The Ruby Circle (Bloodlines #6)(61)
Author: Richelle Mead

While Chris had been speaking, other Warriors had been setting up the arena with an odd assortment of items: wooden boxes, tin cans, buckets, cinder blocks. I wondered if there was some sort of obstacle course in the works. When they finished that task, they came out to all the recruits and gave us each a wooden heart attached to a cord. My assumed name—Fiona Gray—was written on it. Eddie, going by Fred Gray, also received one.

“This represents your heart—your life,” said Chris. “Right now we need to know who wants this the most—who’s willing to do whatever it takes to be the victor. Ladies, please step aside and take seats over there.” He pointed to a section of the stands. “You guys, go find spots wherever you want.”

I met Eddie’s eyes briefly as we turned to each other before parting. “Good luck,” I said.

“No luck needed with this lot,” he replied.

I smiled at that and sat down beside a surly looking girl who was about a head taller than me and nearly as muscled as Chris. There were about thirty male recruits, and they scattered throughout the arena, taking positions they thought would be most strategic. Some stood on the crates, some staked out items that looked like they could be made into weapons—like the cinder blocks. Eddie based his position on those of the other combatants, selecting a place that gave him space and a good vantage.

“For the next hour,” Chris announced, “your goal is to collect as many of your opponents’ hearts as possible, by any means necessary. Everything in this arena is fair game. Any tactic is fair game—though we do ask that you try not to kill anyone. The six competitors with the most hearts at the end of the hour will advance. If at any time you feel incapable of going on, simply retreat over to that bench”—he pointed at another section of the stands, where a man in a red hat stood—“and place both palms down. That will release you from the challenge, and Bart will give you any first aid needed.”

Bart, in a plaid shirt and ripped-up jeans, didn’t strike me as someone who’d had any official medical training, but maybe appearances were deceiving.

My stomach was in knots as Chris asked if there were any questions and checked to make sure everyone was ready. Sabrina had warned us there’d be some sort of physical competition, but she hadn’t known the specifics. They changed year to year so that no sponsor could warn their recruits in advance. Apparently, the Warriors wanted things to stay fair, which seemed ironic considering the drugged and worn-down state they’d had Sonya in before bringing her to an attempted execution.

Chris held up his hand to mark the start, and a tense silence filled the air. Eddie leaned forward, squarely in his zone, eyes sharp and body ready. “Begin!” yelled Chris, bringing his hand down.

What followed next was chaos.

The guys fell on each other like a pack of dogs fighting for a scrap of meat. Some went for full-on bodily contact, attempting to throw each other to the ground and steal hearts. Other competitors took a more savage approach, hurling cinder blocks and wielding other debris as weapons. Most of my attention stayed on Eddie, who took a calmer approach and waited for people to come after him. His strength wasn’t initially obvious, and many thought he’d be easy prey. Their mistaken beliefs were soon corrected as he dispatched one attacker after another, knocking them out with precision punches and kicks—then collecting their hearts afterward. Losing your heart didn’t mean you were out of the competition. If you could recover your heart—or simply have a majority at the end of the hour—it was all good. Some of those Eddie took hearts from attempted recovery. Others moved on to seemingly easier foes.

My real heart—the one in my chest—thudded as I watched Eddie. I needed him to stay in the competition. I needed us both to. So far, there didn’t seem to be any cause to worry. He was clearly faster and stronger than most people out there, plus he had the seasoning and experience to make use of his gifts. Others, though strong, had no real skills and simply relied on brute force—which proved effective in some cases. I saw one guy slam a wooden plank into another’s knee, causing the victim to crumple in pain and scream as he fell. His attacker snatched away the victory heart, ignoring his opponent’s pleas for help in getting to Bart and first aid. Eddie happened to be passing by at the time and paused to help the fallen guy get to the bench.

Another guy—the one who’d let out the earlier primal scream—was also making pretty short work of his competition. His muscles bulged grotesquely, making me wonder if he took steroids or simply lived in a gym. He apparently had some fans in the audience, because they shouted his name each time he captured a heart. “Caleb! Caleb! Go, Caleb!”

Caleb flashed a malicious grin at his fans as he stormed through the arena, looking for new prey. Although his own strength was powerful unaided, he still sometimes utilized a cinder block as an asset. I wasn’t alone in gasping when he slammed it into some guy’s head, instantly knocking the guy to the ground. Caleb swept up the three hearts his victim wore and went on his way. Bart himself came out to drag the fallen back to the safety of the stands, and I didn’t really start breathing again until I saw the poor guy limply move an arm.

Two other guys had arrived together, like Eddie and me, and were teaming up to take out foes and split the hearts between them. It was a smart strategy, and I wished Eddie and I could’ve utilized it. The Warriors had some outdated hang-ups about men and women, and although there were female competitors, Sabrina had explained that girls in the Warriors were often kept out of the line of danger and relegated to milder roles. I wasn’t sure if I should applaud the Warriors for showing some sign of consideration or be offended that they didn’t think women could keep up with men in bloodthirsty brutality.

As the hour wound down, about half of the competitors were gone from the fray, off getting whatever medical attention Bart could administer. A few guys were clearly dominant: notably Eddie, Caleb, and the twosome. Those remaining were trying to pick off each other or go after one of the leaders. Chris shouted a five-minute warning, and one guy, desperately realizing he was nearly out of the running, made a frantic charge at Caleb in the hopes of securing a massive stash of hearts. Caleb knocked him away like he was a fly, then kicked him when he was down on the ground, despite the guy’s pleas to stop. “Just take them! Just take them!” The guy on the ground frantically tried to pull the hearts off his head and hand them over while Caleb just kept kicking. The nausea in my stomach reared up again until Caleb finally left the guy in peace. He stalked off, his gaze falling on Eddie, but thankfully, Chris called time just then. Everyone leaned forward, eager to find out the results.