Page 14 of Sands of Atonement

Were all men slow at watching and learning from each other? Within half an hour of watching these men fight, I memorized their techniques and had the upper hand.

“There is someone who wants to challenge you.” The announcer waved his hand across the arena to a tall man with a thick red beard, crossing his arms, looking like death. “Brakan. Two wins in a row get you double the prize. What do you say?”

Lifting my chin, I found several pairs of eyes on me from where Brakan was surrounded by others with only linen trousers and no tunics. This was allowed since it was forbidden for women to step into the arena—except for the occasional scandalous woman. I hadn’t seen a lot of half-naked men in my life, and shimmering sweat dripped from their broad shoulders past their strong, tan core. I tried not to stare because—well, a man wouldn’t!

I perused Brakan’s large form. It was tempting… to fight him and beat him into a pulp.

I weighed the purse in my hands. “Sure. Why not?”

I had to be careful, though. Mongah’s techniques could bring more attention to me than I would like.

Maybe it was too late.

The way their eyes followed seemed as if they wanted to hunt me down, and not in the way that made me curl my toes, excited for the chase.

Brakan approached me.

“Another round?” He grinned with a missing tooth, as if he were hungry for revenge that was not going to happen.

I lowered my voice. “Another lesson, old man?”

His grin was wiped from his face with a flash in his eyes.

A little fuse for a little⁠—

A fist slammed into my jaw.

God, if I wasn’t thinking about what his small⁠—

A knee rammed between my ribs. My body flew across the sands.

Fucker!

That was it.

I lifted my eyes to his and tunneled my focus.

Like a snake, I kept my body glued to the sands and swung my legs hard onto his shin. Brakan tumbled, momentarily losing his footing. I grabbed his ankle and yanked, sending him to the ground.

I fought his arm as I pinned him on top, straddling his hips. Forcing an elbow hard against his high cheekbone and another into his eyebrow. He attempted to throw a fist, but I pressed my foot against his wrist faster than he was able to free himself. Another elbow across his bleeding brow.

A fist rammed into my left side, throwing my entire body off his and landing me on my back. I lifted my legs in front of me as Brakan circled me. Like a stupid man, he lunged for me, but when I took a fist to my ribs, I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled on his neck to lift myself onto his back like a spider. In the blink of an eye, my arms strangled his throat.

His body was growing weaker and weaker—just a few more seconds. I pressed higher, cutting the airflow even more.

What I didn’t see was his hand that went for my head.

That was the first mistake I made.

I swung my head left and right from his hands that reached behind him. I no longer had the upper hand because of one simple problem: keeping my identity intact.

I jumped off Brakan, but he swung around, reaching for me.

I looked up from where I landed, my face still covered, but the man’s face paled.

He might not have caught me, but he did catch the end of one of my scarves.

Though he swore under his breath, the other fighters in the arena fell silent, one man after the other. The crowd even held its breath.