Chapter 84

The crowd is already screaming for blood when I step up to the balcony. Beside me, I feel Aemon’s heartbeat too fast, breath shallow. Normal vampires don’t notice it. But I do.

“Slow it down,” I mutter to my brother under my breath.

He clenches his jaw, but obeys. He always does.

Blake enters the arena for my name… even though I’d burn the world to pull her out.

She fights with a blade for my House. And watching her bleed for me feels like that sharp tip is pointed straight at my heart.

Below us, the arena stretches wide under a gray sky, the sand darkened with old blood. We traveled three days for this—one of the not participating Houses offered their domain as neutral ground. Not far from Draven’s territory, thank the Goddess. Close enough that the vampires who hate us could still smell us coming.

They’re already calling for her death.

“Human mutt.”

“Let’s see how soft she bleeds. Her blood is rare!”

I ignore them. My eyes stay fixed on her.

Blake.

She moves fast. Dirt-smeared skin, a dark bruise blooming along her jaw. Her golden-brown hair—braided tightly by my own hands before dawn—doesn’t budge. I wove the strands back from her face in silence, fingers brushing her scalp, pretending it meant nothing. She didn’t flinch. Just sat there between my knees, still and obedient for once, as if she knew I needed the excuse to touch her.

Now that braid is a weapon. Clean. Strategic. No loose strands to grab.

She got the first token before most realized the game had started. She’s clever like that. Always thinking two steps ahead. Always quiet until it matters.

The second one—House Valor—cut her arm. Left side. Shallow, but angry. She didn’t let anyone see it. No wince, no twitch. But Aemon and I saw the way her stance shifted. The way she tucked it back when she reached.

We almost jumped the fucking barrier.

The third? Brilliant. She let the others take the wrong ones. Waited. When the right House Draven token hit the ground, abandoned, she picked it clean like a little wolf stripping marrow.

Now the fourth.

The bastard waiting for her is built like a bear. Taller than her. Three times her weight. Ugly as fuck.

“Crush her!”

“Break her jaw first, I want to see if she still talks back!”

Aemon growls low beside me. Not for the first time today.

"Aemon."

His throat bobs. He says nothing.

Below, Blake circles the other human. The man taunts her. She doesn’t blink. Her sword—too big for her delicate wrist—gleams as she spins it. She’s stalling. No, she’s calculating.

Smart girl.

He lunges. She ducks. Kicks sand in his eyes. He snarls. Swipes. Misses. The crowd jeers.

“Come on, little flower,” I murmur. Slide left. That’s it. Now turn. Turn, turn, yes. Faster.

As if she hears me, she pivots. The flat of her blade cracks against his shin. He stumbles.

“Hell, yes!”

The air tastes like smoke and metal. The other vampires lean over the rails, feral and hungry.

“Her blood’s delicious. I can smell her from up here. She’s tiring.”

“Just kill her already.”

I know her moves before she makes them—she leads with her left when she’s thinking too hard, favors her right when she wants to win.

She feints right. His back is exposed. Aemon’s fingers twitch on the stone railing. I catch them.

“Don’t,” I say.

“I won’t,” my brother bites out. “Unless she bleeds again.”

Then it happens.

Blake knocks the blade from his hand. Spins. Catches it mid-air by the hilt like it’s instinct. And before the human brute can recover—she has both swords.

But the bastard—

He lands a punch.

Hard.

Straight to her face.

Fucking hell!

I hear the crack from up here.

Her head snaps back. She staggers. Blood explodes from her nose, splattering across the sand.

I move before I think.

The chair screeches behind me.

Aemon catches my arms. “Wait, Griffin!”

I growl. My eyes locked on her tiny frame.

“She’s fine,” Aemon says through clenched teeth, but his voice isn’t steady. “Let her finish it.”

“She’s bleeding,” I growl. “He fucking hit her—”

“She’s winning,” my younger brother snaps. “Don’t take that from her.”

Below, Blake screams.

Not from pain. From rage. Pure fury.

She lunges and drives both blades into his beefy thighs. Buried to the hilt.

The human man howls. Drops. Crawls. The sand drinks him.

The crowd explodes, half cheering, half booing—some calling for her death, others howling for blood. But I don’t hear them.

I only hear her breathing, ragged, wild. Her chest heaving under that filthy uniform. Her jaw set. Her face painted with her own blood.

Blake yanks out the token hanging from his belt. Doesn’t even look at the crowd. Just wipes her face on her sleeve and walks.

Straight toward the fifth gate.

The final challenge.

My pulse skips. I don’t breathe.

Aemon whispers, awed. His cheeks tug up, dimples forming in their wake. “The little shit didn’t even hesitate.”

Of course she didn’t.

That’s my girl.

My little flower is blooming in blood and ash.

She has no idea.

No idea that when this is over, I’ll tell her the truth.

That she’s mine.

And she always has been.

She’ll be my Queen.

But as she steps through the fifth gate with her chin high and blood drying on her lips, I realize something I hadn’t before as I look ahead.

My worst nightmare is just about to start.