Hers To Cherish (Verdantia Book 3) by Knight Patricia A

Author:Knight, Patricia A. [Knight, Patricia A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Troll River Publications
Published: 2013-08-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Ram lay on his back and enjoyed the heat of the arena sand baking into his weary muscles. The stench of blood clogged his nostrils. He welcomed the opportunity to lie unmoving for a few seconds. The crowd’s roar of “Ram-sey, Ram-sey, Ram-sey,” drowned out the open-mouthed howl of the man flying through the air in attack. Ram planted his foot solidly in his opponent’s groin and launched him in a low arc over his prone body. His aggressor landed heavily, momentarily stunned. With a grunt, Ram flipped to his feet. A vicious kick to the opponent’s head rendered him unconscious. With a slash to each wrist tendon, Ram ensured this entrant would not pick up a weapon, or anything else, in the next six months. Though still alive, this fighter was out of the games. I’m sure the sponsors will whine that I didn’t kill him.

Ram surveyed the arena, blinking sweat from his eyes. He held his sword in a loose grip and his arms hung relaxed from his shoulders. Dead or disabled fighters littered the oval surface. Two pairs still fought. He looked across the sand and nodded at the Khlossian. Tok grinned back. Three days of fighting to win this ridiculous spectacle were over and two more remained. Tomorrow, four fighters would face each other in the semi-finals...and then the finals. Win that, secure the vital invitation to Narr’s estates, and then their real mission began. Find and rescue Alessa DeAlbero. His thoughts regarding Ari DeTano and Doral DeLorion were best left unspoken. Couldn’t the bastards have found an easier way into Narr’s compound?

He shifted the feather-light armatura that Pansy had procured for him and blessed her. Its weight was one-fifth of the steel Verdantian armor and the damn stuff did seem virtually impenetrable. He bore nasty purple and green bruises all over his torso that should have been deep slashes from a blade, penetrating stabs from a knife – would have been in his old armor. The shouts of his name from the crowd finally penetrated his awareness and he raised his arm in salute. The roar doubled as he walked slowly toward the tunnel out of the arena. Vid-cast reporters mobbed him immediately, shouting questions and holding vid-corders over their heads. Much to the displeasure of the commercial sponsors, he ignored all the vid-casters and shouldered through until he reached the entrance of the tunnel out of the stadium. Security restricted the area to combatants and their attendants. He had eyes for only one person.

His red-haired vixen waited for him in the cool, silent darkness at the tunnel exit. He jerked himself up short. When did I start considering her my red-haired vixen? He grunted to himself in disapproval. Stop that, DeKieran. She’s not yours and never will be. What did he have to offer Captain Steffania May Rickard – a temporary room in a brothel – a life always looking over one shoulder? He would never ask a woman he cared for to live like that.

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