Cass’s POV

"Nubian Pharaoh, you're up."

Kanda grabs her massive axe and stands, her expression as cold as ice.

"You better win, shifter," the guard sneers. "I put good money on you."

She doesn't even look at him. She simply walks out into the blinding light. We scramble to the observation slit.

"She called her a shifter," I mutter, leaning in. "But she doesn't smell like a werewolf."

"There are different types, girl," Sheril explains. "Werebears, werecats—Kanda’s one of those. Zao loves collecting rarities. To him, we’re just exotic pets."

The arena erupts as Kanda clashes with the 'One-eyed Tiger.' The sound of metal against metal is deafening, punctuated by the crowd’s bloodthirsty roars. It feels like an eternity of clashing steel before the announcer bellows, "A winner! What a show!"

Kanda returns to our holding pen, bleeding but victorious. Then the guards return, dragging the next girl out. She never comes back.

"It’s break time," Kanda says, wrapping her wounds.

I retreat to the shadows, my mind racing. I think of my father—the monster who died at Oliver’s hand—and Colt.

Is he looking for me?

Suddenly, a guard shoves a bundle at me. "Put this on. Zao wants you accessorized."

It’s a tasseled nose-and-mouth mask, encrusted with rhinestones. It’s useless, flashy, and annoying—the dangling beads clatter with every move, but I don't argue. I know my life depends on obedience.

The arena floor is a nightmare of fresh, copper-scented blood and deep drag marks. My opponent is a hulking man with a scarred, milky eye. He bears his teeth, resting a massive axe on his shoulder.

"The Caspian Rogue against the new Persian Princess," the announcer crows.

As the guards retreat, the 'Rogue' swings his axe with terrifying power. I barely dodge, the blade slamming into the mud with a spray of filth. I rely on my speed, darting in to slash his arm with my daggers. He’s slow, but he’s a mountain—one solid hit and I’m dead.

The dance continues until he unexpectedly releases his axe. Before I can react, he grabs my hair and slams me into the dirt. My breath vanishes. He plants a massive foot on my chest, pressing the air from my lungs.

Just as the crowd begins to roar for my death, a spear flashes out of nowhere, kicking him back.

"Surprise, folks!" the announcer shrieks. "Lady Death enters the fray!"

Sheril is there, spear in hand. We’re a team now. I scramble up, adrenaline white-hot in my veins.

"Two against two!"

I rush the second man entering the pit. I don't think—I just move. I vault onto his back, my daggers finding the soft flesh of his neck. He drops like a stone. I don't look at his face. I can’t.

Sheril and I combine our efforts, driving her spear into the Rogue’s chest until he goes still.

We are shoved back into the barracks, shivering and covered in someone else's blood.

"Good job," Kanda says, though her eyes are hollow. "You live to fight another day."

I slump into a corner. My hands are shaking. I’ve killed a man—a man who, like me, was probably just a slave to Zao’s whim. The realization sits in my stomach like lead.

This is what I am now. A killer for their amusement.