, worst of all, Strider’s agonized shout cut through her soul.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ABSOLUTE, UTTER CHAOS surrounded him.
Winded, stricken to his knees by debilitating pain, Strider gripped the Paring Rod. Harpies, consorts and slaves raced in every direction, trying to get away before the cops arrived. And they would, bringing reporters with them. Countless laws had been broken and a national treasure desecrated. Even now, blood soaked the ground, pooling around Strider’s feet.
What the hell should he do? And why was his demon so agonized, moaning and writhing inside his head? They’d won. Hadn’t they?
The moment Lazarus lost his head, the artifact had appeared. Something shimmery had risen from his body and been sucked into the tip of the Rod as if a vacuum switch had been thrown. The warrior’s soul, probably, the rest joining the piece inside.
No longer able to hold the illusion, the world had returned to normal. Strider hadn’t thought of that little complication, and therefore hadn’t prepared for it. Had only considered at last acquiring the Rod. Now he had it, but few options for successfully hiding it.
Juliette knew her man was dead, knew he wouldn’t have disobeyed her otherwise. That scream… She would be searching for the body. Would learn who was responsible. There’d be no covering up the truth. Not now. Too many people had seen Strider hovering over the lifeless body, a bloody sword in hand. Not that he would have tried to cover up the truth. He’d done the crime, the consequences his to bear.
Now, though, he’d brought evil to Kaia’s door. Juliette would no longer be content to humiliate her. Juliette would want to punish her. Hurt her. Destroy her.
The truth struck him and he wanted to vomit. What the hell had he done?
Strider lumbered to his feet, his head swimming. He swayed, comprehension a bitch slap of truth. He had challenged Kaia to win the game; she must have lost. Shit. Shit! Was she okay?
Someone slammed into him and he stumbled, his pain intensifying. His grip tightened on the Rod. He had to keep it safe; he also had to reach Kaia. Sabin and Lysander were probably looking for their women, so they would be no help.
With his free hand, Strider jerked his cell phone out of his pocket. He needed Lucien.
His vision was too blurry to see the numbers. He tried to call the keeper of Death, anyway. The warrior was on speed dial, so all Strider had to do was press three numbers—just three—then utter one word—help—and his friend would appear.
Someone else bumped into him and he stumbled more forcefully. The phone fell from his hand, clattering to the pavement. Shit! He bent down, his bones and joints protesting as he patted the area around him. Finally his fingers closed around the plastic.