Chapter 83: Chapter 83
Dron wasn’t even out of breath.
He’d never felt the kind of power that was coursing through his veins.
He focused on Draxor. The alpha was a good fighter. Had this been out in the heat of war or on a battlefield somewhere else, Dron might have been a little more hesitant.
But he wasn’t at war, he was in the middle of a spectacle orchestrated simply to make it seem as if he wasn’t good enough for Tempest.
There was no amount of skill Draxor could possess that would surpass Dron’s need to make sure everyone knew the truth.
He was all Tempest needed. He only had to prove it to her. She was all that mattered.
Dron spared a quick glance to the other fighter in the arena, Vraq. The man was still on the ground trying to recuperate from the beating Draxor had given him seconds earlier. Dron didn’t need to worry about him at the moment.
Dron watched as Draxor expertly feigned from side to side, trying to find the right position to get the best shot in. Dron made sure that there was nowhere for him to strike.
The crowd’s roars had turned to cries of mercy, but there would be no mercy from Dron, not today.
He didn’t know if that made him a horrible person. Unfortunately, he just didn’t care.
"You think this means anything? You think she’ll see you as anything more than a monster?" Draxor hissed at Dron.
"I know what I am to her. I know what she is to me. There’s nothing you can say to change it." Dron steadied himself, waiting for Draxor to attack. "May your death come swiftly."
Draxor roared. He slammed his hand against his chest, trying to push his alpha instincts into overdrive.
Dron had seen many other alphas do the same. In fact, when things were really intense and there seemed like the end was near for Dron, he’d done the same things, but right then Dron wasn’t depending on his alpha instincts.
Sure, they were there, but it was the bond between him and Tempest that was giving him the strength to fight. The power was overwhelming.
Draxor rushed him, his strong arms wrapping around Dron’s midsection as he tried to squeeze the life out of Dron.
He felt the strength, but it was nothing more than slight pressure.
Dron lifted his hands over his head, put them together to form a club, before he brought them down hard against Draxor’s back. The force of Dron’s blow cracked the metal armor Draxor was wearing.
Draxor grunted, and a soft whimper pushed from his mouth as he let Dron go and crumbled to the ground.
Dron stepped away from Draxor, leaving him to roll on the ground in pain. Instead of jumping at the opportunity, Dron took that moment to look up at the separated spectator box. He stared straight at Prince Jaqen. The royal was seething. If it were possible, plumes of smoke would be coming from the man’s ears.
Nothing was going to plan. Dron wasn’t supposed to win.
Draxor got back up to his feet, and once again he rushed at Dron. Dron turned to the side, just a slight movement, but enough that Draxor’s momentum forced him to come barreling right past him.
Dron pulled his fist down and swung upward in an uppercut so fierce he heard some of the teeth in Draxor’s mouth crunch and shatter.
Draxor stumbled backward, shaking his head and spitting out bloody pieces of enamel onto the sandy ground.
Dron looked up at Prince Jaqen again. He had the power to stop this. He could order Dron to stop, but he wouldn’t. Dron wanted to send a message. No matter what the royals threw at Dron, he would get through it if it meant he would get back to Tempest.
After another moment, Prince Jaqen looked away. Draxor would get no help from the higher-ups today.
"Pick up your weapon," Dron spoke softly to his opponent. "Die with some dignity."
"You can’t win. It’s not...it’s impossible." Draxor mumbled. It was almost as if he couldn’t fathom falling to someone like Dron.
"I’ve already won. Look around." Dron gestured to the sword that was a few paces to the side. "Now pick up your weapon."
Draxor didn’t argue anymore. He rushed to the side, wobbling from side to side. He grabbed for the sword and hurtled in Dron’s direction. Draxor lunged with the blade straight forward as if he were about to skewer Dron.
Once again, Dron simply stepped to the side. This time, instead of leveling Draxor with an uppercut, he slammed the palm of his hand against Draxor’s leading hand, knocking the sword out of his grasp.
Before the heavy metal weapon could hit the ground, Dron kicked it up and caught it. Dron spun once and sliced downward. The sharpened blade passed through Draxor’s outstretched neck.
The crowd went silent as Draxor’s head bounced once before it rolled like a ball on the ground.
Heavy breathing caught Dron’s attention.
It wasn’t from him.
He turned and saw Vraq staring at him with fear in his eyes. He had a smaller sword. The blade shook.
"Don’t make me do this. Yield." Dron took a step in Vraq’s direction.
"I can’t. There’s no way out for me. I can’t go back to the black cells. They treat me like a pleasure worker. I can’t go back."
"You’re an alpha."
"I am, but only by birth. I don’t have the strength or the temperament. I’m not made for that life. I can’t go back."
Dron felt bad for him. He knew what it was like not to fit into the norm. What Vraq was going through in the black cells was unheard of for an alpha. To be used like an omega must have been a serious hit to his pride. Still, Dron knew if Vraq didn’t yield, he would have to kill him. That was the only way out of this battle. Everyone would have to die.
"I can’t let you win." Dron sighed and took another step forward.
"I know. If I can’t have my freedom in this life, maybe the moon goddess will allow my freedom in another. Make it quick...please." Vraq nearly begged.
Dron chanced a glance at Tempest. She was crying. She must see that Dron didn’t want to have to do this. There was no other choice.
"Attack," Dron ordered Vraq without even looking back in his direction.
The frightened alpha gave a half-hearted yell as he raised the small sword and swiped down at Dron.
Dron grabbed the man’s hand, turned the sword and his body until Vraq’s back was against his own front. He placed the sword on Vraq’s neck and slid it from side to side in one quick motion.
Vraq gurgled once before he fell to his knees and then face-planted in the sand, his blood spurting out quickly all around him.
The crowd was still quiet.
Only for a brief moment, then the jeers thundered through the air.
Dron was the victor.
Now it was time for him to claim his prize.
He hoped.
