Murmurs broke out among the males standing around me, their eyes lit with the excitement and the prospect of freedom. But I stayed stoic, my eyes never leaving Master. I watched him absorb the reaction from the males. But he wouldn’t get one from me. I knew his games. I couldn’t let myself believe that this was true.

Master played with our minds, gave us false promises time and time again. It was what held his pleasure.

This couldn’t be real.

As I heard the excitement from the other males, I knew I was the only one doubting this news.

Master raised his arms, and the guards moved around us with electric prods to calm us down. The males quieted and Master stepped forward. “In the coming four weeks, we will be holding rounds for who shall compete.” He then focused on us three champions. “And my champions, who have already secured a place in the tournament, will engage in demonstration matches to ensure we have my associates firmly on board.”

Master stayed silent, drinking in the euphoria from the males below him, then he swiftly turned and left the podium. A whistle sounded, and we all walked back to our pits to resume training. As I swung away, honing my skills, I could hear that the grunts of exertion were stronger from the other fighters. I could hear the louder clanging of metal on shields. I could hear the trainers ordering more effort. I could feel the sense of hunger from the males.

Hunger for freedom.

My trainer blocked and fought back against my blows, but he suddenly stopped when a figure appeared before my pit. I knew who it was before looking up. Only one male drew that much respect. Or obedience. In this Blood Pit, those lines were blurred.

“901,” Master called. My shoulders tensed. Calming my inner flames, I turned and met his stare. Master jumped down into the pit and strode to where I stood. He stopped only when he was as close as he could get without touching. He looked up into my eyes and smiled. His head dropped to the side. “Tell me, 901. How was my High Mona last night?”

I glared but stayed silent. Master shrugged. “My guard tells me that you tried to resist.” He paused, then leaned in to say, “But no man could resist her, could he?” He glanced away like he was picturing something in his mind. When he faced me again, he said, “Tell me, did you taste her, 901?”

When I didn’t respond, he pushed, “Did she scream out when you made her come … did she rake your skin?” Master walked around to my back. I knew he would see her nail marks. I expected him to gloat, but when he walked back to stand before me, his face was no longer rapt with victory. Instead, I could see the fury in his tight expression. Could see the rage, the psychotic possession he had for 152 in his unhinged glare.

Turning his back, he went to walk away, and I let my anger free and bit, “I took her all night long. Until she passed out.” He stilled, and I added, “Last night I made her mine.”

I watched as Master’s shoulders tensed, then he whipped round. Taking my hand, he guided my Kindjal’s tip to my throat. I didn’t even flinch as his lips drew back to bare his teeth and his face flushed a deep red color.

He wouldn’t do it.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the guards lining up around my pit, their guns ready to take me out if I lashed out in reaction and tried to kill their king. Lowering my head, I pressed the tip harder to my throat, feeling my blood trickle down my neck. Master’s jaw pulsed. I could see him fighting back his desperate need to kill me.

“Do it,” I hissed. And only for him to hear: “Do. It.”

Then, in a flash, Master drew back, a neutral expression commandeering his face. He righted his suit, then walked away as if he hadn’t just nearly taken out his prized fighter. The prized fighter who had just taken his most prized possession.

As Master walked out of view and away from my training pit, I let the blood trickle down my chest and turned to charge at my trainer.

I wasn’t going to win this championship for my freedom. I was sure that would never come.

No, I was going to win it to fuck with Master’s mind. Just the way he loved to fuck with mine.

And I would. Because I never lost.

I was the motherfucking champion.

Not even the taste of 152 could take away my fire.

7

152

I stayed huddled in the corner, my body shivering at the cold drifting in through the large cell doors. I looked down at my torn dress and closed my eyes as I pictured 901 ripping it from my body with his bare hands.

My cheeks flushed as I replayed the events of last night in my head. I flinched when I remembered the pain. Embarrassment rushed through me when I remembered hearing 901 screaming for me to be taken away as he charged the bars of his—our—cell door.

Then I remembered him dropping to the floor beside me. I remembered his face melting from anger to something much more kind as he stared into my eyes. I remembered the soft touch of his hand as he pushed a fallen strand of hair from my face. In fact, thinking back to last night, this simple touch, this gentle gesture from a man so raw and hard, shined most brightly in my mind.

I lowered my head to my clasped hands as another chill slapped against my bare body. Looking to the mattress on the floor across the room, I checked that the door was clear of the guards and scurried over to take the thick linen covering the base. I wrapped it around my body and quickly sat back down.

When I had awoken this morning, the cell was empty. 901 had left, probably to train. And I was glad of that fact. I racked my brain to remember if, with the exception of Master, I had ever had to face a male the morning after he had had to take me. I couldn’t remember, but I had the feeling that I hadn’t. 901 intimidated me more than anyone. I knew I would have been terrified to face him this morning. My stomach rolled when I thought back to how much he hadn’t wanted to pleasure me. But then I pictured him after he had reached his release the first time. There had been a look of wonder and awe in his blue eyes as he had stared into mine. His sharply featured face had relaxed to betray softness. That expression had created a home in my heart when my palm touched his rough cheek.

I blinked to break the trance I had fallen into, tucking my head into the bundled linen at my chest to stave off the cold. When I did, I was engulfed by the strong musk scent of 901. My thighs clenched together as the aroma infused my lungs. I closed my eyes, once again seeing him rocking above me, his bulging arms flexing and tensing beside my head.

The sudden sound of the cell door made me jump. When I looked up, a guard was in the doorway. He flicked his chin and ordered, “Move.”