He threw the lock and knelt. “Your identity won’t make a difference when we train. What will make a difference is your gift from the Dragon. And I sure as hell know what that is.”

“My gift never manifested!”

“Save your breath.”

He said it flatly, because he’d seen proof of her destructive powers: Dr. Aster’s lab, with its roof obliterated. Her lie was obvious.

Unless . . . unless she had been subjected to the same procedure as his sister Pell. Leto had survived the disorientation and fear of his first manifestation, but his sister had not. Vigorous powers required the intervention of a telepath. Sometimes the process of installing unconscious restraints went badly. Very badly.

Leto shook off his foreboding. Time to get food. She would respond to food.

He walked away without explanation, unsurprised when her shouts followed.

He’d been confident in what to expect when first entering her training cell. Now, he knew what she looked like naked.

He exited at the guards’ discretion and walked between them toward the mess hall. He knew the turns and sloping underground tunnels well enough to walk with his eyes shut. He may as well have. Images of Nynn overlaid his vision. Waist and hips designed for a man’s hands. Supple legs to curl around a man’s lower back. Tight nipples waiting for a man’s eager mouth.

She’d got it all wrong. He had tamped down his arousal out of sheer mental discipline. He would not be limp when he bedded down that evening. In his private quarters, he would indulge those erotic images and release the grinding tension she’d ratcheted into his joints.

The mess hall was no more elaborate than Nynn’s training room, only bigger, having been carved out of granite deep within the earth. Dozens of human workers, all male, had gathered for the evening meal. Long wooden tables were flanked on each side by plain benches. Durable pewter plates held beans, rice, chunks of beef, kernels of corn, and buttered bread.

The guards accepted their meals from a stumpy man named Kilgore. “Here for your portion, Leto?”

“Yes, and for my neophyte.”

“The girl? Caught a glimpse when they brought her from the lab. Is she a looker? Couldn’t tell.”

“Food first.”

“You can be such a bore.”

Leto stood over him. “Earning the roar of a satisfied crowd is never a bore. Can you say the same for ladling beans?”

“Don’t rub it in.” Kilgore’s puckered face didn’t need much incentive to curl in on itself. “Not all of us can be stars in the Asters’ empire.”

The man served up dinner and assembled a second plate.

While Leto sat in the mess hall, he ate with silent relish. Quality fare. He’d heard rumors of Dragon Kings who fought for the Townsends and Kawashimas. Some were fed no better than scraps. Their holding cells were riddled with vermin and disease. They fought for meager prizes. Only Dr. Aster had perfected the process of reproduction among Dragon Kings. No one knew how he’d managed to solve the problem—or why conception was a problem in the first place.

The two other cartels had achieved limited successes. Their warriors bore as many insane, malformed children as ones delivered healthy and vital. It was a chance more were willing to take by the day.

Leto, however, was a god to the Asters. Praised above all who shared this warrior’s life. That Yeta had given birth to a healthy child meant he was more than a warrior. He had helped pass down their bloodline. His niece, Shoshan, and the few others who remained represented the future of Clan Garnis.

He returned his empty plate and faced Kilgore. “You ready for it?”

The small man stopped in the midst of lifting a scoop of corn. He ignored the thin, sallow-faced worker who waited for his food. Nearly every human in the compound looked that way—pale, sunken, wasted. Life underground turned them into two-legged moles.

Leto hid his disgust. For millennia, the Dragon Kings had ruled over these people, and for good reason. Mere herd animals.

He only wore the Asters’ collar because he benefited.

“Go on, then.” Kilgore’s dark, beady eyes were eager. “Her tits. Tell me.”

“Small but shapely.”

“And?”

“Tight buds. Dusky. Best I’ve seen in years.”

A shudder of pleasure jerked the loose skin along Kilgore’s jowls. “You really are without peer, my friend.”

Leto hid a scowl. He counted no humans among his friends—as if such a word existed for him. Sharing physical details about his neophytes spoke to Kilgore in the language of small minds. His lust for news about new arrivals was insatiable. Kilgore would embellish those curt descriptions, earn clout among the workers, and spread proof of Leto’s superiority. Such men eagerly bet on their favorite champion.

Distasteful. But necessary.

Leto took up the second plate of food. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a neophyte to break.”

THREE

The lonayíp bastard.

He left the tray of food out of reach beside her cage, and resumed his place against the wall.

Audrey’s stomach was a raging beast gnawing through her skin. It wanted the freedom to scramble between those iron bars and gorge. Dizzy on the scent of fresh meat and vegetables, she closed her eyes. There was nothing to do but beg.

She had begged for mercy in the labs. Needles, scalpels, saws—torture brought out the animal in a girl. When survival hinged on a sadist’s caprice, the words had babbled from her lips. Before Aster’s men stole Jack from her arms each morning, she’d held his frail, injured body for as long as possible. And she’d pleaded. Every day. She’d turned into some servile little creature.

But here . . .

She had a chance.

Audrey went through her list of assets. She was clean and clothed. She had endured years of ostracism among her namesake clan, bearing the brunt of her mother’s supposed indiscretions—years that made her stronger. She was free of Dr. Aster’s lab.

Risking an entire year before seeing Jack again was unbearable. Cage fighting was a temporary measure. She needed to escape and save her son.

That meant learning this complex inside out—from its physical layout to every single person inside it. Roles. Timetables. Coveted bribes. She would need to try getting another message to Mal. Pinning her hopes on one hastily penned letter wasn’t enough. At the lab she’d managed to conceal three Post-it notes before her hands were cuffed. The pen had taken longer to find. Months of vigilance. Amazing that she’d lived in hope of finding what other people took for granted. Opportunity had come in the form of a careless assistant and his gaping lab coat. Writing had required as much of her blood as it had dried-up ink.

Reed of Tigony had been so broken. She had no way of knowing his fate, or the fate of her letter. She had no faith in the Council senators, either, who’d pressured Mal into sending her into exile after her marriage to Caleb. They’d been waiting for any excuse to exert power over the Usurper—the derogatory name used against Malnefoley. Common sense said the Council wouldn’t sit back while Dragon Kings were yanked out of their homes, tortured, and forced to fight as slaves for human crime bosses. But common sense rarely applied in politics.

Buying time meant she would need to survive in the Cages.

That meant getting stronger. Eating. Training. And, yes, that meant begging.

“May I have the food? Please?”

He shoved the plate forward with the toe of his boot.

Audrey pounced. Beans and rice. She ate with her fingers, relishing each bite. The buttered bread was as sweet as chocolate cake. Such an indulgence. With her mouthed crammed, she looked up at her captor. Was this why he made no protest against being enslaved? If the Asters kept her too much longer, she’d lose herself. She’d become like him.