Savage Lands (Savage Lands #1)

by Stacey Marie Brown

  A haze built around me as my gaze landed on the one clear thing before me, as if he were in high definition, while everything else was smeared in fog. Warwick stood up from his seat, his body rigid. His azure eyes sliced through the fuzz, zeroing in on me.

  Fuck, he was viciously sexy. Terrifying. Cruel.

  And pissed.

  Rage and abhorrence heaved up his shoulders, all directed at me. His lips curled, hands rolling into fists, as if the way I was dying wasn’t inhumane enough.

  Something about his reaction vibrated through me, sparking a fierce fury. He was probably mad he wasn’t getting to kill me himself. I was sure he’d love to be the one who exterminated the well-known ward of General Markos.

  It was a flicker of time. The lack of oxygen caused a glitch in my brain. Even though I laid on the ground, I felt myself right next to him. His rich smell mixed with sweat and grime, the heat pulsing off his skin.

  “Fuck you,” I sneered in his ear. Then in a blink, I was back.

  He jolted, his head glancing over his shoulder, then shot back to me in the arena.

  His nose flared, his head slanting to the side, his glare narrowing.

  “Fuck you back,” his voice scraped the back of my neck, the feel of his lips brushing my ear. “Now fight.”

  What the hell?

  A charge zapped life into my chest, clearing out the cobwebs, bringing me back to myself as my mind emptied of everything except the sensation of Rodriguez’s grip and the lack of air sputtering in my chest.

  “Die, fucking HDF bitch!” Rodriguez tried to push my face into the dirt. “How are you not unconscious yet?”

  With more energy than I thought I had, my head slammed back. Crack! The sound of his nose breaking snapped in my ears, his cry as his grip loosened, allowing oxygen to enter my lungs.

  Heaving in, I swore I could feel Warwick next to me, yelling at me to move, to get my ass up. Gods, I must have lost a lot of brain cells.

  Ramming my elbow into the bull’s stomach, he pitched to the side, grabbing his nose and his middle. Rolling the opposite way, I scrambled back up to my feet, my lungs still working to greedily fill themselves as I backed away from him.

  I really didn’t feel any pain, only adrenaline pumping through my veins, all my energy settling down on one emotion.

  Anger.

  Rodriguez shot for me, and I darted to an overturned box, one side propped up on a stick. Diving for the spike, I yanked it from the ground, my body skidding across the gravel, tearing into my flesh. I rolled back up.

  Rodriguez’s head still peered around as if he was searching for me. Hello? Over here! Did he not see me move?

  Taking advantage, I leaped back for him. Before he moved, I was able to pierce his shoulder with a sickly crunch with the wood spike. His head reared, and his back arched as a loud moo bellowed from his throat. His body jerked as I yanked the spike back out.

  I was not going to lose my weapon to him. Plus, this left him bleeding. Weaker.

  He whirled around, nose flaring with wrath, his eyes dark as night, his shoulders expanding.

  This was no longer sport. He lowered down, kicking his leg back. Bulls did that when they were about to attack. It was his nature, but his nature was also his weakness.

  His reveal. He gave me plenty of warning before he charged for me.

  Twisting, I vaulted to the side, spearing him again as I twirled around him, blood spurting out of his side. He roared with pain, twisting back for me. Snorting and pawing the ground, he stormed for me again.

  The dance of the bull and matador.

  Holding out until the last moment, I leaped to the side, but his arm jutted out, catching me across the neck and slamming me to the ground. Blinking back pain, I managed to spin over, making sure to keep him in my sights. His feet hit the ground as he charged for me, death glaring from his eyes.

  I realized it wasn’t just Bakos’s training that had equipped me for this, but Istvan’s as well. He’d obsessively pressed Caden and me to study the history of all regions, plus their customs and civilizations. From Tibetan monks high in the Himalayas to Spanish conquistadors. And traditions like bullfighting.

  I remembered reading how matadors waited until the last moment to strike. The beasts, no matter in animal form or human form, had one real way of fighting, their bodies unable to stop and pivot as fast once they got speed.

  I stayed on the ground, appearing hurt, watching him come for me, my heart thumping in my ears.

  Hold, I ordered myself as Rodriguez sprinted for me, billows of dirt puffing off his boots with every strike to the earth. The instinct to get up and run wailed like a banshee in my chest.

  I gritted my teeth.

  Hold.

  Closer. Closer. His boots quaked the ground under me.

  Rodriguez grunted, his boot stomping down for my face at the same time I rolled. His boot hit an empty spot as I drove the spike into the side of his knee.

  He bellowed like a wounded animal, collapsing from the pain in his leg. Scuttling to my feet, I slammed a heel into his chest. Then I leaped down on him, yanking the spike from his leg. He gurgled in agony.

  The mix of boos and cheers raked up my vertebrae as my spear hovered over his heart. Blood leaked from his wounds, wetting the dirt. His expression was defiant and angry, but his throat bobbed with fear, his eyes tracking me.

  “What are you waiting for?” he sneered. “Grow a conscience suddenly? You are no better than us, human. You do what you need to do to survive too. To protect your own.”

  Chants whirled around us, but nothing soaked in. I didn’t want to kill him, just as I hadn’t wanted to kill Mio. I’d been trained to kill or be killed, but I’d never fully gotten that lesson, even though I was taught fae had no empathy, no morals.

  Don’t hesitate.

  I was hesitating.

  The bang of a gate jerked up my head, my defenses on alert. The guards weren’t supposed to intervene before the fight was done.

  I saw Boyd shove a figure out of a nearby gate, the guy stumbling to stay on his feet, brown eyes meeting mine with terror.

  No.

  Please, no. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Brex?” Aron’s head jerked around like a scared bunny, his feet moving toward me. He moved as if he were still sore, but he shouldn’t even be moving. He wore a new uniform, and the deep cuts showing on his arms were wrapped up.

  He’d been patched together and probably given a numbing agent so he could fight.

  “Don’t worry. I know the perfect place for him.”

  Boyd had planned this.

  Standing up, the spear tumbled from my grip, my eyes snapping to the figure behind the gate. Boyd smirked at me with triumph, lapping up my reaction like it was cream.

  Fuck.

  The receipt for my reprieve was up…and it was time to pay.

  Chapter 21

  “No!” I shouted, twisting around to Zander. “No, you can’t do this.”

  Zander’s eyes dropped, his grip on the bars tightening.

  “Zander?” I tried to keep my voice even.

  “He can’t do anything, Kovacs.” Boyd strung out my name as if it were a dirty word, letting me know this was about much more than a hurt ego. My name inspired vengeance. Power. Control. Blood. “He has no authority once players are in the arena; we can’t intrude.” He shrugged with a malicious grin. “Rules are rules.”

  “I’m not doing it.” I glared at Boyd, shaking my head.

  “Only one walks out, or none do.” He winked at me. “Guess it’s up to each one of you to decide who wants to live bad enough.”

  “No.” I stepped back farther away from both men. Rodriguez climbed slowly back to his feet, his hand gripping his side, his skin pale, blood leaking the color of life from his skin.

  “Well, I guess that made it easy. She volunteers to die.” Boyd gestured to me through the bars, his eyes moving between Rodriguez and Aron. Panic and fear shook Aron, his eyes darting around, t
aking everything in before landing on me.

  “Brex?” He whispered my name, pleading with me to explain what was going on.

  “You can’t do this. I’ve already fought!” I screamed back at Boyd, exhaustion skewering fury through me, my body drained and trembling. “This isn’t fair.”

  “Fair?” Boyd’s head fell back, howling with laughter. “Oh, poor little rich girl, used to being bubble-wrapped. Humans are so weak. Fragile…” He waggled his head. “Fair,” he scoffed. “Sweetheart, look around you. You’re in Halalhaz. It’s feared for a reason.” He pointed up to the crowd, which was booing and hissing. “Better decide soon. None of you have seen when a mob turns vicious.” He stepped back, dissolving into the darkness of the tunnel.

  Facing the new triangle, my gaze shifted back and forth between Aron and Rodriguez. I wanted to sit and curl into a ball as my soul shredded into pieces. Rodriguez, I would have killed due to survival and all, but Aron was different. He was my colleague. Someone, even as cocky as he was, I cared about. I knew him. Had grown up with him. He didn’t deserve this. The only reason he was put in the Games was because of me.

  The crowd rumbled their displeasure that no one was bleeding or dying as they were promised. Disgusting. The core of people, human or fae, when peeled back to the basic form, was violent and ruthless.

  Unless they were in the ring.

  The standoff lasted a moment before Rodriguez smiled grimly at me, his hand on his wound, bleeding out. He swiped the dagger off the ground, whirling for my friend.

  “No!” I leaped forward, barreling into Rodriguez, causing him to stagger to the side. Aron’s leg swept out in an arched kick, knocking the spike from Rodriguez’s hands. As I moved in, my fist crashed against Rodriguez’s already broken nose, more bits of cartilage snapping under my knuckles.

  A bellow tore from Rodriguez, fresh waves of red liquid dripping down his face.

  Wordlessly, Aron and I moved around the bull, stepping back into our training. Many times, Bakos not only had us fighting each other but also working together to take down others in groups. It was like a choreographed dance, which felt natural because of the countless hours we were drilled in it. Aron was never someone I had “danced” well with, but in this moment, I put all that aside. There could be no egos.

  Just survival.

  Rodriguez crashed back down to the ground, blood draining quickly from his wounds. His lungs heaved in and out shallowly. I knew death would come for him now no matter what, but the Games demanded us to take it.

  “Aron, toss me the spike,” I yelled, jumping down on Rodriguez.

  Nothing.

  “Aron!” I screamed again, my focus moving to him, watching him roll the wooden spear in his hand, not responding to me. “What are you waiting for? Give it to me.”

  His fingers wrapped around the chunk of wood. “I’m sorry, Brex.” His brown eyes peered over at mine, no longer filled with fear or confusion.

  Ice slid down my vertebrae to my belly.

  “Only one of us can walk out of here.” He flipped the stake in his palm with just a hint of sadness. “I regret it has to be this way, but there is no choice. I will not die here.”

  “Aron…” I tried to swallow the lump forming in my throat. “Don’t do this. If we both refuse…”

  “Right.” He chuckled. “What kind of idiot do you take me for? You will happily stab me in the back the moment I turn around. Kill or be killed, right?” He moved toward me, his jaw twitching as he gripped the dagger firmer. “It’s our final match, Kovacs, and this one I win.”

  Shifting off the dying man under me, I stepped away from Aron.

  “Aron. Please. Don’t do this… We are teammates. Friends.”

  “Friends?” he sputtered. “You treated me like shit under your boot. Not once did you look at me as if I was worth your time. You couldn’t hide the disgust after we slept together. You didn’t care about my feelings. I was your filthy secret. It was always Caden. He was all you could see or care about. So, no, Kovacs, we were never friends.” He shook his head. “The only reason I’m even here is because of you and Caden. It’s always about you two. I shouldn’t be here. Die here. If killing you keeps me alive…” He took another step to me, glaring. “I don’t want to. Shit, Brex, I was fucking in love with you…but this is the only way. Or we both die.”

  “In love with me?” Laughter burst from my lips. “You simply loved yourself.”

  “I wasn’t the selfish one. You were so caught up with Caden you couldn’t see anything else. Give anyone notice. And when you did? It was in the hopes Caden would observe it and get jealous.” Aron darted to the side, and I easily spun out of his way. “Everyone saw it but you. He didn’t care enough to step up. If Caden really loved you, nothing would have gotten in the way. No Romanian prince, his father, or any other girl who walked by.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I hissed. Caden and I lived in a world even our friends didn’t understand. Things weren’t so easy for us.

  “You just don’t want to face it.” He stabbed the bloody dagger toward me, but I moved easily away. We knew each other’s moves too well. “Did he fight for you? I mean, we all know what that sick Romanian fucker does to women. But Caden didn’t put up a single fight for you, did he?”

  “Shut up.” I bobbed and weaved away from his attacks.

  “No. He didn’t. What does that tell you?” Aron slipped in closer. “He did mourn you. Completely lost his mind in alcohol and grief. That’s true, but I didn’t tell you everything. He’s already moved on. Already fucking someone else.”

  “Aron.” I batted away the weapon, trying to reset things.

  “I’m telling you the truth, Brexley. If you had given me just a moment of your time instead of looking at me like I was your most vile mistake…”

  “You were,” I hissed.

  “Blind to the end,” he growled, leaping for me.

  Our familiar dance was one we could do for hours. Kicking, punching, wrestling. We moved around each other, sweat sliding down my face, my energy weaning, allowing him to dart in. His foot hooked mine, tossing me painfully onto my back, knocking the air from my lungs. Jumping on me, grief in his eyes as he primed the weapon at the soft spot in my throat—a weak point for humans and fae alike.

  Once again, I could feel a presence move around me, poking and prodding at me, as though telling me not to give up. My gaze darted to the stands. Warwick hadn’t moved. His expression was even angrier, swirling around him like a storm. He snarled, turned and stomped away, disappearing in a tunnel near his seat.

  Returning to Aron, the sparks of rage built through my bones again. Instinct was feral. Wild. It didn’t think or care. It wanted to live—by whatever means necessary.

  Aron’s arm went up. “I’m sorry, Brex.” He dropped his arm like an ax, ready to take off my head. With all my might, my legs swung over, flipping him to the side.

  Thud!

  Aron smacked into the ground as I rolled him over, the wooden spike falling from his hand. Clawing and digging into his skin, I climbed on him, pinning him down. A crazed noise echoed from my lungs as I understood what I had to do.

  Gripping the dagger, I only hesitated for a split second. The sheer terror and anguish in Aron’s eyes imprinted on my mind as I swung down with a guttural cry.

  “Brexley! No! Pleas—” His scream was cut off as the sharp point drove through his neck, ripping through his skin and muscles, blowing a hole in his esophagus. His eyes widened in horror as his mouth gaped and wheezed for air. His body lurched and jerked as his hands went to this throat.

  Sliding off him, a cry wracked out of my chest at the sounds of my comrade gurgling and choking on blood, his body in the throes of death.

  His wide eyes looked at me once with torment, shock, and anguish. Then his pupils glazed over as his life leaked out in a final shudder.

  Aron was dead.

  He was the first guy I’d ever been with, and we had fought e
ach other on the mat countless times. I never imagined this would be our end. That I would be the one who took his life.

  Guttural emotion swirled in my chest. I had killed my comrade with savage brutality and little hesitation. “Oh, gods...I am so sorry.” The words dribbled over my lips, my breath heavy as I curled over him. At that moment, I just wanted to bring him to life to go back in time. “Aron…”

  Suddenly his eyes bolted open, his mouth opened, and a hiss of sound—my name—came from his lips. His hand reached for me, and I jerked back with a cry. The moment I moved away, he went limp, falling back, his head rolling to the side, his dead eyes open and blank.

  What the hell was that? Like some horror movie, the killer came back for one last scare. Was it the last bit of life leaving him?

  I blinked at his motionless form, still and very dead, wondering if I had imagined it.

  “Kill! Kill!” The onlookers in the stands clapped and chanted, bringing my attention back to the moment, their voices scraping against my skin. “Kill the bull! Kill the bull!”

  I lifted my head and peered over at the figure feet away from me. Rodriguez’s chest barely moved, his body shivering as his life leaked from him.

  Fuck these monsters. Hadn’t I given them enough? The man was dead anyway, but they wanted me to put in the final stake. Their lack of empathy and respect for life wrenched me up to my feet with a snarl.

  Rage gurgled in my gut, my face twisting with rage as I peered at the faceless crowd, stepping closer to Rodriguez, escalating their cheers.

  The wood spike dripping with Aron’s blood hung at my side.

  “Dooo iiiittt,” Rodriguez hissed through his teeth, coughing and choking.

  “No,” I sneered. “I’m not giving them what they want. This is fucking disgusting.”

  “Do it for me. Don’t let me die slow. Pathetically. Let me join my sister.” He choked out every word, his forehead wrinkling with agony. “Wouldn’t you want the same? A hero’s death.” He swallowed, his eyes pleading. “Give them what they want. Take the victory.”

  “I will do it for you. Not for them.” I went down on my knees. For the first time, I saw the person in his eyes, the life I knew nothing about. Friends, family. “Why are you in here?”