by H M Angues
My breath hitches in my throat. Barely healed lashings mark up her skin. A few have already begun to scar, but for the most part they are still relatively fresh, red and caked with dried blood. Prick follows my quivering stare with a macabre and malicious smile.
“You’re not the first we’ve brought in here,” he snarls, face twisted with sadistic enjoyment. “And trust me, I don’t think this will be the last time you see her like this.”
I roar at him, rattling the manacles around my wrists and ankles as I lunge. Prick lands a swift kick into my ribs, knocking me back to the ground. With a groan, I manage to turn over onto my side. The muscles in Calla’s back twitch and tremble with anticipation, waiting for the lash to be brought down.
∞∞∞
Even several days later, the snapping sound of the whip on Calla’s flesh haunts my every waking moment. The way she ambled out of the chamber, barely able to place one foot in front of the other. The defeated slouch of her shoulders, the dullness in her eyes.
Hopefully, that was the last time. None of us have been taken from our neighboring cells over the past few days, at least as far as I can tell. Ancient and sturdy masonry separates me from Blade and Ryse, but if they were to leave, I’d at least hear it.
The few times I do manage to catch glimpses of the others, they look worse than Calla, with shallow, sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. I imagine I'm not much prettier than they are. Calla’s strong enough to make it look like she can take it, but the rest of us... Well, the rest of us can’t hide the pain like she can.
Four days after the gruesome torture chamber scene, Dick and Prick return to my cell.
“You’re up again, asshole,” Prick snarls, unlocking the cell. I follow them mindlessly, too exhausted, dehydrated, and hungry to put up the same fight as before.
Everything seems to follow the same series of events, except this time, Calla does something unexpected.
She manages to muster enough strength to kick Dick in the shin. He doubles over, grabbing his leg in pain while Prick whips his fist across her jaw. She spits out blood, the red liquid pooling at her lip and dribbling down her chin.
“Feisty little bitch,” he mutters, viciously tugging her back by her hair. She cries out and tries to kick him too, but to no avail. Prick punches her in her already fractured ribs. Calla cries out before falling in a silent slump on the floor, subdued.
“Take them to Ramsey,” Dick grunts as he stands. He grabs Calla by the shoulders and drags her away. Prick does the same to me, following her down the hall. It takes about fifteen minutes of stumbling through Louvelle’s maze-like structure to reach our new destination.
She is waiting in the prison’s entryway, scowling. She doesn’t like being here, that much I know, yet she is present in this hellhole more days than not. Rysen and Blade are dragged in not far behind us, to watch whatever will happen next.
“What’s this about?” she snaps.
The guard who punched Calla bows his head respectfully and says, “She’s behaved well enough so far, but today she started acting up. I don’t think we’ve done enough to break her.”
“Then do more,” Ramsey purrs, winking at the guard. A vicious smile twists his lips.
The look of horror on Calla’s face as Prick yanks her to her feet is enough to make me vomit. Ryse yells something, thrashing against the soldier restraining him. A hard punch to the gut topples him over as I hurl my stomach’s contents onto the floors.
I watch in terror as Calla is forced into one of the vacant warden offices, and we all hear the door’s lock click.
“Kainan!”
Her screams are muffled by the door, but they pierce me all the same.
I lose it.
I slam my head back into Dick’s nose. His hands release their hold, and I use the added freedom to send a fist into his jaw, knocking him to the ground.
Blade follows suit, thrashing against his restraints and crying out for the girl we both love.
And then Ramsey puts us both on our asses in seconds. I clench my hands around my head, nails clawing into my scalp as sharp, searing pain explodes through my skull like a bolt of lightning. It seems to last for ages before it finally subsides. In reality, only a few seconds passed.
Hot tears stream down my cheeks—from the pain, and from Calla—as I muster up the strength to enter her mind. To feel what’s being done to her, to experience it. I try to help her in her head, to tell her that the physical pain won’t last as Prick truly, finally, drains the fight out of her. I know she can feel me there, and I know it brings her just a small bit of comfort.
It isn’t enough. I fear that nothing will be enough to bring her back from this.
I vow to myself that I will tear the limbs off every person that allowed this and make them watch as I feed their flesh to wild wolves. Then they can each wait for their turn for what's left of them to be bludgeoned to death. I want them all screaming in agony for what they’ve allowed happen to Calla.
I only get to seethe and pledge to take my vengeance for a moment before the other guards hook their beefy arms under my own and wrench me to my feet. I can’t see Blade and Rysen, but I can hear them grunt as they wrestle against their captors.
After being tossed inside my cell, I sit in the solitary, dim environment for an immeasurable amount of time. The only light comes from a torch across the hall. Cells only line the left side of each corridor, the right side lined with torches, sconces, and weaponry, making it impossible to try and look at my brother.
Blade and Ryse are there, of course. I can't see them, but I can hear labored breathing and the occasional fist against stone. It’s several hours before anybody else comes our way.
Our next visitors are two guards that are very different from Dick and Prick. Their faces are just as hardened, stoic, and their muscles taught as they pop out beneath their military-like uniforms. But they lack the immature cockiness that radiated off Dick and Prick, as if they were leaking testosterone.
Calla’s little form, only a few inches above five feet, looks meek and hopeless between the two beasts. The light has drained from her fiery eyes, and she can’t even bring herself to look up at any of us. I press my face against the bars, muttering her name with as much soft kindness as possible.
“Calla,” I whisper a second time. She doesn’t meet my gaze. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see a pale hand—Rysen’s—reach toward her, graze her bare arm.
She flinches at his touch.
I’ve never wanted to set someone on fire as badly as I do Prick. Calla knows it, too.
They toss her in my cell, and they take Blade and Ryse out of their own as well. The four of us are finally together.
“Take it as a sympathetic gift from the boss. It’s the last time you’ll be together again.”
When the guards leave, I turn my attention to Calla, broken and shattered, curled up in the corner of the cell. None of us says a word; Blade, Ryse and I huddle around her, protecting her. She leans into me and I wrap my arms around her trembling body. I squeeze her close to my chest, whispering what I hope to be soothing words into her ear. They must work, because she finally falls asleep. I try to ease her mind, sending her sweet dreams to prevent her pain from forming nightmares.
When I look at my brother, at Blade, I can see that they’re no better off than I am.
“I’m going to kill them,” Blade murmurs.
“Trust me, we all will,” I whisper in response.
I watch her doze the whole night, never looking away from her weary face. I know that pain, that feeling, of having someone touching you in ways only a lover should touch, their hands on your skin making you feel so vile that you want to burn off every piece of you where they were.
Knowing that she has now felt it too breaks my heart. I squeeze her tighter, sending sweet dreams into her thoughts. I mirror the same things she had sent me: The two of us dancing and laughing and smiling, happy and perfectly content.
I think I see a corner of
her mouth twitch toward a smile in her sleep and it brings tears to my eyes.
Chapter 23
Rysen
When morning comes—at least, I assume it’s morning—the same soldiers as before enter our cell block. They take Calla first, much to all of our protests, before coming back for the rest of us.
Achingly, I keep pace with the guards, walking with two in front and two behind me. I was the last one to leave the prison cell, and now the last one to step into the sunlight.
Just outside, in the prison yard where normal inmates would be spending their morning if they were still here, a large, gray ground transport is waiting. Calla and Blade are in there already, slumped in their seats. There’s no sign of my brother. The transport isn’t as well maintained as the ones kept by the Imperial Armed Forces, so it rattles loudly along the smooth road.
It takes a few minutes to reach the runway lined with Ramsey’s stolen hoverjets. All of them have been resprayed to the same gray as the transport. We’re loaded into an older Nighthawk model. The flight is rough, the pilot not nearly as skilled as Calla or Blade, whose flying I’m used to. I begin to get airsick, and I’m relieved when it lands.
That relief fades the moment I glimpse our surroundings. A bleak desert landscape with dunes visible in the distance. Not far from us is a ramshackle looking collection of a few hundred pathetically constructed buildings. And ahead of me, spikes protruding from its top, a massive gladiator-style arena. Our captors push us toward it.
The Arena District in Helkyn. That must be where we are; the place of nightmares that Jax told his stories about. Where Primori are slaughtered for entertainment.
Ramsey brought Calla to her rival’s door to be executed in front of tens of thousands of people.
∞∞∞
All of Helkyn appears to be present for the public execution of the emperor of Namari. Once inside the Arena, she's taken away from us, escorted elsewhere. The Arena itself is surprisingly modern, despite its medieval exterior, with glassed in rooms circling the top for wealthier spectators. Ramsey gets to sit in the royal seating area of the Arena stands, flanked by King Orith of Helkyn, his wife, and his son. His name is Prince Mylo, if Namari information about the family is accurate. The poor young prince looks mortified to be here and is hiding his face behind his hands. He can’t be more than four years old.
Blade and I are forced to sit on the ground on either side of Ramsey’s makeshift throne. We're closest to the Arena's floor, only about ten feet above where the fights occur. Still no appearance from Kainan. I don’t trust him, but after last night and the way he held Calla… I can at least trust that he would never hurt her. And, despite everything, I find myself worried about him. To distract myself, I turn around to face the cowering young prince.
“I’m scared,” he whispers. “I don’t like it when they make me come here. Are you scared, too?”
I nod.
“They’re going to kill your friend,” he says bluntly, taking me off guard.
“Yes,” is all I say. I can't help but feel that we wouldn't be here if it weren't for my brother.
“I hope she kills them first,” he mutters quiet enough that his parents don’t hear.
His father silences him with surprising tenderness. “Don’t talk to strangers, son.” The king doesn't even acknowledge me, and his wife takes their small son in her lap.
I turn my attention back to the incredibly massive Arena. It’s full of at least thirty thousand cheering spectators and finely dressed Helkyn nobles. Most of the people here look dirt poor or filthy rich, with not much in terms of a middle class anywhere to be seen.
The roar of the crowd dulls as the king announces why we’re here: To witness the death of the Namari emperor. The declaration makes my chest ache.
A loud, metal-on-stone screech reverberates through the Arena. Thirty thousand heads turn to the metal gate against one curved side as it lifts to reveal a dark, unlit passage beyond. Several long, strenuous seconds pass before my heart sinks into my stomach.
Calla, my emperor, escorted in chains by two massive soldiers, refuses to look down. She’s even muzzled, a black piece molded to her face covering her from jaw to nose. Her chin is held high, though, as she rests her amber gaze on Ramsey Renald. Her eyes never so much as blink as she holds her bold stare. Shivers run down my spine at the power in her eyes alone. It’s that very power that got us here, that puts her life in danger. But I know she would stare Death himself in the eyes with just as much confidence as she does Ramsey.
Her hair tumbles down her back in black curls. The crown once again sits atop her head, likely Ramsey’s doing as a way of showing the people that Calla is, in fact, an emperor. To demonstrate how Ramsey alone has strength enough to take her life. She’s been given new clothes, too. Her pants and shirt are black, covering every inch of her skin, save for her hands and feet. Her lack of shoes is expected at this point.
It’s simple dress, but Calla makes it look elegant and regal, even at her own execution.
She stops in the middle of the sandy terrain that makes up the Arena’s floor, dotted with random, crumbling pillars that look like they belong in some ancient, forgotten ruined city. Ramsey stands, stretching her arms out wide. “Welcome to the Arena, people of Helkyn. This isn’t going to be like any normal execution. Emperor Calla will be given a chance to fight, just like your Primori slaves in this very colosseum. If she wins, she will be allowed to go home to her empire, at the expense of her friends’ lives. If she loses,” she strokes my chin with those slaw-like fingers, “she’ll be dead, but her friends will be escorted home, safe and sound.”
I look at Calla, who’s finally broken her stare. She’s glancing around feverishly, looking for something.
Someone.
Kainan isn’t with us, and she has noticed.
Another gate, opposite the one she had entered through, begins to open with that same deafening screech to reveal Calla’s opponent.
Eyes glowing blood-red, Kainan stands beneath the dark archway. Calla turns and her face shifts into an expression of pure terror. Her guard-dogs begin to remove the muzzle and chains, freeing her jaw and hands.
“Your opponent and Twin Flame, Kainan Emeric Dane. Might I add, Emperor Calla, that I am still suppressing your abilities. If you even try to tap into them, your friends die.”
“She’s controlling him, Calla!” I hear Blade shout from our perch overlooking her. She nods without turning her head. She knows. Everyone in this Arena knows that Kainan is not acting of his own volition. Ramsey, a cruel and heartless Sanguinus, is controlling the very essence of him.
He charges toward her, gleaming sword drawn, and the crowd roars. Calla darts out of his way, kicking out one of her legs. He trips, slamming into the sand. She hardly risks a glance at him before she begins to run.
She could kill him without her abilities. She could do it with a bleeding, whipped back and broken ribs. Not easily, but she could. Ramsey knows that, too, which is why she chose Kainan. She knows that Calla could never kill him, not without destroying herself in the process.
Not only that, but it must mean something else. Ramsey could have chosen any one of us, right? But the older Renald knows what we do not, and it’s that Calla loves Kainan more than she’ll ever let us know.
That’s why he is the one in the Arena, not any of us. It isn't just about him being her mate. She cares for him. Loves him, even.
Hurts, doesn’t it? Realizing that the love she feels is stronger for another.
Ramsey’s voice in my head feels like talons clawing at the inside of my skull. I allow myself to squeeze my eyes shut for only a second, trying to shake off the unwelcome sensation.
Even if my emperor wins this, she’ll be so torn apart that the Calla I know will no longer exist. Everyone knows the torture mates endure when their other half dies. And if she loses, it means she’s dead. No matter the outcome, Ramsey wins, and I lose the girl I love.
All for us. Not only Kainan
, but for me and Blade as well. Because the three of us, along with Bellamy, make up what is left of her heart and family.
He unsheathes a knife from his belt and hurls it in Calla’s direction. She ducks, barely missing the blade, and snatches it up from where it lands in the sand. It’s a large enough dagger, not quite a sword, but it’ll have to do. She’ll hold out as long as she can.
“I know it’s not you,” she says loud enough for us all to hear. “I know you’re in there somewhere, Kainan. Fight it. Please.”
He lunges again, and she deflects his blade with her own smaller one. They parry for several moments, evenly matched. She’s trained with him and Bellamy for weeks, now—he knows her fighting style, and Ramsey’s using that to her own advantage.
The sword slips from his hand and sticks into the sand with a quiet thud, but he leaves it there. Ramsey swears, and Kainan slams into Calla, ignoring the blade of the knife that slices through his side. She recoils, the injury to him unintentional. She yelps as he hits her again. They’re against the wall right beneath us now, barely a few feet away, and he slams her into the stone. She tries to kick out at him with her legs, but he grabs her knife by the blade, slamming its hilt in her her thigh with a bone-shattering strength I didn't know he had, and the hilt lodges far deeper into her flesh than I thought possible.
I can see the blood soaking the black fabric an even darker shade. And the bone… sticking out of her skin, tearing through muscle and sinew with every move she tries to make.
Calla whips her elbow into his jaw, forcing him to lose his grip, sending tumbling to his side. She struggles to steady herself, unable to put any weight on her severely broken left leg. She hops away on one foot, bracing her hand on the wall, using it as a crutch to help her get as far away from Kainan as possible. She trips, landing on her face, and I can hear her cry out from the impact on her fresh injury. I wince at the sound.
“CALLA!” I hear Kainan roar as I see him barreling toward her. The sand makes it hard for him to run, but it’s even harder on a one-legged Calla as she fights to get up. He catches up in seconds, grabbing her by the ankles and dragging her across the dirt.