Page 11 of Kiss of Embers
I smirked even though Niall couldn’t see me. “You mean we’re not above cheating.”
“I wouldn’t call itcheating,” Niall said. “But it’s an unwritten rule that the demons who run the Games look the other way when it comes to magical sabotage. Some among our kind clingto honor at the expense of victory.” Niall huffed. “I can guarantee the witches competing won’t hesitate to use every magical tool at their disposal. Dragons have competed in every Firstborn Games since the Curse struck down our females. We’re more powerful than the other races, and yet we’ve never won a single Games. Wemustwin this one.”
Determination coursed through me. “We will. Between Finn and me, one of us will win that elixir.”
“The Games are being held in the South American jungle this year,” Niall said. “I’ll send you the coordinates.”
Finn stirred at my side. “We’ll be there, Consort. And we’ll keep you updated on the competition’s progress.”
“Good.” More muffled footsteps, followed by the squeak of door hinges. Niall cleared his throat, and his tone turned mild. “Before you go, you lads should probably put on some pants.”
Chapter
Three
ZARA
Ipaced in my tent and tried to ignore how the sticky jungle heat made my shirt cling to my skin. A lantern sat on a camp table, its battery-powered light casting a soft glow over the wooden floorboards that made the tent seem less like a…well, tent.
But the light couldn’t dispel the sense of doom that huddled around me. Chirping insects drifted from the tent’s entrance. Occasionally, an unseen animal screamed in the distance.
And the muffled sound of men’s voices penetrated the canvas.
Dozens of men. My competitors. Powerful males from every corner of the world had gathered for a chance to win the Elixir of Vozgadach. Representatives from all the Firstborn Races were present, their tents clustered in the clearing the Games’ organizers had designated as a home base. The competition was set to begin the moment the sun sank below the horizon.
And Ihadto win. The future of the Rockford Pack depended on it. Possibly, my life depended on it. Brader Ashcroft spoke the truth about other alphas eyeing my lands. If they saw an opportunity to expand their territories, they would take it. If that happened, an unwanted marriage would be the least of myconcerns. So it was either win the elixir or lose my position—and maybe my head.
But the stakes went beyond my personal safety. I pressed a hand to my throat as visions of the latest victims of moon sickness flashed in my mind. The elixir could keep the horrible disease away from my pack forever. Never again would I have to face off with a drooling, snarling monster who used to be a family friend.
Drute ducked inside the tent. Fading sunlight spilled through the opening behind him and then winked out again as the flaps fell back into place. He crossed to me, a light sheen of perspiration covering the vee of gray skin exposed by his open-collar shirt.
“Everyone is gathering,” he said. “Are you ready?”
No.For a moment, the truth trembled on my lips. Then, memories of my father filtered through my mind. As a teenager, I once asked him why he held audiences with pack members in the throne room. The throne was an ancient piece, the wood so old it was basically petrified stone. Why not meet in his office, where everyone was more comfortable?
My father had given me a pointed look.“I don’t want the pack to be comfortable around me, Zara. Power is fifty percent muscle and fifty percent perception.”
I lifted my chin as I held Drute’s gaze. “I’m ready. And I’m going to win.”
Lamplight shimmered in Drute’s dark eyes. He stepped closer, and he placed a claw-tipped hand on my shoulder as he lowered his voice. “There’s no shame in being nervous. When your father was young, he used to puke before every battle.”
Reluctant amusement drifted through me. I should have known better than to think I could fool Drute. “Dad never told me that.”
Drute’s fangs showed between his lips as he smiled. “Well, it’s not very glamorous. Although, puking on your competitors might not be a bad strategy. They’ll keep their distance if they think you’re going to ruin their shoes.”
The sound of a low, mournful horn split the air.
My heart sped up. Drute dropped his hand from my shoulder. “That’s the signal. We need to go. You don’t have any weapons on you, right?”
“No weapons.” I gestured to my corner of the tent, where my father’s sword lay on my bed. The blade gleamed under the mosquito netting draped around the bed frame. “It’s here if I need it, though.” Competitors were permitted to use magic, but weapons of any kind were strictly prohibited. However, more than one competitor had died under mysterious circumstances in the past. Centuries ago, a fae lord on the cusp of winning the Games was discovered in his bed with his throat slit on the morning of the final day of competition. I couldn’t carry the sword during the Games, but I’d sleep with my hand on the hilt.
“Fair enough,” Drute said. “Let’s go.”
We left the tent and stepped into the damp, oppressive air. Even in the so-called “dry season,” the humidity wrapped around me with sticky, suffocating arms. The last orange rays of the dying sun stained the brush and leaves on the ground, which had been flattened by competitors moving around the camp. Tents lined a crude pathway, their vestibules festooned with flags bearing coats of arms and the names of noble houses.
A pair of fae with long silver hair shouldered past Drute and me.
“Pardon,” one said, a slight frown touching his arrogant features. Drute waited for the men to stride well ahead of us before leaning toward me and grumbling under his breath.