Caged Warrior (22 page)

They could share that triumph as lovers. Fierce. Together.

Yet her groggy words would not leave his mind.

Burn it all down . . .

He wanted to ask Ulia what it meant. Something stilled his tongue. For now, the ritual
had been a success. He had a partner who might be more than a burden, more than a
tool. That was all he needed to know.

Ulia levered onto her feet with great difficulty. Leto would’ve aided the old woman,
but Nynn needed just as much help in standing.

Her smile quirked. “You can let go now.”

Leto nearly matched her grin. Nynn seemed lighter. More at ease. The change was hard
to pinpoint. A certain cockiness in the set of her shoulders? A brow smoothed of so
many worry lines? Even his ability to read a fellow Dragon King fell short.

Forcing himself to release her arms, he stepped back. Nynn took a deep breath that
seemed significant. Exhaled. Tossed her head in a way that once would’ve flung long,
pale hair back over her shoulder. “I’m eating today, Leto. I’m sleeping. And I’m not
training for a single minute.”

A laugh escaped him. He couldn’t help it. She was no longer a neophyte, despite her
lack of experience in an actual Cage match. The confidence and competence shimmered
off her. Stronger now. Undeniably powerful. Almost savage.

Dragon be, he wanted her.

“Yes, you’re eating today. Tomorrow we’ll learn to coordinate our strengths and weaknesses.”

She tilted her head, still wearing a teasing smile. “You have weaknesses?”

“Few. Very few.”

“That
will
be interesting.”

Drawn by a newfound camaraderie, he stepped closer and touched her chin. Perhaps it
was his relief that made him relent. She wanted a piece of her old life. Who was he
to deny whatever would propel her through the tough months to come?

“Audrey, you will get your son back.”

She flinched. Drew back. Frowned—just when he’d gotten used to her fine, smooth brow
and another pattern of freckles. “My name is Nynn.”

He shrugged. “If you’d rather.”

“And you must have me mistaken with some other neophyte. I had no idea you trained
so many.”

“What do you mean?”

“Leto, I have no son.”

He went very, very still. His lungs had stopped working. Quickly, he searched for
Ulia. She stood outside the Cage. An enigmatic smile turned her face into a mass of
overlapping wrinkles. “The Old Man will be pleased, don’t you think?”

Leto grabbed Nynn’s arms. Gave her a shake. Harder. Her injuries would heal but he
needed to get through to her—to her mind—as if his will alone could undo the last
few hours. As if that would ease the sudden plummet in his gut.

“If not for your son, then why will you fight?
Tell me.
”

“For the same reason you do,” she said calmly. “For the glory of the Asters.”

N
ynn woke with a massive headache and little memory of what had happened the night
before.

Night. As if anyone could tell light from dark when underground. The bare bulbs were
out, so that meant night. There was no other way to mark time other than the schedule
Leto set for her training. She was grateful for the attention from the Asters’ champion.
Being given over to a lesser warrior’s tutelage would mean her defeat.

The idea of defeat was as powerful as the idea of death.

Leto was fast becoming more than a trainer. She remembered being at odds with him
as if watching the memories of another woman. Why had she been so contentious? She
should’ve been paying attention from day one. And why, for so long, had she denied
her attraction to him? He was a godlike man—a living example of why Dragon Kings should
be revered. All graceful power. His skills made him impressive, and his teachings
had made her strong, but he possessed a magnetism she no longer wanted to refuse.

Despite her headache and how her back throbbed,
she lay in the dark and combed through the images of how he’d held her. How he breathed.
How he caressed. How he kissed.

She hadn’t seen him with the right eyes. Blinded by pride, she was of Tigony blood.
From the house of the Giva, no less. Her condescension and a few years of martial
training in her youth had made her stubborn—just enough knowledge to be a danger to
herself. She’d wasted too much time.

Why she’d put old Tigony biases above her survival was beyond her. Aside from Mal,
they’d treated her like dirt. Worse than dirt. Dirt could nurture crops. She was more
like the barren rock aisles jutting up from the Aegean. Pretty. Useless.

Not anymore. That wasn’t her world anymore, trying to fit in where no one wanted her.
This was a new day.

Or it would be soon.

Aside from her pounding skull, she felt good. Refreshed, even. She sat up and ran
a hand over all of her aching places. Her recollection of their last training session
was fuzzy. Her powers were still so big and strange that she closed her eyes when
she set them free. Gaps in her memory made sense. They must’ve gone a full twelve
rounds with how much pain pulsed down her back and thighs. Yet the flesh beneath her
fingertips was whole.

A Dragon King’s gift was a mysterious, powerful thing.

Nynn of Clan Tigony could harness lightning. Pull it into a sphere so beautiful that
she was reluctant to let it go, make it burn, set it free. But she would. Leto would
be her partner in her first Cage match. He needed her. Relied on her. And they both
had reasons to fight.

He would provide comfort to his sister.

She would . . .

There in the dark of her cell, where the only sound was trickling water from the crevice
in the corner, Nynn frowned again.

The lights above her winked on. She blinked away her confusion and stood. Stretched.
Shook out the last of her foggy fatigue. That strangeness must be the remnants of
an unpleasant dream. She knew who she was and she knew her place: in the Cage.

Excitement merged with a case of nerves. She’d only ever practiced. The idea of stepping
into a real Cage, with clay beneath her boots and a crowd roaring its approval, was
too much to imagine. Her first time would give detail to her vague, eager visions.

“Armor on,” Leto called as he strode up the corridor. “Today’s the day.”

“Today . . . ?” Even as she tried to sort her memories, she was already obeying his
command by gathering her things. “I thought we had more time to prepare.”

“You must’ve lost track of time. You’ve worked hard these last few days.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest wall, as was his habit. He looked . . .
magnificent. Whatever armor he’d worn in the past must’ve been for the sake of training.
This set was immaculate. Polished bronze accented black metal as dark and lustrous
as onyx. Protective layers over his right shoulder accentuated the breadth of his
upper body, while his bare left shoulder revealed striated, defined muscle. The leather
wrapped around his forearms seemed to be a part of him. Stronger. More supple. Not
on its own, but because
of the toned flesh it protected. More leather tucked around his waist and laced around
his thighs, clinging and accentuating his strength.

He was freshly shaved. Defiant jaw. Lean cheeks. Raised chin. Even his hair was shorter.
Dark. So dark. She ran a hand over her own cropped hair and felt a rush of camaraderie.

“You’re going to need to dress faster than that,” he said, “if you want to meet the
Old Man before we begin the match.”

“Of course.”

One eyebrow lifted only a fraction. She read more of his cocky, amused mood from the
way he widened his stance. He pushed his shoulder blades flush against the wall. Chest
out. Taller now. More intimidating. Only, she wasn’t intimidated anymore. She couldn’t
remember why she had been.

More likely, she’d probably thought him beneath her. Clan Garnis. The Lost. What did
they know about tradition and long millennia of controlling their human subjects?
The idea of having anything to learn from a man of such wandering stock must’ve been
laughable.

She wasn’t laughing now; she was staring.

Rather than rush through her preparations, Nynn crossed the training cell—not toward
the pile of her armor, but toward Leto. Wearing only her leather trousers and the
tank top she slept in, she was conscious, so conscious, of his dark eyes following
her. No animal. No beast. This was a man who knew his place in the world. Reveled
in it. She was becoming the woman he wanted her to be, but he was still Leto. Her
mentor. She wanted to touch him, to bask in his courage.

“Do you believe that I deserve to stand in a Cage with you?”

“Yes.” He said it with such confidence.

She needed to close her eyes. His approval. It meant more to her than she could explain.
All she knew was that the rush of sensation upon hearing that one word was liquid
and warming.

“May I?” She lifted her gaze to the head of his snake tattoo. His fresh buzz cut left
it clearly visible. “I want to see it. All of it.”

“That would mean turning my back to you.”

“I’m not your enemy, remember?” She grinned. “Besides, you haven’t armed me yet. Collar
on. No knife in hand. What could you fear from me?”

“Nothing.” But then he swallowed.

Nynn hid her surprise, her curiosity, and reached up to touch the snake’s hissing
tongue. First, just skin beneath her fingers, where that tongue licked toward his
smooth temple. She pushed back. Farther. The hair beneath her fingertips was stubbly
but not coarse. She traced the body of the serpent until he was left with a choice:
let that be the end of her exploration, or turn.

He watched her with unmistakable curiosity. Unmistakable even for him. Normally reading
his expressions was like casting rune stones, a trick only the wild Pendray in the
Highlands knew how to do. Right then, however, he lifted his coal-dark brows even
higher. A muscle twitched along his scarred lip. Nearly a smile? A dare?

No,
accepting
a dare.

He turned slowly. Nynn had free rein to continue the path of that black serpent. It
lay only partially concealed behind rich velvet hair. The tattoo ink was so dark.
She
tipped her finger to another angle. Fingernail now. The clash of swords and the swing
of a scythe weren’t enough to make this fantastic male specimen flinch, but the scrape
of her fingernail did. She shivered in response.

Still he turned. So slowly. She flicked her gaze between the tattoo and the portion
of his back left bare by his crisscrossed armor straps. Muscles flexed and pulled,
even with that achingly patient pace. The overhead bulbs cast extreme shadows. Every
ridge sharper. Every curve more graceful. New patterns of light and dark and flesh
were revealed no matter how insignificant his movement.

That sounded poetic, even to Nynn. Had she always thought to describe things with
an artist’s eye, or was Leto just special? After all, he was man enough to inspire
poetry in any mind. Throughout human history, odes had been written and masterpieces
had been created to honor Dragon Kings.

Olympus. Thebes. Varanasi. Cahokia. Skara Brae.

No matter the city, no matter the tribe, men such as Leto had walked among human beings
and reigned as gods. Awed subjects had looked upon such perfect bodies and found generous
muses. Now she was touching him. Scraping his skin with one ragged fingernail.

He turned to face her, so that she finished with the serpent’s tail—slim, slimmer,
gone—just at his other temple.

Their eyes met. Gold sparked between them. They both blinked and Nynn drew her hand
away.

“Why the tattoo?”

“Initiation ceremony. If you do well tonight, you might be offered the same honor.”

She smiled, which always seemed to catch him off guard. “I don’t intend to do well.”

“That’s not the attitude of a—”

“Of a champion?” Her smile widened. “I know it’s not. Are you listening to your neophyte,
Leto of Clan Garnis?”

His brows pinched toward the bridge of his nose. Confusion didn’t suit him but she
enjoyed taking him by surprise. “Yes, I’m listening.”

“I intend to be
astonishing
. Be ready to keep up.”

♦   ♦   ♦

Leto didn’t need to watch her dress for the Cage. He’d seen her prepare often enough.
Details stayed with him, whether he wanted them or not. Three weeks had emblazoned
her across his senses.

Except for touch. He would never get enough of touch.

So he lingered. This was her first Cage fight. He wanted her to help him show up the
Old Man. Not that he’d dare say it. Too petty. Even petulant. All he knew was that
the head of the Aster cartel had reservations about Leto’s successes. With Nynn at
his side, he would prove those reservations ridiculous.

He adjusted her armor and cinched the straps across her back. He lingered. Just as
she’d traced his tattoo, he also needed to touch. Her back was a mess of cuts and
whip marks. Most had healed, even if the skin still appeared puffy and red. He placed
two fingers on either side of a long, angry slash and traced it down—from shoulder
to where her skin disappeared beneath layers of metal and leather.