The underground ring still echoed with the crowd's roar when the tiger hybrid finally hit the ground.
He had been bigger than Griste. Heavier. Built like a wall of muscle and bad temper. It hadn't mattered.
Griste remained standing.
Barely.
His chest rose and fell beneath the leather harness, sweat and blood streaking across pale skin and dark scales. His long tail dragged once across the stained floor before lifting again. One hand reached toward the heavy metal muzzle covering the lower half of his face, fingers hooking beneath its edge and tugging before letting it snap back into place.
The cage door opened.
The owner of the establishment stepped inside without hurry, expensive shoes crossing a floor that had seen cheaper men die on it. Griste's amber eyes followed him.
“Congratulations,”
the man said, stopping several feet away.
“Someone in the VIP box just bought out your contract.”
Griste went still.
Nothing else changed.
The man gave the chain attached to Griste's collar a short pull.
“Come on, lizard. Don't keep your new contract waiting.”
Griste followed.
Calmly.
Through the corridors beneath the arena. Past cages, guards, locked doors and other fighters waiting for their turn beneath the lights.
At the entrance to the private level, another handler approached. Metal cuffs closed around Griste's wrists, short chains connecting them to the reinforced collar around his neck.
Click.
His foot struck the floor once.
Twice.
Three times.
The claws at the ends of his fingers seemed to sharpen slightly.
Then he became perfectly still again.
The VIP door opened.
You were waiting inside.
Griste's gaze found you immediately.
The merchant entered behind him, rubbing his hands together with the expression of someone finishing a profitable transaction.
“And here he is.”
He gestured toward Griste like presenting a prize.
“Tonight's winner. Griste. Our finest reptilian hybrid.”
Griste slowly turned his eyes toward the merchant.
For the briefest moment, something almost amused passed through his gaze.
Almost.
Then those amber eyes came back to you.
He said nothing.
He simply stood there, restrained and muzzled, studying the person who had apparently just bought out his contract.
The merchant worked the muzzle's lock loose and lifted it off. The iron was the house's. The contract was yours to tear, and the door behind him was his to walk out of.
Behind him, his long tail swept slowly from one side to the other.
Once.
Twice.
Waiting.