Lord's Fall (Elder Races #5)(7)

They had arrived at a short list of 448 contestants, and most of those were predator Wyr. There were any number of lions, of course, and several gargoyles. Dragos liked the gargoyles. They were community minded, and when they changed into their Wyr form, their stone-like surface was almost impossible to penetrate in hand-to-hand combat.

There was one of the two other known thunderbirds in existence aside from Tiago, a clash of harpies, and a very interesting, rare individual who was mixed race but whose Wyr side was strong enough that he could shapeshift. Most interesting of all to Dragos, there was a rare pegasus. While Powerful immortals, as herbivores pegasi were peaceful creatures, and it was unusual for one to seek out such a public, potentially violent position.

All-predator sentinels made for a hawkish group, a fact that was brought home to him when Pia, with her more peaceful outlook, began to sit in on conferences and voice her opinions. It might not be a bad thing to have a pegasus as a sentinel—as long as he could establish his prowess in physical combat. If he couldn’t fight worth shit, there was no point. The pegasus could go push some pencils in a bureaucratic position somewhere. Right here? It was call of the wild, baby.

The shortlist of contestants also included all five of his current sentinels, who had to participate in the Games to prove they were still the strongest and the best, because while the Wyr demesne adopted modern technology, legal concepts and principles, at its heart it was still a feudal system. It had to be; his sentinels needed to be the strongest and most capable of taking down any other Wyr who might go rogue, and they also had to be capable of leading a world-class defense against any potential attackers.

Might did not always equate with right, but it did provide damn strong security in an uncertain, often brutal world.

Still, the participation of the five sentinels was probably just a formality. Probably. The only stipulation Dragos had made was that they fight other contestants, because the point of their inclusion wasn’t to find out which of them was the strongest against each other. The real question was, were they stronger than anybody else?

Everyone was on edge, and more tempers than just his had flared frequently over the last few weeks. Crews had been laboring overnight to put the last touches on the combat arena. It was a simple area, a huge cordoned-off space with a sand-covered floor. The sand could be raked in between bouts to get rid of the blood.

Because there would be blood.

With all the paperwork and formalities out of the way, the Sentinel Games had just one objective: beat your opponent by any means possible. One fight, Wyr to Wyr. No weapons, no second chances, no holds barred.

There was just one rule: don’t kill anybody.

At least not on purpose.

• • •

Nobody wanted to talk to Dragos these days. No doubt it had something to do with him being so snarly. He was liable to bite off somebody’s head if they so much as looked at him funny. That wasn’t winning him any friends.

Which was all right with Dragos. He didn’t need friends, and he didn’t want to talk to anybody else, anyway. He could probably stand to not talk to anybody for the entire length of Pia’s trip away.

Yeah, that could potentially save lives and maintain inter-demesne alliances. Unfortunately, that strategy wasn’t on his agenda for the foreseeable future.

Approximately twenty thousand spectators were on site, along with countless staff and security, a team of medical personnel on standby for the week, the four hundred and forty-eight contestants, a gaggle of assorted dignitaries, some protest groups and a shitload of press.

Whenever his five current sentinels were not competing, they would be working with Wyr divisions in NYPD to maintain an extra-sharp vigilance throughout the city. This week would be particularly challenging for them, for they would have virtually no downtime between rounds in the arena, other than what they might need to physically heal from any injuries. They were all taking the rigors of the week as their own personal challenge to excel.

Lines went down the street. It was taking a while to usher in all of the people. While Dragos liked putting on a show, he really hated crowds, even when he was the one who instigated the gathering. He clenched his fists and kept a stern hold on his temper, turning his face away when someone pointed a camera at him.

Cuelebre Enterprises’ new head of PR, Talia Aguilar, was already on site and talking with several camera crews in the main lobby area. Talia was a selkie, a seal Wyr, with a sinuous rounded body, golden skin, brown hair and large, soulful eyes that the camera loved. She had been part of Tricks’s staff when Tricks had been Head of PR.

Last summer Pia herself had recommended Talia for the position, after she had briefly considered whether or not she wanted or even could do the job.

“Why her?” Dragos had asked.

“Because not only is Talia qualified, she’s freaking adorable,” Pia told him. “Have you noticed her? People fall over themselves to do things for her. They open doors for her and shit—and she never says shit. And Dragos, as much as I love you I have to say, you need someone who is really adorable in that position.”

“You’re adorable,” he said.

“Really? Aw.” Pleasure sleeked her down. She gave him a creamy smile. “I’m not, you know. But, aw.”

“Why shouldn’t you take the position?” he asked, curious as to her reasoning.

“For one thing, I’m not qualified,” she said.