Spectacle (Menagerie #2)(52)

“Screw ’em.” I scrounged up a smile, and he must have heard it in my voice, because he looked up again. “I’m glad for the time with you, no matter what they think we’re going to do with it. Are you okay?” I took his hand and pulled his arm out straight.

Gallagher didn’t flinch, though the motion must have hurt. His arms were both swollen from a multitude of snake bites. “I’m fine. They gave me an injection of antivenom. I told them I didn’t need it, but they don’t listen.”

“Well, you probably did need it.”

Gallagher shrugged. “I’m not human. The bites would be gone in the morning either way.” His focus dropped to my throat, and he reached out to brush one finger over the nick from Bowman’s knife. “I’ll kill him.”

I didn’t bother to argue. Bowman had sealed his fate the moment he’d threatened me. “I know. Eventually,” I reminded him.

“Let me shower, then we’ll talk.” He stepped past me into the bathroom, and I sat on his sleep mat facing the other direction to give him as much privacy as possible in a suite with no doors.

Gallagher emerged from the shower minutes later smelling like soap from the wall dispenser. Beads of water still rolled down his chest and his scrub pants clung to his legs with the moisture. His arms already looked better, either because of the antivenom or because he was fae.

His cap still sat on his head, but it didn’t even look damp. My gaze lingered there, and I realized that he no longer bothered glamouring it to make it look like a baseball cap. Or maybe he couldn’t, because of the collar. “Why didn’t you didn’t take the hound’s blood?”

“Because I didn’t deserve it. Argos wasn’t my enemy. I killed him to keep you safe, and I’m sure I’ll have to do that again, but I won’t accept any personal benefit from it unless I have no choice.”

I couldn’t drag my gaze from his face, and again I was both confused and fascinated by the disparities that seemed to define him. He was biologically driven to shed blood and required to practically bathe in it in order to survive. Yet he took no personal pleasure in the act, even when his body felt physically satiated by it.

His restraint and self-discipline were boundless, yet if I were in imminent danger, he would tear through everything standing between us until I was safe. Or he was dead.

“When will you fight again?”

“From what I’ve heard, there are two events a week, but no one competes in both of them, because if we don’t have time to properly heal, the fights will be too short. Eryx fought a couple of days ago. He and I both currently stand as champions.”

“Why did Vandekamp shave your head?” I asked as he sat on the other end of the mat, leaning against the wall.

“They did that while I was unconscious. I think they were looking for identifying marks. I woke up bald and in chains. But the collar was a surprise.” The cautious way he ran one finger over the smooth steel told me that he’d already been shocked by it more than once.

“So it’s effective on you?”

“Infuriatingly so. The moment I even think about raising a fist, this contraption shoots some kind of electric signal throughout my body, paralyzing me.”

I frowned. “It doesn’t just cause pain? The collar paralyzes you every time?”

Gallagher nodded. “Ever since I killed two handlers at that party.”

“Because pain didn’t stop you.”

“Of course not. I ripped the head from the man who pushed the button and soaked my cap in his blood.” Because that sadistic bastard had established himself as Gallagher’s willing foe. “Would they truly have hurt you if I hadn’t killed the hound?” His gaze pinned me, and I resisted the urge to look away. He deserved the truth.

“Once they realized that was the right button to push, yes. This place is built to maximize profit. They’ll do whatever they have to do.”

“And you told them about that button?” His disapproval made me ache deep inside.

“I had to. They would have let Argos kill you if you hadn’t fought back.”

Gallagher took my hand and squeezed it. “We’re going to get out of here, Delilah. They will make a mistake, and I will be ready. Even if I have to paint the entire world with their blood, I will set you free.”

I was more worried about the blood he would lose than what he would spill.

Some time later, when Gallagher and I had settled into a comfortable and comforting silence, his cell door opened on squealing hinges. Two unfamiliar handlers stood in the hall. One aimed a tranquilizer rifle at Gallagher while the other set two food trays on the floor and slid them inside.

“Hey, could I get some clothes?” I plucked at the huge borrowed shirt for emphasis.

The handler slammed the door without even acknowledging me.

“Bastards.”

My tray held my typical dinner, but Gallagher had been given an entire baked chicken, half a loaf of white bread, a quart of milk, a wedge of cheese and two tablets that could only be vitamins.

“Do they always feed you like that?” I asked as he stood to bring the trays closer.

“They have to feed the fighters well to keep them in fighting shape.” He sat on the mat again and handed me my tray. “Would you like some cheese?”