Gladiator Wolf (Gladiators Book 1)

by Marteeka Karland

As if he were charging to battle, Brandwulfr burst through the small grate that served as entrance into the tunnels from the pup’s cell, sending plaster, stone, and dust flying. Three wolves were on the tiny robed figure. The woman lay on the floor, her black cloak twisted about her legs and arms as the shifters used her garments against her, effectively binding her. Arsin’s hand was still raised from where he’d obviously backhanded the woman.

  Then Brandwulfr noticed something else. The cloak the woman wore was woven through with gold thread. He squinted as the three wolves turned in his direction, partially blocking their prize, but Brandwulfr got a good look at her stricken face, confirming his suspicion. The woman at Ruldolph’s side! Did the bastards know who she was, or were they out to beat and rape any woman who happened into the tunnels?

  In a flash of rage, he forgot his earlier mental rantings about the stupidity of a woman coming here. Forgot everything but the opportunity that had been dropped into his lap. A plan formed, an audacious one, and he ran with it. With a deafening roar, Brandwulfr charged the three wolves. The startled looks on their faces didn’t save them from a beating. Never in all his time here had Brandwulfr attacked another shifter without being threatened first. Until now. He hated what he was doing, hated turning against his own kind, but really, any man who would take a woman by force—any woman—didn’t deserve his pity.

  With teeth bared he struck, fists flying, connecting with bone as he smashed the face of Kane. The others backed off, but not before Brandwulfr landed a fist to the kidney of one and a kick to the balls of the other. “She’s mine!” he roared.

  Even as these three backed off, more rushed through the tunnel opening, barreling over all of them to get to the woman they saw as fair game. It seemed as if every slave in the place had taken to the tunnels to get to the female in their midst. He even saw a couple of the female shifters in the endless stream of bodies pouring from the tunnel into the cell. Brandwulfr shoved men out of the way into the walls, but more took their place. Within moments, the place was packed with gladiator shifters in their prime. Men growled and snarled, fighting for the right to take the unlucky human woman who’d stumbled into their midst. All the while, Brandwulfr’s frustration built.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the female. She’d finally gotten herself untangled and was physically dragging young Haidar into one corner as far away from the fighting as she could. An older man kept himself in front of her and the boy, fighting back any who got too close, though it was obviously taking a toll on him. The woman kept her body in between the melee and the wounded man, protecting him as best she could. Brandwulfr blinked, trying to deny what he was seeing. Was this woman, the daughter of the man he hated most, actually coming to the aid of one of their kind? With a growl, Brandwulfr redoubled his efforts to get to her side. He had to convince the mob she was under his protection. He could figure out the whys of it all later, but right now, she was in danger.

  Fists flying from men all around them, there wasn’t a male in the cell who wasn’t clambering to get to the female. When Brandwulfr connected several punches and kicks, not caring if he fought dirty, those around him began to give him a wide berth. He was as careful as he could to not severely injure anyone, but more than one man fell to the ground, writhing in pain when he didn’t get out of the way fast enough. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air, as did the sour tinge of sweat as the fighting continued.

  Finally, Brandwulfr stood in front of her and her charge. Snarling, he crouched, ready to pounce on any who dared challenge him. Reaching behind him, he snagged the girl’s arm, yanking her up and behind him, clamping her to him with one arm until she stood flush against his back.

  “Any man who touches her will have to fucking go through me,” he bellowed.

  “You can’t fight us all,” someone in the middle of the mob challenged. “You may be deadly in the arena, but all of us together can take you.”

  Finding the man who’d spoken wasn’t hard. Most of the men around him took a couple of steps away from him when he spoke. The shifter was of decent size and musculature, but was at least a head shorter than Brandwulfr and a good fifty pounds lighter. Clearly, he was depending on the others to back him up, help him bully Brandwulfr into giving him his way.

  “That’s probably true,” he acknowledged. “But I vow to you, you’ll be the man I go after first, and I guarantee I will kill you before the rest of the pack kills me.” It was a calculated risk, but Brandwulfr knew these men. Most of them had no desire to fight their own kind. They did so because they were forced to. The ones who did so willingly were either promised their freedom or the freedom of a loved one. The two or three who relished fighting their own kind knew they didn’t have a chance against Brandwulfr. He knew every single one of them, knew which ones he’d have to take out first; which ones needed to die instead of returning home. He eyed those few now, singling them out silently while the others backed off. As expected, none of them wanted to fight him. Even the one who’d spoken up slipped out before he could be confronted again, though the damage had been done. He’d issued a challenge and had his bluff called, had shown considerable weakness to a society that worshiped strength. That man would be lucky to last the week.

  One by one, everyone who didn’t belong in the cell crept back into the tunnels, returning to their respective quarters. The whole thing was over with rather quickly, but it still seemed like an eternity before he’d finally reached his prize. Brandwulfr didn’t let his guard down until he was certain no one remained to ambush him. Muttered curses and sharp warnings filled the chamber as the gladiators left. They obviously weren’t happy about the turn of events, but Brandwulfr had control of the situation. For now at least.

  The woman at his back trembled against him, her fists bunched in the waist of his tunic. Did she honestly think he meant to protect her instead of keeping her for his own? If so, then he had a distinct advantage. He could possibly bargain with her—his protection in exchange for his freedom. This might be a better opportunity than he’d first recognized.

  “Thank you,” she said in a tremulous voice. “I thought they—”

  He cut her off abruptly, whirling around and grabbing her by the throat. Slamming her against the wall, Brandwulfr bent down to look her straight in the eye. “You’re not out of the woods yet, woman,” he growled low, his voice quiet but still holding that threat of menace that had served him well since he’d been in this cursed place. “I know who you are. If Rudolph has sent you here to torture us more, your life is as good as ended.”

  Sapphire eyes wide with shock and fear stared back up at him. Her small hands circled his big wrist defensively, trying to push him away with no results. Those pale, slim fingers could barely reach halfway around his brawny forearm. Even for a human, she was pitifully weak. The little chit wouldn’t last a minute against one of them bent on doing her harm.

  “I-I only m-meant to h-help,” she stammered. Those amazingly blue eyes were dilated and growing wider by the second as she realized she wasn’t as safe as she’d first thought. “M-my father d-didn’t send m-me. I v-volunteered. To try to s-save Haidar’s life.”

  “Please, Brandwulfr!” He turned to the older man who’d tried to protect the woman earlier. “I brought her into this place. She is a good person, not agreeing with her father’s policies.”

  “Yet she profits from them as well?” Brandwulfr eyed her fine garments with disdain, still not letting her go from his grip around her neck. “Like it or not, she’s as guilty as Rudolph.”

  “No, she’s not!” The man, Almarr he thought his name was, exclaimed adamantly. “She tries to talk reason to Rudolph, tries to help us any way she can. Do you honestly think any other woman from Sky City would be down here? In the catacombs? She came here to help the wounded, not to bring them more misery.”

  “You’re sure of that?” Brandwulfr questioned, looking the man in the eyes. “Because I seem to recall your son struggling not to scream in pain. I scented h
is fear and the fresh blood she spilled. Are you very sure she wasn’t simply ending him more quickly?”

  “On my life, Brandwulfr, I’m certain of it.” Almarr’s demeanor was so adamant, Brandwulfr found himself wanting to believe him. If he was right, there was every possibility this woman would not only help him escape, but help him figure out the mystery of the gates to his world. If he pressed her hard enough. And if he gave her reason to want to help him.

  He looked at her. She still had that wide-eyed panic on her face and her breaths were rapid and shallow, but she’d quit struggling. Tears streamed down her face and she met his gaze without flinching, though her hands were still firmly around his wrist. They met each other’s eyes for long moments, neither giving ground. She stared at him, not so much with defiance, but with determination. As if she knew the next few seconds would shape their future relationship in ways she didn’t fully understand yet. The little chit had no idea how right she was.

  “Your name,” Brandwulfr grated, fully expecting her to obey.

  “Miranda.” That soft voice wrapped around his body like a caress. Those devastating eyes of hers seemed to bore into his soul, though he fought their effect as hard as he fought in the arena. But her voice… Even full of fear, it conjured up images best left alone. There was a sultry kind of innocence about her which was very unhealthy in a place like this. It was in her voice, in those ridiculously large eyes, and Brandwulfr knew he’d be lost in her spell if he weren’t careful. Even now as he gazed down at her upturned face, he had the nearly undeniable urge to protect her rather than frighten her into submission. Clenching his jaw, he ruthlessly buried that instinct. That way lay disaster.

  “Well, Miranda, looks like you’re stuck down here for a while. If you truly wish to help the wounded, there are plenty more besides young Haidar.” She never dropped her gaze, only tried to turn her head slightly, reminding him he still held her captive, his big hand around her slender neck. Brandwulfr didn’t let her go.

  “I’m aware of that,” she acknowledged softly. “I came prepared to stay as long as it takes. I have no intention of leaving until every last man is on the way to recovery.”

  “So certain none of them will die?”

  “Not if I can help it,” she replied with a proud jerk of her chin. “I’m still an apprentice healer, but I have skill. I will do everything I can to help every last person here. It was part of my vows when I entered the academy, and I take them very seriously.”

  Brandwulfr couldn’t help but push her. He needed to know her personality, what made her tick. “Even for ones such as us? Slaves?”

  “You’re far more than simple slaves,” she responded without hesitation. “I don’t believe anyone has the right to own another person, human or shifter. From what I’ve observed of your species, you’re no different from us other than having heightened senses. To a man, woman, and child, you are keen of intellect and possessed of sympathy toward one another, even under the gravest of circumstances.” He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “You, for example, are the greatest gladiator ever to step in the arena, yet you steadfastly refuse to harm your own kind. I know my father has punished you for this, tried to force you into it, but I know you have denied him no matter what he does to you.” When he said nothing, she continued. “I am here because Almarr asked me to help his son. The man risked my father’s wrath to make sure Haidar was taken care of. What father wouldn’t do the same for a child?”

  “What father would have his son brought here in the first place?” Brandwulfr shifted his gaze to the older wolf.

  “He wasn’t supposed to be a gladiator,” Miranda said quickly, bringing his attention back to her when Brandwulfr would have given Almarr his wrath for putting his son’s life in so much danger. “Haidar was supposed to work on the grounds with Almarr, but father noticed their fondness for each other and immediately separated the two.”

  As they spoke, Brandwulfr noticed some of the more aggressive men watching the exchange closely, no doubt listening to every word. He could lose control of the situation just as quickly as he’d gained it.

  “It really doesn’t matter much. You’re here. At my mercy.” When she opened her mouth to say something—probably plead for her life—Brandwulfr mashed his lips against hers in a searing kiss.

  Plundering her mouth, he slid his tongue inside, taking what she was too stunned to refuse. Miranda trembled beneath his touch, her hands tightening on his wrist and arm. She tried to kick out at him, but he only pressed his body harder against hers, trapping her tightly against the wall. Her fear was a bitter taste, but it was better than letting others think he was at her disposal instead of the other way around. Little whimpers escaped her throat, another bitter taste. Brandwulfr found he wanted this woman whimpering with need, not terror or–worse—disgust. The thought bewildered him. For a man who always knew his course of action, this feeling of indecision was maddening.

  Against his will, he softened the kiss, coaxing rather than taking. It wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, but he seemed unable to do otherwise. Before he knew it, he’d loosened his hold on her neck, turning it into more of a caress than a restraint. He knew the moment everything changed for her. Her body still trembled, she still whimpered, but she met the thrust of his tongue with a tentative stroke. In that instant, Brandwulfr knew he’d have Miranda for his own. He inhaled, taking her scent deeply into his lungs, secure in the knowledge there was nowhere she could go that he couldn’t find her. She might be the daughter of his enemy, but she would be his.

  As he ended the kiss, Brandwulfr held her gaze. Her eyes were slightly glazed but wary. Her gaze flickered from his eyes to his lips as if she wanted more, but her attention was immediately back on his eyes and her face flamed. Again, fear poured off her in waves, the smell turning from the sweet scent of budding arousal to the bitter taint of fear.

  “Why did you do that?” Her question was asked so softly, Brandwulfr was certain even the shifters nearby couldn’t hear her. It was almost as if she didn’t realize she’d actually spoken. Everything in him ached to be gentle with her, screamed at him that she wasn’t like him and needed him to be tender, careful. Unfortunately the situation dictated otherwise. He couldn’t show weakness, couldn’t afford to actually care about her.

  “You see all those men watching you? The ones in this cell and the ones across the corridor? Nearly every cell in this place is connected by tunnels. The second I leave you or turn my back, every man here will be after you. And without my protection, they will get you. Do you know what they’d do to you?”

  “I have a pretty good idea,” she muttered. She shook violently now, her body quivering against his with equal parts fear and arousal. That feminine scent of need called to Brandwulfr on a primal level, one that was nearly impossible to deny, her fear feeding her arousal in a sickening twist of adrenaline. If he were going to get them both out of here alive, he had to ignore it.

  “Now, kiss me again or you won’t have my protection.”

  “I will not!” Her outrage was clear, though he could still scent her arousal. “I will not be bullied into being your whore!”

  “The only way you’re going to live long enough to make good your promise to help these men is for everyone here to think you’re my woman. The only way for them to think that is for you to kiss me. Or I could fuck you right here.” He sneered. “Stake my claim in a graphic display that would make sure they didn’t dare touch you. Your choice, but I don’t normally like to display my sexual prowess for an audience.” Wide-eyed, Miranda shook her head, a silent denial, her face going pale. “Now, this time, I suggest you kiss me back. And you better kiss me like you mean it.”

  When he dipped his head to hers this time, she met him eagerly, her mouth opened to receive his kiss. With a groan, Brandwulfr gave himself up to the pleasure. Just for a moment. The soft silk of her tongue sliding against his felt like heaven. Where before she’d been stiff and tentative, now she met his tongue almost
eagerly thrust for thrust. She still trembled, but the longer he kissed her, the more her arousal grew until he knew the sweet scent permeated the area around them. Every shifter in the area would know she wanted him. With the public display of kissing her in that cell—and the fact she was a willing participant—Brandwulfr was confident no one would dare approach her to do her harm if he had to leave her side. At least not immediately.

  He prolonged the kiss; it was too enjoyable not to. The hand circling her throat slid to her breast and cupped gently, his thumb feathering the nipple through the silk she wore. What would she do if he kissed his way down her neck to suck that peak into his mouth? Would she let him? Would she arch to meet him?

  Just as the thought crossed his mind, she stiffened, then bit his lip. Hard. To everyone around them, it would merely look as if he’d pulled back from her, ending his show of ownership instead of her rejecting him. In reality, she’d surprised him, her unexpected response to him taking things farther than she’d expected oddly arousing. Any she-wolf he’d ever known would have had much the same reaction.

  “So, the little human has fangs of her own.” She flushed at his observation, apparently not liking being compared to the creatures her father owned. He didn’t back out of her personal space though, his body still firmly pressed against hers, his swelling cock pulsing lazily against her soft belly.

  “You said I had to kiss you. You didn’t say anything about letting you grope me.” Despite her angry words, there was fear in her lovely eyes. And, gods help him, something in him needed to back off. Both their lives could very well depend on him being the cold-hearted bastard everyone thought he was, but the thought of scaring her made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

  “True,” he responded, backing off slowly, leisurely. “For now. But make no mistake. Should it become necessary to do more, you will do what I demand.”

  A spark of temper flared in that expressive face of hers. “You won’t bully me into accepting your advances, no matter how dire the situation.”