And Darius's kisses.
She scowled, not liking the heady thrill she received from the remembrance of his lips against hers, of his tongue invading her mouth oh, so sweetly. Of his body pressing into hers.
Lost yet again in the memory of such a soul-searing kiss, she didn't hear the frenzied male voices until it was too late. A table of weapons whizzed past before Grace spurted to a halt. Sand flicked around her ankles. Her mouth dropped open, as did the pit of her stomach.
Oh, my God.
She'd escaped Darius only to throw herself at six other warriors just like him.
CHAPTER 6
Grace stood at the edge of a huge arena of white stone and marble that resembled a restored Roman coliseum. Only the ceiling marred the illusion, boasting the same sea-covered crystal dome that comprised the rest of the… building? Castle?
Wide and long, the arena spanned the length of a football field. The air was scented with sweat and dirt, courtesy of the six men brandishing swords and basically trying to annihilate each other. Their grunts and groans blended with the cringe-worthy clang of metal. They had yet to notice her.
Her heart thudded in her chest, and she whipped around, intent on running back down the corridor. When she spied yet another warrior, this one just entering the far end, she scooted to the side, out of sight. Had he seen her? She didn't know; she only knew the nearest exit was blocked. The nearest exit was blocked !
"Calm down," she whispered. She'd wait two minutes. Surely the hallway would be clear by then; surely for such a short amount of time she could stay right here and remain unnoticed. Then she'd escape. Simple. Easy.
Please let it be simple and easy.
"Who taught you to fight, Kendrick?" one man snarled. He was the tallest man present, with broad shoulders and ropelike muscles. His pale hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and the long length of it slapped his cheek as he shoved his opponent to the ground. "Your sister?"
The one called Kendrick jumped to his feet, sword raised in front of him. He wore the same black leather pants and black shirt as the others. He was obviously the youngest. "Perhaps it was your sister," he growled. "After I tumbled her, of course."
Grace's jaw dropped as green scales momentarily appeared on the first man's face. When she blinked, they were gone.
The tall blonde sheathed his sword and held out his hands. He motioned for Kendrick to approach him. "If I actually had a sister, I would kill you where you stand. Since I do not, I'm merely going to beat you senseless."
A man stepped between the two combatants. He had brown hair and surprisingly sad features. He was unarmed. "That's enough," he said. "We are friends here. Not enemies."
"Shut up, Renard." A boy only slightly older than Kendrick jumped into the argument. He pointed the tip of his sword at the sad one's chest. Wet strands of brown hair clung to his temples and framed the dragon tattoo that stretched up from his jawline. "It's time you and all the other lucifaeres learned you're not infallible."
Renard's golden eyes narrowed. "Remove the weapon, little hatchling, or I will gut you where you stand."
The "little hatchling's" face paled, and he did as commanded.
Grace inched backward a step. Breathe , she commanded herself. Just keep breathing . They were going to kill each other.
"Smart move," another male said. This one had strawberry-blond hair and a breathtakingly beautiful face, which thoroughly contrasted with the fact that he was polishing a two-pronged hatchet. Dry amusement gleamed in his golden eyes. "Renard has killed men for less. I guess it helps that he knows exactly where to cut them, where to make them bleed and suffer for days at a time before finally, mercifully dying."
At his words, cold sweat beaded on Grace's forehead. She managed another inch backward.
"He's only trying to scare you," one of the younger boys gritted out. "Don't listen to him."
"I hope you kill each other." The heated phrase came from a black-haired warrior who slammed his weapon into the ground. "Gods know I'm tired of listening to all of your whining."
"Whining?" someone said. "That's rich coming from you, Tagart."
Kendrick chose that moment to launch himself at the large blonde. With a howl, the two men fell to the ground, fists flying. Every other man present paused only a moment before throwing himself into the fray. Oddly enough, every one of them seemed to be smiling.
Grace cast a quick glance to the hall. Empty. Relief threatened to topple her. She kept her eyes on the combatants and moved another inch backward… then another… then another.
And backed herself right into the table of weapons.
In a sudden symphony of disharmony, the different metals clanged together and tottered to the floor.
Then… silence.
All six men stopped, whirled and faced her. In the space of a few seconds, their bloody and bruised expressions registered shock, men happiness, then wicked hunger. Her breath snagged in her throat. She scrambled behind the table, specks of dirt flying about her shoes. A thin piece of wood would not stop these men, she knew, but she garnered a little courage with a barrier between them. She tried to lift a blade but it was too heavy.
A solid wall suddenly crowded her from behind. A very much alive, solid wall.
"Like to play with a man's sword, do you?"
Strong male arms wound around her waist-and they weren't Darius's. This man's skin was darker, his hands not quite as thick. But more than that, he didn't cause the same wave of arousal that Darius stirred in her. This man's embrace caused only fear.
"Remove your hands this instant," she said calmly, mentally applauding herself. "Otherwise you'll regret it."
"Regret it, or keep loving it?"
"Who do you have there, Brand?" one of the warriors asked.
"Give me a moment to find out," her captor answered. His rough voice drew closer to her ear, becoming a suggestive rumble. "What are you doing here, hmm?" he asked. "Women are not allowed in this palace, much less the training arena."
She gulped. "I-I-Darius is-"
He tensed against her. "Darius sent you?"
"Yes," she answered, praying such an admission would scare the man into freeing her. "Yes, he did."
A chuckle rumbled from him. "So he heeded my advice, after all. To keep us from teasing him, our leader sent us a whore. I never expected that. What's more, I never expected him to act so quickly."
Her mind only registered one portion of his speech. A whore? Whore! If they thought she was paid to have sex with them, they'd most likely see any resistance on her part as a game. She shuddered.
"Excited already, little whore?" He chuckled again. "Me, too."
Applying the same technique she'd used on Darius, she jabbed her foot atop her captor's instep, then rammed her elbow into his stomach. He umphed and loosened his hold. She twisted, jerked back her fist and let it fly. Her knuckles collided with his jaw. On impact, his chin snapped to the side, whipping his sandy-colored braids across his cheek. He howled and released her.
Free now, she attempted to run. The other warriors had already encircled her, however, halting any progress. Her heart stopped beating. Their bloodlust seemed to have deserted them entirely-leaving only lust.
One of them pointed at Brand. "I guess she doesn't like you, Brand." He laughed.
"I'm willing to bet she'll like me."
"None of us like you, Madox. Why would she?"
"Why don't you send her over here to me? I know how to treat a woman."
"Yes, but do you know how to eat one?"
They erupted in laughter.
Eat her? Good God. They were cannibals. They wanted her to whore for them and then become their evening snack. Worse and worse. A tremor shook her, trekking down her spine, then spreading over the rest of her body. Death by human banquet. No, thank you.