He sneered. He’d taste her, all right. Throw her to the bed and fuck her senseless, taunting Rudolph as she called Brandwulfr’s name in pleasure. Judging by the way he urged her back away from the railing, she was definitely his woman. At the very least, she was important to Ruldolph. He knew the danger. Even from the stadium floor, any of the gladiators could get off a lucky shot. Some, like Brandwulfr, could kill him with one toss of a blade.
Then she turned and looked at him. The full force of her gaze was like a punch to the gut. Piercing blue eyes filled with fear and compassion seemed to penetrate straight to his soul, burning like a brand where no other had ever touched.
Brandwulfr gazed at her with what he knew was stark possession. He’d always had a gift of knowing when his life would be forever connected with another. This woman, no matter who or what she was, would be a part of his life until the day he died.
* * *
Miranda couldn’t take her eyes off the magnificent specimen of male in the arena before her. He was covered in blood and grime, sweat glistening over bulging muscles as his chest heaved in exertion. And he was looking at her as if she were next on his list of things to do and he intended to make it as unpleasant as possible.
She couldn’t really blame him, either. Her father used people like this man before her to make money. He profited from their death and suffering. Profited greatly. No other man in this sector of the entire planet could boast of such fine gladiators. Certainly none had as many shifters as her father.
This wolf shifter in particular had defeated scores of humans, which was why her father continued to raise the bounty on him. This man was too powerful, but Ruldolph couldn’t simply kill him. No. He needed to make money doing it. Miranda loved her father dearly, but sometimes she was ashamed to be his daughter.
“Why do you do this, Father? Why make him kill all these men?” Miranda had tried to understand for several years, failing to do so. Why she thought her father would suddenly provide the insight she sought now, she didn’t know.
“I don’t ‘make’ him do anything. He chooses to kill.” Her father merely shrugged as he urged her back away from the railing. “If he would choose not to kill and die himself, I’d be much better for it.”
“It’s the same as not giving him a choice! What being wouldn’t choose to live?”
“One whose life is so miserable he can’t stand to go on,” he snapped, gripping her upper arms. “Do you like all the nice things you have? The house we have in Sky City? All that you have is because of animals like that one covered in blood.” Rudolph made a sweeping gesture, indicating the man who still stood below them. Miranda couldn’t see him, but she still felt his eyes on her. It made her skin crawl. With a sigh, her father said, “Stop being so hypocritical and just enjoy this evening with your dad, eh?”
Her father used the soft tone he reserved only for her. She might not like how slaves were treated by her father or his hired hands, but she loved Rudolph dearly. And, after all, he was her father. He was a decent man. Surely he would come to see she was right in time.
In the background, the crowd cheered wildly, loving the gladiator others of his kind called Brandwulfr. A wolf shifter, he was larger than any man she’d ever seen. And the crowd worshiped him. Miranda carefully tried to sneak another glimpse of him when her father wasn’t looking. She thought she saw several cuts on his filthy skin, but she couldn’t be sure how much—if any—blood was his and how much was from the men he’d just killed.
She watched in fascination as he scrapped his blade on the sole of his boot, never acknowledging the crowd, taking his time with the post-battle ritual. Just when she thought he would return to the catacombs, he lifted his head, catching her gaze before she had the chance to look away. Intense, dark orbs seemed to glow with an eerie blue light as he gave her a slow, menacing grin.
Miranda sucked in a breath, her hand going to her throat in a defensive gesture. Somewhere inside, she knew showing weakness to this being was probably not the smartest idea, but she felt threatened on an elemental level, her reaction impossible to suppress.
As they stared at one another, Miranda was struck at how fine his features were. Under all the blood and grime lay a striking, masculine face. Prominent cheekbones and a strong chin were covered in dark stubble she was sure nothing short of a laser could contain. Inky black hair was pulled back, but several sweat-dampened strands stuck to his face where they’d come free. A patrician nose gave him a noble appearance she had never seen in any slave. Even most of the residents of Sky City looked less like an aristocrat than this man did. As filthy as he was from his battle, as well as his time in the catacombs, he had an air about him that bespoke power and authority. It was more than his skill in the arena. It was in the very way he carried himself. This man, Brandwulfr, might be a slave, but she’d dare any man to actually give him orders. If he obeyed, it would be because he wanted to. Not because they cowed him in any way.
With a mock salute, he sauntered off, shoulders back, his sword hand twirling his weapon absently as if he were readying for another fight. Miranda couldn’t help notice the play of muscles down his arms and legs.
Powerful, magnificent male…
Giving herself a mental shake, she tore her gaze away from him. That man was far too dangerous for her to let her guard down around. Even from this distance, Miranda had no doubt he could kill her if he chose.
“Master.” A small, elderly man bowed at the waist, not meeting her father’s eyes. “I would respectfully request the healer be summoned. The new pup you purchased from Slave Master Ur was gravely injured. You will not recuperate your losses on his purchase if he dies before he has at least another three matches won.”
Miranda knew the boy in question. Not more than sixteen summers, the young man had fought with honor, but had taken a hit right before he’d killed his opponent. Miranda remembered thinking it had to have been worse than it looked for the gladiator to limp away as he had.
“And how many more fights will he have to win for me to get my losses back from the healer? If you can’t help him, the boy will have to work through it as best he can.”
“I’ll go, Father,” Miranda said. “My training is far enough along I should be able to tend his wounds.”
“Absolutely not,” Rudolph snapped without hesitation. “The catacombs are no place for you.”
“I’ll take a guard. Surely your own slaves are under control enough for me to go down there with an escort.” She used the perception of control as a weapon to get her way. It was a shameless ploy, but Miranda didn’t like for anything to suffer, be it human or animal. She might consider her father’s slaves human, but she knew from experience Rudolph considered them animals. If she could help ease the young man’s suffering, she would. “It’s the least I can do. As you said, I owe everything I enjoy in life to them. What is a few hours of my time to tend their wounds?”
Rudolph looked hard at her for several moments. As ever, the thought of losing money got to him, as the slave had no doubt intended. “Very well.” He pointed a finger at her, a clear warning. “But you stay away from Brandwulfr. That wolf is more dangerous than any slave I’ve ever owned. He may well be the most powerful gladiator ever to set foot in the arena. The beast would squash you like a bug.”
Of that, she had no doubt.
“Don’t worry, Father. I’ll see to the injured and leave quickly.”
Not wanting Rudolph to have a chance to change his mind, Miranda left abruptly, motioning for her personal guards to follow her. There were supplies she needed before she entered the catacombs, but her father was right. Safety first and all. She was there to help, but Miranda was under no illusion any of the men in those tunnels would differentiate between her and any other sky dweller.
“See to it the cells are locked down,” she told the old slave. “I’ll get my equipment and meet you at the entrance.”
“Yes, mistress. And many thanks to you.”
Miranda hesitate
d. “This slave is special to you?”
The old man hesitated. “He…is a relation.”
A shiver went down Miranda’s spine. The reality was, slaves were never allowed to form family units, but that didn’t mean the concept was completely lost on them.
“How close a relation?” The man kept his eyes down, respecting her station, but didn’t answer. She realized then the old slave had likely manipulated her father into buying the boy. To keep a loved one close? She stepped closer to him, placing her hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. “I swear, on my honor, your secret is safe with me. I only wish to help.”
With a resigned sigh, he finally confessed, “He’s my son.”
Pulling in a breath, Miranda closed her eyes. The reality of their world never failed to confuse her. She’d been sheltered for the most part, not allowed to interact with those in her father’s possession. No slaves worked in their home, and her mother had steadfastly refused to allow her only daughter near the arena, deeming it too dangerous. The only reason she was here now was to step up her campaign with her father to, if not free the slaves completely, at least treat them decently. Now, she forced herself to look at the pain her luxurious life caused others. It also made her realize just how much danger she’d be in if she set foot in those catacombs.
“What’s your name, good sir?”
He looked up at her, finally meeting her eyes with his startled gaze. “Almarr, mistress.”
“Our secret, Almarr,” she said, gravely, formally. “I’ll take it with me to the afterlife.”
“Aye, mistress. Aye.” Almarr bowed several times, his relief obvious. “And thank you.”
“Thank me after we see his wounds healed. He may be beyond my skill. I’m still an apprentice.”
“Your willingness to enter that place of death gives me hope enough, mistress,” he replied. “Only, be wary. I’ll watch your back, but I’m old. Cover yourself well. Never let them know who you are or you’ll be at their mercy.”
As Almarr spoke, Miranda was reminded of the look on the gladiator’s face as he gazed at her. A mixture of hot, malicious, and possessive so intense she’d gone weak. Even the reminder made her shiver in fear. She had no doubt Almarr was right in his assessment of the situation. Going to the catacombs could well spell her doom. Still, she had to try to help Almarr’s son. She owed it to the young man. To all the slaves under her father’s control.
With a sigh, she turned to leave. Her guards escorted her to the suite she occupied while away from Sky City. Choosing her supplies, medicines, and instruments with care, she packed everything into a small bag. Hopefully, she’d have everything she needed. Hopefully, she could get in and out without anyone figuring out she was the daughter of their tormentor.
Chapter Two
Rumor had it a healer had entered the catacombs to see to the wounds of the slaves who’d fought today. Brandwulfr knew several of the wounded wouldn’t live to see the next rising. Helpless anger threatened to choke him. To see his brethren broken for the amusement of those who thought themselves better infuriated him. How little a shifter’s life meant to these people.
Whoever the healer was had his work cut out for him. The moans of those who suffered echoed in this place like ghosts haunting the dark caverns before the corpses even cooled. At least ten men were near death this night. It would be interesting to see what healer had been sent and how that healer treated his people. Who would be deemed valuable enough to help? The slaves always attempted to treat one another as best they could, but the lack of clean water and bandages hampered their efforts. In this place of death and filth, when the healer prepared his equipment, the sharp scent of antiseptic and soap seemed to pierce the night like an arrow. Among other scents.
He narrowed his eyes. A human female?
Who in their right godsdamned mind would send a woman into this place? That could not possibly be the healer. Her fresh, clean scent wafted down the corridor, mingling with the aroma of her supplies, causing more than a little stirring among the mostly female-deprived captives. Gods have mercy on the poor little fool should she be let into the wrong cell. And why the fuck did he care? If the woman was stupid enough to come here, then she deserved what she got. Even considering the safety and wellbeing of a human made him shake his head in disgust at himself. After all they’d done to him and his people, why should he give a fuck?
The catacombs were sectioned off into cells. Some of the favored gladiators—like the jaguar woman, Aya—had private quarters. Others were grouped into threes and fours. The new additions were housed in a group cell holding twenty to thirty men at any given time. There were two other men in Brandwulfr’s cell, all sniffing the air for that intoxicating scent, the same as he was. Brandwulfr paced his cell, unaccountably anxious. There was something about the scent that tickled his senses. Jasmine and honeyed clover combined with a clean, fresh rain called to him. It was insane; nothing had ever affected him like this, least of all a woman who was obviously out of her mind. While in this world, he existed only to kill, to make everyone afraid of him and what he could do if he chose. Every battle won, every time Rudolph sent reinforcement guards to contain him was more time to study their strengths. Their weaknesses. Having his attention shifted so far away from his ultimate goal—that of freeing not only himself, but his people as well—was irritating. And completely unacceptable.
“You need to hold as still as you can, Haidar,” a soft voice that sounded full of compassion said. Was she treating the new pup who’d just won his first battle? Then she was fighting a lost cause. That young man wouldn’t live out the night. Probably not the hour. “This will hurt, but hopefully the medicine will dull it as much as possible.”
A few moments later, a grunt followed by a low moan echoed through the cavern. The fresh scent of blood overtook the soft scent of the woman, along with the bitter stench of sweat. Whatever she was doing to the pup hurt like the devil, as well as opened up new wounds. Normally, Brandwulfr would ignore the other’s discomfort. Showing kindness to anyone made them a target. But knowing Rudolph had actually sent someone into the shifter’s domain to torture them anew sent a blinding fury through Brandwulfr. Yet, even through his consuming rage, he scented anger all around him as the others came to the same conclusions he had. How many more ways would Rudolph devise to torture them?
One advantage they all had over their captors was knowing the catacombs inside and out. They knew the weak spots in the rock walls, in the reinforced concrete barriers. Over the years, they’d made a network of tunnels from one cell to another so mates could be together, or those who had disagreeable cellmates could find more pleasant company. And so they could plot escape attempts, though the outside walls and gates had always proved too difficult to breach. When he heard people moving inside the walls, he knew others were on the move. Apparently, there were some who had decided to take matters into their own hands. He’d pity the poor girl, but what good would it do her? Besides, she obviously had none for Haidar.
With a growl, Brandwulfr threw himself down on his bunk, his forearm going over his eyes. If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was this. There was too much riding on his shoulders right now. In this compound alone, he’d identified at least forty shifters of varying species. Every week, some died. Every month, those numbers were replaced with fresh slaves. Shifters all. Brandwulfr was committed to figuring out where they were acquiring the shifter captives. It was why he’d allowed them to capture him three years before. Unfortunately, that had been the easy part. These men might be human, but they had containing shifters down to a science. The collars they all wore prevented them from shifting to their larger, animal forms at the risk of being strangled. In the heat of battle, some couldn’t control the defensive mechanism, an instinct that had been part of their species for many thousands of years, and ended up dying when the metal collar refused to expand. If he could find the gateways to his world, he could close them down, or at the very least, quarantine those reg
ions on his own world so no one wandered into the danger zones unexpectedly.
A terrified scream broke his concentration. Instantly, he was off his bunk and racing into the tunnels. The little bitch! Without even truly scenting the air, he knew who the sound came from. He’d taken off before he even made a conscious decision to and that gripped his nuts nearly as much as the fact he was allowing her to place his entire reason for being here in jeopardy. Even now, the stench of her fear called to him, demanding he protect her. He didn’t even know who she was! The dark and dusty murk inside the stone walls gave him a clear path to the young pup’s cell, where he knew the woman was. Even still, he had to shove several men out of his way, baring his teeth and snarling with every step. The closer he got, the more he could hear until, finally, a small figure covered in a voluminous cloak struggled violently with two much larger men.
“Let me go!” Her demand was shrill, terrified. She struggled, but was hopelessly tangled in the long, flowing cloak. “I’m only trying to help him! He’ll die if you don’t let me tend his wounds!”
“He’s dead anyway,” one of them said. Brandwulfr recognized his voice. Kane, he thought the man’s name was. “The only thing you’re going to help is our lusts.”
“I mean no harm,” she cried, her voice shaking, fear rolling off her in waves. “I just want to ease the suffering of the wounded.”
“Oh, you’re going to ease our suffering, all right,” another said, laughing. “Arsin, Kane, and me are going to take you here. When we’re done, there are several other men who could use your attention.”
“But you don’t understand!” Her pleas were growing louder, more frantic. “I—” Her voice was cut off abruptly by a sharp slap!
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