The Darkest Surrender (Lords of the Underworld #8)(92)
Author: Gena Showalter

Since waking up in his arms, she’d known something was different between them and had spent many, many hours puzzling over what it could be. Little flashes of memory had come and gone—the glint of a blade, the drip of crimson, the press of Strider’s skin, the whisper of his breath. The words, “You are mine, and I am yours. We are one. From this moment, we are one.”

Oh, yes. They were wed and she’d never been happier. She owed this man so very much.

She watched as he pulled a packet of Red Hots from his back pocket and shook the contents into his mouth. He chewed, his strong jaw working. Her chest constricted at the sensuality of him.

He must have felt her gaze because he glanced over at her and winked. Again her chest constricted. She had to keep him safe. Whatever that entailed, she had to keep him safe.

She had to get that Rod.

She turned her attention back to her sister and lifted her chin. “I’ll fight,” she said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ONCE AGAIN STRIDER SAT in the stands to watch his woman—wife!—compete. But the Roman Coliseum was a far cry from the bleachers in “Brew City,” Wisconsin. He’d been here a time or two, remembered the travertine, tufa, brick and marble, and had never thought to see such things again. Not in such pristine condition, at least. As if no time had passed, as if the ancient world had somehow blended into the present.

There were four floors. The first three boasted wide, arched entryways fit for nobility, and the fourth, the bottom, had rectangular doorways meant for the common man. Nets rose from the arena to protect the spectators.

And the arena itself, well, he remembered that, too. A wooden floor stained with the blood of thousands covered the entire area, but it was a floor that could be removed, the land then flooded with water to reenact navel battles. Oh, how the Romans had loved their games.

And how the Harpies loved their games. The combatants occupied one of the subterranean chambers, waiting to be summoned. Meanwhile, Juliette droned on and on about what was to happen. If ever there’d been a blah, blah, blah moment, this was it. He wanted to stab his own ears more now than when the twins had been singing.

“—toughest match yet,” she was saying now. “And with two competitions under our belts, this one might just identify a clear leader.”

We know. The teams would fight each other, all at once, with any weapon of their choosing. But they were only allowed one weapon each. They could, however, pick up discarded weapons as the fight progressed.

There would be ten combatants from each team. That was fine, whatever, except Kaia only had seven in her corner—counting herself. Which meant they all had to go in. If they wanted to go in. Big surprise, each of them had wanted, even though they were already at a disadvantage.

Around him, females were cheering. “Hit ’em hard, break their backs, that’s the way to show ’em what they lack!”

Kaia had nearly died mere days ago and though he’d kept her fed and medicated, she wasn’t yet at top strength. But he’d known better than to ask her to bow out. Her pride was important to her, and what was important to her was now important to him.

Even if that meant losing the Paring Rod.

He could always steal it from whoever won it.

Win.

Yeah, yeah. Defeat was on edge. Kaia was a part of them now. She was theirs, and Strider assumed her victory was as important to the demon as his own. He didn’t know if he would experience gut-wrenching pain if she lost. He hadn’t last time, despite the challenge he’d accepted to protect her from other Harpies—and he figured that was because there was a fine line between protecting and punishing to a demon and he could still do the punishing—but then, they hadn’t been married last time. He prayed he did not learn differently today. Actually, he knew he wouldn’t. She wouldn’t lose. Despite her continued weakness, despite the fact that every single member of every single team was going to turn on her first, she had this one in the bag.

Not five minutes ago, he’d held her in his arms, hugging her tight before she abandoned him here.

“Any tips for winning?” she’d asked.

“Yeah. Do what you gotta do to survive.”

“That’s it? Wow. You suck at pep talks.”

He’d gripped her shoulders and peered down at her. “All right, how about this? You’re so emotionally invested in this, you let those emotions color your every move. Normally I’d say that’s dumb, but I like my balls where they are. That’s why I’ll just tell you that you can’t turn your feelings off, but you can use them.”

“How?” she’d gritted out.

“Well, part of you loves the women you’re up against, no matter how badly they’ve treated you, and you can’t deny it.”

She didn’t try.

He continued, “You have to remember that, despite the love you feel, they’ll turn on you in an instant.”

“Okay.”

“Also, you’re easily distracted and—”

“There’s more?”

“Listen. While you’re down there, don’t think about me. Don’t think about what I’m doing or whether I’m okay.”

She snapped her teeth at him. “You’ll be looking for the Paring Rod. How can I not—”

“Don’t think about what I’m doing. Okay? That includes right now, this moment.”

A stiff nod.

“Also, if you don’t defeat them, Kaia, I’m going to kill them far more cruelly than you would have. Defeat issued a challenge to protect you from other Harpies before I came here, but this one is all me.”

Her jaw dropped.

“There. Now you’re properly motivated to do what needs doing. So go kick some ass.”

Beside him, Sabin and Lysander shifted restlessly, bringing him back to the present. Zacharel hadn’t yet made an appearance.

“I hate this Gladiator shit,” Sabin muttered.

“Yes, well, where do you think the Romans learned this kind of behavior?” the angel asked.

Sabin sputtered for a minute. “You’re trying to tell me Harpies are responsible for this? That the Romans learned from them?”

“I must try only if you’re lacking intelligence.”

Sabin opened his mouth to snap a reply, but a trumpet blew, signaling the start of the third game, and the crowd quieted. A second later, several of the iron doors groaned and creaked as they were raised. The combatants spilled out, sprinting into the arena.