The warrior with ice-blue eyes, his armor black as night, had his broadsword clenched in his hand. And the second was a giant from northern Avalon. With mousy brown hair and a face that looked like it had been carved from a mountain, he stood more than nine feet tall. The big brute was confident enough in his abilities that he hadn’t even worn a helmet for the tournament.
Of the two, I’d prefer mister blue eyes. At least I figured I could seduce him if it came to it.
They circled one another in the arena. A signal went up. The crowd roared. But it wasn’t because someone won. The jumbotron screen announced this was a formal challenge and their fight was to the death.
And they called witches bloodthirsty.
Hypocrisy at its finest.
Uncertainty settled within my soul. I didn’t know what happened after a victor was declared. Not a single person had spoken to me. They acted like I only existed to serve as their prize.
My gaze stayed trained on the duo circling each other.
The giant attacked first, charging the wolf using sheer brute strength. But even in his human form, the wolf was faster. He used the giant’s momentum against him, knocking the brute to his knees.
The giant roared and clamored to his feet, swinging his claymore toward the wolf’s head. He ducked and arced his sword out, drawing first blood.
The audience went nuts.
But they kept at one another. The claymore struck the wolf’s side. If it weren’t for his armor, it would have crushed him. Yet he shook it off. He had a fire inside him. Unlike all the other competitors, he wanted it more, wanted me more.
And even though I had no idea what he would do once he won me, whether he’d kill me or fuck me or both, I wanted him to win. He presented me with a challenge. Because perhaps I could take my enemy down from the inside. Instead of a frontal assault, displaying my magic for all of Avalon to see, I could attempt to undermine from within.
But it was all supposition. I might not make it out of the arena alive unless I used my powers.
The fighting turned brutal. Both men went after the other because their lives depended upon it. The wolf was knocked down by a fist to the head.
He lay on the ground, shaking his head as the giant approached. The crowd was on their feet, chanting their names.
“Rowan. Rowan. Rowan.”
“Taurus. Taurus. Taurus.”
I didn’t know which was which. Not that it mattered.
I held my breath as the giant barreled toward the wolf. My gaze drifted down and connected with his icy glare. Then he shifted his focus back to the fight. And it dawned on me. He was playing the giant. And the giant played right into the man’s hands.
He rushed the wolf with a bellow, his claymore poised to rip the wolf’s head off. But the wolf rose at the last second and thrust his sword across his belly. The giant’s bellow turned into a pained groan as his bowels spilled onto the field.
With a look of utter shock, the giant keeled over dead into a pile of his own filth.
The arena went bonkers. The king rose from his seat and addressed the crowd.
“The winner of the gladiator tournament is Rowan Grant, my son, and the heir to the throne of Avalon. The witch prize is his by right.”
Oh shit.
I’d been rooting for my vilest enemy. He stepped around the fallen giant, his stride suffused with purpose. Determined satisfaction lit his gaze. And I wondered, for the hundredth time in the past hour, if this was the part where I was executed.
His long strides ate up the distance, and I gathered my power as he neared.
If he wanted to slay me, I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. I would boil his skin from his bones before I allowed him to kill me.
But he didn’t do that. He yanked my bound hands off the hook, then dragged me out of the arena behind him. I had no choice but to follow.
“You’re not going to kill me?” I blurted. My voice trembled, and I hated the way it sounded.
The moment we exited the stadium, he shot a dark glower over his shoulder. Blood and gore were splattered over his helmet. “Not tonight,” he sneered in a gravelly bass that rumbled through my chest.
And I was led from the arena without knowing what fate awaited me.
3
Victory quickened my footsteps.
The red-haired witch was mine for the next two weeks. By the laws of our land, I was free to do whatever I wanted with her. I had ideas and plenty of them.
She was a rare beauty.
The moment I spotted her in the clearing with her long waist-length dark red hair blowing around her slim shoulders and a defiant gleam in her eyes that rivaled emeralds, I wanted her. My wolf scented her. And all I’d wanted since that first meeting was to bend her over the nearest surface and rut until my knees buckled.
My wolf paced inside me. Anticipating the moment I freed him to take his pleasure from her body. A body I would know before the sun rose.
She smelled different from previous sacrifices. There was more depth to her being, and she was more vibrantly alive. She didn’t cower or bemoan her fate with tears. No, this witch stared with bold disdain. Like she was better than the lot of us.
I’d bring her down a peg or two before our time together was through.
I led her through the streets of the city. People moved out of the way to let me pass, cheering my victory. It was tradition for the victor to march through the streets on their way home with their prize. Even with dawn an hour away, the streets were lined with revelers. We passed businesses and apartment buildings, parks and restaurants, and even the new movie theater.
The gladiator tournaments were an excuse for citizens to cut loose from their daily lives with feasting and debauchery. It was a deeply embedded tradition in Avalon. One that no one took lightly.
As the prince and heir to the throne, I lived in the castle near the northern end of the city. Our trek took longer than I would have liked. By the time we reached the gray stone walls of the outer bailey, the first rays of sunlight speared the heavens.
It just meant the sun would be up when I fucked her.
At the gated entrance to the castle, I nodded at the guards stationed and tugged my prize none too gently along behind me. She never uttered a word. And I didn’t know why, but her silence pissed me off.
I wanted her fearful sobs and tears. I wanted her to rage and bemoan her fate before begging me to reconsider. Instead, I’d been saddled with a fucking ice princess.
It wouldn’t change the outcome.
Although perhaps once I got her alone and showed her what the next two weeks would be like, her tune would change. Because her body was mine. I ignored the castle staff on my way to my wing. I moved into the south wing on my sixteenth birthday and have lived here ever since. Two alpha shifters couldn’t reside in the same space without coming to blows. It was a mandate set forth by my father to protect the kingdom.
And frankly, I preferred it. I respected my father. He’d ruled our pack and the kingdom successfully for centuries. But I didn’t always like the bastard. If we’d been forced to live in the same space for over two hundred years, one of us would have snapped and annihilated the other.
The door to my quarters opened before we reached it.
“Welcome back, sir. And congratulations.” The ghostly specter held the door with a grin from ear to ear. He was dressed as he always was, in a nineteen-century gentleman’s suit, his golden hair slicked away from his face. Because the poor sot had been dead for two centuries. Granted, he was an excellent butler.