“He has that kind of face.”

“What kind is that?” Kalon asked, his eyes narrow and glimmering with intrigue.

“The kind that asks for it.”

“It?”

“The ass-whipping of the century. The decapitation of the millennium. I don’t know, anything that’s violent and gruesome enough to take him down. That arrogance is nauseating,” I said. It made Kalon chuckle.

“I should bring you to these fights more often.”

“Just don’t expect me to cheer for you,” I replied, pointing at dozens of Aeternae women around the box stalls who were eating him up from afar, fluttering their eyelashes and smiling, hoping they’d get his attention. “You’ve got plenty of fangirls here.”

Kalon leaned in closer again, cutting off my breath once more. “I’m not interested in them or their cheers.”

“I’m still not cheering for you,” I said bluntly, my face burning. His breath tickled my face.

His gaze dropped, and it took all my strength to stop myself from licking my lips. What an inconvenient reflex this was! “I don’t want you to cheer for me. But I hope my victory will make you smile. It’s something worth fighting for.”

“And if you lose? If you die?”

“If I lose, though the chance of that happening is slim, I hope you’ll at least tend to my wounded ego. If I die, however, I hope you’ll shed a tear for me,” Kalon said in a serious tone.

The electricity between us was so intense that the air seemed to crackle. I was speechless as I tried to understand what Kalon’s endgame was, where I was concerned. He was too close for me to think properly, though, and I could almost see him getting closer. Any minute now, our lips might meet. But why would he do this?

Suspicion rattled me. Was he being genuine in his hot-and-cold approach, or was he following a hidden agenda? As much as I enjoyed our subtle little games and back-and-forths, I needed to be careful with Kalon. He could be genuine, or he could be a fantastic thespian looking for a crack in my armor. The announcer broke through my train of thought as the bell was rung. “Let the fighting begin!”

Kalon and I moved back, watching the match unfold in the arena. I could breathe again, relaxing slightly in my cushioned seat.

Demetrius was fast. Too fast for someone like Krassus, I realized, as the Aeternae dashed left and right like a fleeting shadow. It was impossible to predict which angle he’d use to strike from. Krassus didn’t look intimidated, though, raising his shield and moving around a lot in order to make it harder for Demetrius to attack him.

The Aeternae had a long sword and a smaller, oval shield to use against Krassus. He sidestepped several times before he went in for the first hit. The Nalorean was quick on his feet, despite his large size. He brought his battle axe down, and Demetrius’s shield barely withstood the blow, forcing him down on one knee.

What Krassus lacked in speed, he made up for in strength. My heart thundered as I watched this violent dance between an Aeternae and a Nalorean. For a moment, I hoped I’d see Krassus win, but Demetrius swerved around and drove his sword into the Nalorean’s side. Gasps erupted from the crowd as Krassus cried out in pain.

Demetrius didn’t stop there. He pulled his blade back and stabbed him again.

“I yield,” Krassus shouted.

Screams tore through the audience when Demetrius didn’t listen and rammed the sword through Krassus’s spine. I could almost hear the vertebrae cracking, shattered by the smooth, sharp steel. Watching in horror, I didn’t even realize I’d gripped Kalon’s hand on the armrest between us.

Krassus came down hard, blood gushing from his mouth as he fell, flat on his face.

“Stop!” the announcer screamed. “Stop, Demetrius! No!”

But Demetrius wasn’t done. By the time the red-leather-clad staff ran to stop him, he’d already delivered a fourth blow, killing Krassus on the spot. Kalon cursed under his breath. Behind me, Derek and Sofia were livid. Amal was stunned. Nethissis bared her copperhead fangs, unable to control herself.

A low, collective hiss made me shiver. I looked around and saw that most of the Aeternae had their fangs out, as well, scowling at Demetrius for what he had done. Glancing down, I noticed Kalon’s claws coming out, slowly extending from the tips of his fingers. “Kalon…” I murmured, and he stared at me for a moment, boiling with rage.

Demetrius was satisfied. He dropped his sword and shield, raising both arms in a celebratory fashion. But no one clapped. Not a single soul dared to commend him for what he had done. It was the law pretty much anywhere in this universe and the next, that one could not strike an enemy or an opponent after they yielded. It was not honorable. It was a most despicable and cowardly thing to do.

It seemed to have thrown the announcer for a loop, too. Acheron was dark, simmering angrily in his seat. He didn’t like it, either. Danika, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care, checking the rings on her fingers as if she’d been watching a boring talk show on public television.

“How is that allowed?!” Tristan gasped, unable to take his eyes off the fallen Krassus. “He yielded!”

Valaine sighed, shaking her head with disgust, as silence settled across the Blood Arena. “It’s not allowed. If they let Demetrius through to the final, it will taint the entire tournament.”

“Outlet for violence or not, we must still abide by the rules,” Petra said from the box stall next to us. “Demetrius did us all a great disservice just now.”

“Will he be disqualified?” I asked, looking at Kalon. “Arrested? It’s basically murder!”

“I don’t know. The referees will decide,” he replied. “The tournaments are outside the general scope of our laws. It’s been like this for millennia. Anyone entering these competitions agrees that their life is on the line the moment they set foot in the arena, and that they may not make it out of here alive.”

“That’s disturbing,” I said. “So he could walk away with breaking tournament rules and killing someone?” The thought made me want to vomit.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” he muttered.

The referees were three individuals sitting behind the announcer on the stage. One was an Aeternae, the second was a Rimian, and the third was a Nalorean. They were currently talking between themselves with angry hand gestures, pointing the occasional finger at Demetrius, who stood over Krassus’s corpse, grinning and waiting for a verdict.

“This wasn’t about winning the match,” Kalon realized. “This was about killing Krassus, from the very beginning.”

There was movement in the pits that surrounded the fighting area, where other champions awaited. One of them, a tall and muscular Rimian, jumped up and rushed toward Demetrius with his twin short swords out. The color drained from Kalon’s face as he recognized him.

“No… Trev, don’t!” he shouted, but the Rimian fighter couldn’t hear him. He was too angry. His blades thirsted for the Aeternae’s blood.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

But Kalon no longer heard me. He jumped out of his seat and over the box stall’s edge, then made his way down the steps so fast, it looked as though he was flying. In the blink of an eye, he reached the bottom, pulling the angry Rimian back from what was bound to turn into a bloody tragedy.

Demetrius welcomed the challenge, but the staff in red leather kept him away from Kalon and the Rimian. I watched, my jaw close to the floor, as the entire thing turned into a mindless brawl, with multiple fighters jumping in to avenge Krassus’s wrongful death. Soon, silver guards breached the arena and enforced a faint sense of order, while the rest of us could do nothing other than experience blood-boiling outrage.

“What the hell just happened?” I managed, glancing at Valaine—the only one who could clarify this baffling moment.

“That’s Trev Blayne,” she said, nodding at the angry Rimian, who was now listening to Kalon as he tried to talk some sense into him. This was a side of Kalon I hadn’t seen before. He clearly had more than one way of surprising me. “He used to serve the Visentis dynasty. He was Kalon’s squire for a long time.”

“And now he’s fighting in the tournaments?” I replied.

Valaine nodded. “He wants to become an Aeternae. Trev and Kalon are close friends, which is why Kalon didn’t enter this tournament. He never fights when Trev is competing. And Trev never fights in Kalon’s tournaments, either.”

“Because one of them will die if they lose the final,” Tristan concluded.

“Exactly. And Trev is an exquisite warrior. I can see him ending up against Kalon, if they fight in the same tournament,” Valaine explained. “And they’re too fond of each other to risk that.”

“Has Trev won other tournaments before?” Tristan replied.

“This is his first, and he’s been doing a remarkable job. However, if Demetrius is allowed into the final after what he just did, I’m afraid Trev will not live to experience immortality,” Valaine said. “He’s good, but he’s not as good as Demetrius.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, please calm down,” the announcer shouted, a message meant for all those present, including the fighters, the silver guards, the referees, and the buzzing audience. “We’ve reached a decision,” he added.