We stayed back, while Kalon and Corbin walked toward the center of the green space, where the duel would take place. Demetrius moved to greet them, while his friends stayed back. He pointed a thumb at them over his shoulder. “Hope you don’t mind. I needed some witnesses, in case you decided to try something funny.”

“What, like killing you after you yield?” Kalon smirked. “Unlike you, I fight honorably.”

“I’ll be the referee,” Corbin interjected, his tone clipped. He was big and imposing enough to make Demetrius, who offered no objection, smile faintly.

“Fine by me.”

Kalon sighed. “Last chance to back out, Demetrius. Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?”

“I’d love to,” Demetrius said. “And if I back out now, you’ll tell everyone I’m a coward. I won’t let you have the last laugh. Besides, I’m younger than you. I can take you down.”

“Taking me down is one thing; killing me is something else entirely,” Kalon said.

Corbin cleared his throat. “All right. Take your positions. You know the drill. No weapons are allowed. No foreign objects. No cheating. Fight to the death, and may fate have mercy on you both.”

I held my breath, watching as Kalon and Demetrius moved closer, with about ten feet of space between them. They’d both settled for pants and white shirts, since they wouldn’t need much else in this duel. Demetrius was slightly taller, but Kalon wasn’t even remotely bothered. His Blood Arena prowess was part of the reason why Demetrius was quite worried. He’d allowed his ego to call the shots, and it was too late to turn back now.

His friends watched from behind, though they didn’t seem as concerned. Maybe they had faith in him. I had a feeling they would soon be disappointed.

“On my mark,” Corbin announced.

“What odds do you give Kalon?” Tristan asked Valaine.

She shot him a cold grin. “Lord Mefithi has a son to bury tomorrow.”

I felt sorry for Lord Mefithi. For Demetrius… not so much. Not after he’d killed Krassus. There were two types of creatures I had absolutely no mercy for—traitors and murderers. They were beyond forgiveness, for their motives were always selfish and simply awful. I understood the casualties of war. I even accepted tournament and duel deaths. But gratuitous violence such as what he’d inflicted upon Krassus today, I could not forgive.

We were all quiet as Corbin marked the beginning of the fight, bringing his arm down. “Begin!” he shouted.

Demetrius and Kalon circled one another at first, gauging movements and reflexes. Kalon took his time, unwilling to rush into it. Demetrius, on the other hand, was eager to get this over and done with. He lunged at Kalon with his long claws but missed him by inches.

Kalon dodged his attacks repeatedly but did not engage otherwise.

“What is he doing?” Nethissis murmured.

“He’s examining Demetrius’s approach,” Valaine whispered. “He never rushes into it, especially with a potentially deadly adversary.”

“So, you think Demetrius has a shot at killing Kalon,” Derek concluded.

“The chance is there, but I don’t know. Kalon’s got too many years in the Blood Arena in comparison to Demetrius,” Valaine said.

Demetrius was relentless in his offense, but Kalon’s defense was practically effortless. It looked like a dance. One was pushing, the other was pulling back. They swerved around and moved back, light on their feet. Demetrius took it as a sign of weakness.

“You’re afraid,” he hissed.

Kalon grinned. “I’m terrified.”

Demetrius bolted toward him, roaring as he tried to slice him open. Kalon moved, ever so slightly, and caught his wrist. A split second later, he drove his claws into Demetrius’s side. Blood gushed out. He’d nicked an artery, for sure.

“Whoa,” I breathed.

“Kalon’s precision is surgical,” Valaine said.

I nodded slowly. I could certainly see that.

Demetrius pulled his arm back. Blinded by rage, he came at Kalon head on but missed. In fact, he spent the next five minutes failing to even scratch Kalon, who simply dodged his attacks. He made it look so easy.

“He’s wearing him out,” Tristan said.

“Demetrius bled fast before his wound healed,” Sofia noticed.

Valaine smiled. “Exactly. That’s what Kalon does. He hits the vital points, going for blood loss. It weakens his opponent.”

Demetrius’s breath was ragged, as it became increasingly difficult for him to keep up with Kalon. He lunged at him again, but Kalon darted past him and drew more blood, this time slicing through the ribcage.

“You bastard!” Demetrius growled, covering his wound. His shirt was already drenched in crimson. Still, his friends didn’t give up hope, watching the fight with wide, almost sparkly eyes. “I’m walking out of this place tonight!”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Kalon replied and went in for his first direct attack.

Something silvery glimmered near Demetrius’s waist as he moved. My heart stopped. A knife. He had a knife. Heat spread through my throat as I tried to speak up, but the words refused to come out. I gripped Tristan’s arm, hoping he’d see it too.

He followed my gaze and went pale. “He’s armed!” my brother shouted.

Too late. The blade swished and entered Kalon’s stomach, and I gasped. Kalon grunted from the pain, as Demetrius sneered with delight.

“Foul! Stop, Demetrius!” Corbin snarled.

It all happened too fast for me to register everything. Corbin darted toward them, while Demetrius raised his clawed hand to further debilitate Kalon. But Kalon was quick to grab Demetrius’s throat, as he used his spare hand to pull the knife out.

“Demi, watch out!” one of his friends cried out, instantly realizing what was about to happen.

By the time Corbin reached them, Kalon had already dropped the knife. Demetrius tried to fight him, but he was choking under his grip. Kalon exhaled sharply as he drove his hand through Demetrius’s chest.

“Oh, dear lord,” I managed, covering my mouth. “Holy…”

A moment passed in the heaviest of silences as Demetrius stared at Kalon in disbelief. It was too late to do anything. Kalon’s hand had broken through the skin, the flesh, and the bones, having taken hold of Demetrius’s most prized possession.

“End of story,” Kalon hissed as he withdrew his hand, pulling out Demetrius’s heart.

My stomach convulsed, but I couldn’t look away. Demetrius’s friends screamed. Amal gasped. Demetrius collapsed on the ground, no longer breathing. His skin faded to a sickly off-white, blue rings settling around his eyes as he bled out on the short grass.

Corbin stilled, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Kalon stood there, holding Demetrius’s heart. Staring at its final, weakened beats. Blood trickled from his hand, like liquid rubies. As if suddenly brought back into the real world, he turned his head to look at us.

“I had no choice,” he mouthed, his lower lip shaking slightly.

As fearless a warrior as he was, Kalon still experienced regret. He took no pleasure in killing someone, even in these circumstances, where Demetrius had certainly had it coming. Kalon dropped the heart, wiping his hand on his shirt. Red flowers bloomed across the fabric, as he took several deep breaths.