This chapter contains themes of sexual trauma. Reader discretion advised.

The battle mages exploded into motion, trained to recognise and respond to that signal just as I had been.

Once, I'd made the foolish mistake of drawing out an opportunity to kill, stretching it so thin that the moment snapped out of my grasp. Corinne Cross escaped, and like a hydra she'd come back with extra heads — four battle mage guards, each one trained to recognise and respond to the same commands I had, once upon a time.

It would not elude me again.

I morphed without warning, letting my rage manifest in a larger body, closing my teeth around Corinne's head — or so I tried. An opposite force yanked me backward, hurling me into the sandstone, even though I felt no hands make contact with my flesh.

Something gave way in my chest as I slid down the wall, but the pain was a dim flicker at the edge of my attention, a faulty light I'd trained hard to ignore. I lunged for Corinne again, ducking and weaving through a forest of lowered spears, skirting sticky whips of magic the battle mages sent my way.

It had been so long since I took on this form. It was alarming how right it felt, how straightforward everything was. I was a predator. She was my prey. I tore apart anyone and anything that dared to stand in my way, splintering staffs and separating limbs from shoulders, riled up by the hot, coppery spray that flavoured the air and speckled my muzzle.

That force yanked on my tail again, sending pain ricocheting up the notches of my spine. I snarled and whirled around, swiftly realising nobody was there.

It had to be telekinetic magic. A distraction.

A chunk of sandstone shattered on the back of my skull, driving my nose into the wall. It was like being punched in the soul; to be struck so unexpectedly in the most sensitive part of my body made my thoughts fracture and disintegrate. Blood poured into my eye, but the stars remained.

Isaac let out a muffled sound, as if they'd clapped a hand over his mouth. I couldn't tell if it was in warning or a request for help, but either way it spiked my blood with a fresh surge of urgency. I blinked furiously, trying to clear the dark spots in my vision as I coiled and sprung again, only to be caught in the stomach by the blunt end of a battle-mages staff. It knocked me back into the wall and through it; the sandstone sucked me in and held me there, as if I'd been set in place with the ancient cement. The sound that escaped my throat was feral and guttural as I squirmed, testing the strength of my restraints, despairingly sound. I stopped when the sharp end of the glaive kissed the pulse in my throat.

Somebody yelped. "He bit me!" a battle mage cried, seconds before a severed finger hit the sandy floor by my head. The blade scraped fur and skin as my captor tensed.

"Let her go," Isaac blurted out. I could just make out the shape of him being dragged down by three others. "We'll cooperate. You have my word."

A battle mage slung a bit of leather between his teeth, pulling back on it to control the movement of his head. Corinne chuckled, a hateful, husky sound that was somehow devoid of any warmth. "It's your voice that's the problem, boy. I wish you would have found it sooner."

I shuddered to think of what they could have achieved with his siren powers. People would have followed Marcus King of their own volition, instead of relying on a delicate chain of sire bond commands.

It was a glaring gap in the armour of their plan, one my mother would be keenly aware of after I exploited it last summer. Taking out Marcus King not only set free Ivy and Isaac, his hybrid children, relieving them of the obligation to carry out his planned genocide. It also freed every vampire he'd ever created that was beholden to his plans. There were probably countless vampires with their own hybrid broods that were now squabbling for power and a cut of the profits they would have given away for free, and Corinne would have to win each one over in order to secure her troops.

If Isaac and I could find those vampires and take them out... I tucked away the plan for later, resolving to bypass Bjorn and report straight to Chance or Jerome. It could free the spy master from his sire bond, but right now I needed to focus on freeing myself.

I had a way out of the wall, but I had to make sure the moment was right. That I could guarantee our escape and continued participation in the tournament, because Isaac would never forgive me if we left all those hybrid to rot as we had.

It was startling to realise that I also wouldn't forgive myself.

She has to want something from us, I thought, eying my mother with naked suspicion. Otherwise we'd already be dead.

"It's safe," Corinne called over her shoulder, never once taking her eyes off Isaac. I was almost insulted by the lack of faith in my ability, but the arrival of two magnanimous beings quickly stoppered any spiralling thoughts.

The first to step through the doorway was a golden statue brought to life. Her hair was arranged in twin buns tonight, with wrought-metal butterflies perched atop each one, but as she blinked, her yellow contact slipped before righting itself again, revealing a sliver of blue iris.

There were seven women on the Council of Thirteen. Three had brown eyes, narrowing the list of suspects dramatically.

She had no idea what she'd given away; how glaring her pores were upon closer examination. "Bring me the boy," the Golden One said haughtily, stretching out her arm. I noticed a faint embossment on her skin, where the skin was slightly raised by scar tissue. Tattoos.

"Let's not be hasty," interjected the second figure, raising a hand of his own. Rings choked his fingers like weeds, the mismatching stones bringing out the vomit of colour in his silk robe. "He does have a show stopping voice."

Ruffles of white lace framed his head like a frilled-neck lizard, and my mouth soured at the pallor of his skin, the hungry gleam in his eyes as they fixed on Isaac, as if his beauty was a meal he'd long been denied.

I'd thought Bjorn's sire would fixate on me. I hadn't considered that he'd want to make a plaything of both of us. Isaac blanched at the sight of the vampire, turning such a sickly shade of white he could have passed for a corpse.

"That's the problem," Corinne said, all evidence of disdain wiped clean from her tone. It was bizarre to see her fall back into the role of a servant — even the captain of the guard had to report to their liege. "He could inspire anyone to do almost anything and throw off the whole tournament. There's no money to be had if everyone bets on the same team."

The vampire cocked his head. "Did you hear something, my beauty?" he asked, turning to the Golden One. "I can make out a slight whining. Perhaps a mosquito."

The look he turned on the Councilwoman — she had to be a member, the air practically vibrated with the power she carried on her arms — was greasy as the raven hair lapping at his shoulders. There was an almost weaselly look to the man, as if he was born to play the part of the socially stunted villain who seeks revenge for a self-imposed isolation.

"Be at peace, Rupert. The Bug Collector has already decided his fate," the Golden One said cryptically, narrowing her eyes as she ushered the battle mages closer. "Do not make me ask again."

The warning in her tone was clear. She was an impatient master, and yet the battle-mages did not move until Rupert motioned them forward. The oldest seemed close to my age, and I suspected they were all sired by the sleazy vampire. He must have been a part of King's inner circle, somebody the megalomaniac trusted. Somebody who delighted in making conquests of werewolf women and commandeering the unfortunate by-blows of his twisted games.

The battle mages drove Isaac to his knees before the Golden One. Corinne gripped a fistful of his pale, silky hair, yanking his head back. His Adam's apple jumped reflexively as lavender eyes flicked towards me, urging me to...

Wait. It was an uppercut of a thought that caught me completely off guard, because it didn't belong to me. I can do this.

Isaac knew the threat I posed. He was speaking to me telepathically, which meant we had to be on the same wavelength. He had to know I was on the verge of shifting and launching myself from the hole in the wall.

All I had to do was remove the bit from Isaac's mouth, so he could make puppets of our enemies with his words. And yet he stayed my hand, willing to risk his life for a shot at freeing hybrids still trapped in their sire bonds. Kids like the battle mages handling him like a pig for the slaughter.

The Golden One splayed her fingers on Isaac's throat, as if she was silently demanding that he stop. Embossed patterns starting glowing all the way up her arms, flooding the air with the coppery stench blood. Black ichor bled from her golden pores, burning into his skin, leaving a dark brand in the shape of her hand.

"It is done," she said tightly, wiping her hand on her robe. Black smeared on gold fabric. "I will allow you to continue to the next stage of the tournament, but you will no longer be able to use your magic in the arena. We pride ourselves on hosting a fair fight, after all."

Rupert snorted, and The Golden One glared daggers at him. "I will collect my favour in due course," she said, tongues of fire licking her every word. He had the sense to sober up.

A Councilwoman whose temper ran hot, then. My mental list narrowed again.

"General?" she snapped.

Corinne snapped to attention. "Your Grace?"

"Let us go. I tire of this squalid place."

The corner of Corinne's mouth tightened with displeasure. Her almond eyes — my eyes, in all but colour — darted to my place in the wall. "What of the girl?"

The Golden One frowned, but I suspected it was out of irritation for the delay as opposed to concern for my well-being. "Rupert has paid handsomely for a moment of their time," she said cryptically, turning on her heel. "Come. My esteemed guests will be waiting for me at the reception."

Reception, I echoed in my head, wondering if they held one after every match. It would be the perfect way to make connections and covert deals, away from the prying eyes of spies in the over-world. I'll have to find a way to attend the next one.

I tracked every sashay of her hips as she walked away, Corinne trotting at her heels like an obedient lapdog. Impotent fury warred with pride as my opportunity to kill her grew smaller and smaller, until she disappeared around the corner all together, but I took solace in the wisdom of my choice.

I hadn't lost my calm. I'd made a strategic decision to bide my time; the killing blow would come when she was drained from all the cuts I'd dealt along the way. When she was absolutely confident in her success, so she had even further to fall when I knocked her off her pedestal.

Rupert tracked The Golden One the whole way, but his attention was quick to swing towards Isaac the moment she was gone, reaching out to caress Isaac's throat. "A pity. I'd hoped to mark you first."

Isaac wrestled against his restraints, panic limning his expression as he tried to chew through the bit. Rupert's sickening touch became a backhanded blow, making Isaac's head snap to the side.

"Feisty," Rupert said, humming his approval as he fingered the spines of Isaac's crown. Something dark glittered in his eyes at the sight of a king brought to his knees, and I felt a burst of hatred as I realised it was never me Bjorn was offering up on a silver platter. I was supposed to look soft and small to make Isaac look hard and menacing. Rupert was more interested in exploiting the powerful than the weak; it probably made him feel like a man in his own right.

Rupert's eyes flicked to where I was theoretically trapped in the wall. The seedy smile spread, overcrowding his narrow chain. He's glad for the audience, I realised, my revulsion manifesting in a wave of nausea. I could feel my fur bristling all the way down to the tip of my tail, protesting against the confines of the sandstone wall.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this," Rupert said, pushing aside the flaps of his jacket. "Your father has been dangling you in front me for years, the coy bastard."

I saw it in his lavender eyes, the moment Isaac resigned himself to the abuse. If Rupert enjoyed a struggle, he would give him anything but.

That was the last mental impression I received before a wall slammed down between our minds. Isaac retreated far behind it, the glassy vacancy in his gaze spilling down the rest of his face. The thought of what he must have endured to be capable of dissociating so completely, so efficiently...

The last thread of my calm snapped. I didn't care what Isaac wanted anymore; if they kicked us out of the tournament and ruined our chances of freeing all the hybrid children. All his life he'd suffered to give others a fighting chance. As a child, he'd pinned his father down so that Ivy, Roland and their mother could escape. When he was a slave to the sire bond, he risked death to stop himself from going to Marcus King's aid, giving me the vital opportunity I needed to finish what Ivy started and free them both. And now...

There would be no now. I refused to let this happen.

I called on the Change and transformed with blinding speed, propelling myself through the air. One moment I was human, the next I was a wolf again, my jaw unhinging.

The vampire's pants hit the ground a split second before his head. Every battle mage physically recoiled as their psychic leash snapped loose. Landing on all fours, I spat out the bits of spine and severed tendon, driving them back another step. Dark, lukewarm blood dripped from my fangs, splattering on the stone. Disgusting.

The younger boy lowered his spear. "What the actual —"

"Shut up," the older girl hissed, raising hers. "That's the Deathstalker, you idiot."

The white leather and soft gauze hadn't fooled them, then. I was surprised by how many people seemed to have watched my matches as a child. How many remembered me, despite being children themselves at the time. I was so isolated back then, confined to my cell or the arena, that it was startling to realise how many others were orbiting in me at the time, each child trapped in their own way.

All of a sudden their battle mage garb looked like dress-up costumes. Their eyes seemed wide and young with fear and confusion now there was no one around to bark commands.

Fingers twined through the fur at my shoulder. I tracked Isaac through my peripheral vision, concern sluicing through my chest as he rubbed his throat gingerly, avoiding the ink of his brand.

"You can come with us," he offered. It sounded like he was trying to push the words through sandpaper. "There's others like you at home, and we're trying to build a safe community for everyone. But you don't have to stay. You can go whenever you want if you decide it isn't the right fit right now."

They eyed each other warily. I took advantage of the opportunity to shift, much preferring the reassurance of skin on skin, the solid weight of Isaac leaning on my shoulder for support. His hand was trembling, but his expression was open and warm, and I liked the way his fingers tightened on my collarbone. Like he needed me. Like he didn't want to let me go.

Peter Pan extended his hand, inviting the lost to join him again.