Page 17 of Sands of Atonement

Ezra stepped forward again, closer. His eyes darkened. “I’m not above dragging you out of here by the hair, woman. Be careful what you ask for.”

I swallowed. At this point, we were dancing, not in the literal sense, but in the sense that he took the same steps as I did.

Ninety percent of fighting involved stepping around the opponent.

We made a full circle around the segmented arena, with me in the inner circle and him in the outer, studying, observing, demanding submission.

“Finish her, Ezra, or I will!” Brakan stepped forward. “This is ridiculous!”

“Silence!” Ezra lifted his hand toward Brakan but kept his eyes fixed on me.

All the men went still. I advanced toward him, which took him by surprise, and I went with it.

I lunged and ducked as soon as his arm swung toward me—missed.

Swinging my leg, I rammed my bruised shin into his spine. He turned as if I had dusted some speck off his shoulder without a wince.

And I saw it.

His eyes were Ezra’s, the first Prince of Tehara and now the Qahl. His scarf fell from his face, and a smirk lay across his face.

That was all it took for his hand to reach for my head in the midst of the distraction, shoving his other elbow into my face.

I sprawled across the ground, but used it to my advantage, bringing my legs low on the sands.

I will kill you, my eyes told him. I was half his size, but what most didn’t realize was that my size was a weapon.

“I’ve never quite enjoyed hitting my women, even when asked. But I suppose there’s a first for everything,” he scoffed.

Inch by inch, knees bent, I brought myself closer. I could feel the silent rage in my pulse pulling me toward him. Controlled. Calm. “Good thing I’m not your woman.”

“You wouldn’t be even if you begged.”

The silent pulse exploded through every cell of my being. Kill, kill, kill.

I lunged into his side, and his large body plunged into the sand. I landed on top and rammed my forearm under his chin. Followed by my other fist meeting his jaw.

I was fast, but he was faster. His arm slid between us, yanking me off his neck, and brought me to the ground with a thump⁠—

A fist rammed into the side of my temple.

Darkness.

For a moment.

Needling pain radiated through my skull. Ezra was pulling me by the neck toward the entrance of the training arena. That fucker!

“If I ever see you again, it’ll be the last thing you see,” he grunted.

With my heart violently pounding in my throat and my feet buried into the ground, I attempted to get loose from his iron hold. His hand squeezed my neck—or head. God, his hand was so large.

Looking up, wincing, I could see beautiful, bright red blood dripping from his jaw. Ezra was just as colorful as I was.

I started seeing spots that wouldn’t blink away as the sand in my mouth sputtered through strangled breaths in my scarf.

He was going to pay. Maybe I’d make his death even more gruesome since he caused me more than just emotional pain.

He finally let me go once we passed the gates. I tumbled onto the sandy street.