She wrapped her arms around his throat, said a little prayer to Isvana, andsqueezed.
Brynleigh didn’t want to kill him. She just needed him unconscious.
Winning was the only thing on her mind.
Everything was too loud. The roaring crowd, the bellowing Death Elf, the thrumming of her shadows, and the pounding of her heart.
The Champion contorted his arm and yelled. The whip slashed across her back, and a flash of red filled her vision.
It burned, and yet, she held on. She squeezed tighter and tighter, calling on all her strength.
Everything blurred.
Finally, after what felt like far too long, the Champion stumbled to his knees. The wooden platform trembled beneath the weight of his gigantic frame, and he thrashed wildly in a final attempt to dislodge her.
Brynleigh didn’t let go. She needed this victory.
“Come on,” she gritted through clenched teeth. “Just pass out already.”
In response, the Death Elf roared.
She constricted his throat harder.
He kept struggling, but she refused to let go. She couldn’t.
And then she felt it.
The Death Elf slumped forward. His head slammed into the wooden platform. The crowd’s cheers tapered off into an uneasy silence.
Brynleigh drew in heavy, gasping breaths. Each thundering heartbeat rang in her ears, echoing the call of her shadows.
That had been too fucking close for comfort.
The Crimson Shade stopped moving, and Brynleigh’s shadows confirmed the man was unconscious.
She didn’t move until a hand pried her arm away from the elf’s throat and raised it in the air.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your new Champion!” Dimitri proclaimed.
Three silent seconds passed before the crowd roared. Their cheers seemed even louder than before.
It was over.
Relief coursed through Brynleigh, and she exhaled. She looked up, and sure enough, Jelisette was staring at her. Something akin to pride shimmered in her Maker’s eyes, and Brynleigh knew she’d passed the test.
Later that night, Jelisette took Brynleigh to a back room. She introduced Dimitri as someone who could help her find vengeance against the Representatives.
Thank Isvana, it had all been worth it.
CHAPTER 19
Ash, Smoke, and Thundering Wingbeats
Astorm was brewing on the horizon.
Ryker tasted the impending rain in the air, and he felt it in the marrow of his bones. His magic strummed a steady beat within him, his elemental fae side feeling even closer than normal.
He always got like this when it rained.