Riot

  My hands hovered over his huge body. I didn’t know where to touch him. I didn’t know where he was hurting. Sensing I was here, he rolled painfully onto his back. His blue eyes blinked up at me. His left eye was bruised and swollen. Dried blood stuck to his skin, and his hair was matted with blood and sweat.

  Ilya inhaled, wheezing as he did so. My stomach dropped at how broken he appeared. This huge male, the undefeated champion, was now vulnerable. He stared at me. I wondered why, when his hand lifted and brushed down my cheek.

  I lifted my hand and laid it over his to keep it in place. “Moy prekrasnyy?” he whispered, barely making a sound.

  “Yes,” I replied, and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. This close I could see that the pupils in his eyes were dilated. “They drugged you,” I said, scanning his body to see where he was most injured.

  Ilya moved his free hand to his chest, and I saw a small insertion. “They shot you with a drug pellet?” I asked. I suddenly frowned, wondering how I knew that the Wraiths did that. The vision of a young boy being shot with one came to mind. A black-haired boy. The one from my dreams.

  “Yes,” Ilya rasped out, pulling my attention back to him.

  Ilya’s hand twitched on my cheek, and he looked me straight in the eyes. “Last night … when you didn’t come to me.”

  “He has forbidden any more contact with you.”

  His jaw clenched. Ilya looked away, and I saw handprint bruises on his neck. My stomach lurched at how close he had come to death. I shifted to my feet and reached for his hand. Ilya threaded his fingers through mine, trusting me completely.

  I helped him up and led him to the shower. I turned the handle and the spray came on. I shed my dress and proceeded to wash him down with soap. My hands ran over every inch of hard muscle; Ilya’s huge body was still uncoordinated with the aftereffects of the drug. I pressed kiss after kiss to his back and his shoulders, then moved to stand at his front.

  Ilya’s head was bowed, and he watched me as I washed him. My hands smoothed over his torso and broad chest as Ilya’s fingers stroked along my dampening hair. I smiled peacefully as I washed the blood from his chest, his number tattoo coming into view. My heart raced as I thought of his name, of how to tell him that he had a name. Ilya took a long, deep breath, and I quickly looked up. At first I believed it was simply the water from the shower cascading down his face. But when I truly looked into his eyes, when I saw the gutting expression of sadness and defeat on his face, I knew that it wasn’t.

  He was crying. Ilya, the Pit Bull, the champion of the Arziani death-match pit, was breaking down.

  Reaching behind him, I switched off the shower. My stomach sank. Ilya’s eyes were downcast, and his arms hung weakly by his sides. Rolling onto my tiptoes, I placed my hands on his cheeks. Ilya blinked and met my eyes. When he did, my heart splintered at the tears trickling down his pale cheeks. His blue eyes were dulled with pain, the whites bloodshot from his sorrow.

  “Moy voin,” I whispered, throat tight. Ilya’s drying skin bumped in the cool breeze that drifted around his dark cell. A tear ran over my thumb on his cheek. I wiped it away with a brush of my hand. A lump built in my throat at seeing a big male so broken. “What is it?” I asked, and searched his gaze for an answer. “Are you in pain? Do you hurt?”

  He lightly shook his head. Ilya glanced away, then looked back in my eyes. His arms lifted and he placed one hand on the side of my neck. I momentarily closed my eyes at this feeling. His other hand skirted down my cheek. My eyes fluttered open under his touch. When he knew he had my attention, he rasped, “I thought I was going to lose you.”

  A pit caved in my stomach, hollow and deep. “No,” I replied, but his eyes dropped and more tears fell.

  I couldn’t stand this sight. Couldn’t stand this strong male feeling so torn. I opened my mouth to speak, when his gaze glazed over and he said sadly, “First he makes you want them. He makes you need them in your heart. Then he takes them away, he takes them away so that you’ll do anything to get them back.” I held my breath as the words kept pouring like razors from his mouth. “He uses your need for them to break you, to do anything he demands … then the minute you fail, the minute you don’t do what he demands, he hurts them. He hurts them and makes you watch. Keeps you behind heavy bars where you cannot help, where you must watch and feel every hit like it was you that was receiving the pain.” Ilya’s hoarse voice cut off. He cleared his throat, then finished, “And finally, when you’re desperate, when you’ll do anything just to touch their face or hold them in your arms, he will end their life—slit their throat, put a bullet through their brain, stab them in the chest … and he makes you watch. Keeps you helpless, and through their death, takes your soul as his own.”

  Ilya’s fingers chased the tears on my cheeks. I hadn’t even known I’d been crying. “Please,” I cried, and shook my head.

  When I looked back into his eyes, he said, “He will take you from me, moy prekrasnyy. It has already begun. He gave you to me.” Ilya stared at my face like he would never see it again. He studied my features like they were the most important thing in his world. Sighing, he added, “You became my heart.”

  Ilya’s eyes squeezed shut and his heart contorted with pain. When they opened, he said, “He made me want you like I have never wanted anything else. Even my freedom doesn’t compare. If I had to fight every day for the rest of my life here in this pit, I would do it gladly to have you with me.” He swallowed, and his expression turned to one of grief. “But he won’t do that. He wants me to pay for years of disobedience—by losing you. He will keep you away, or at the very worst…” He trailed off, then rasped, “He will kill you. Like he did 140’s female. Like he did with 667’s female today. The champion had not meant to kill so soon; it was instinct. He struck out in the way we had been trained to defend our whole lives.” He shook his head. “But it did not make a difference. Master killed 667’s female without a second thought. I watched from the waiting cell, and in that second, I saw the male die too … only his heart still beat and he still drew breath.” Ilya swallowed. “But he was dead. I saw it in his eyes. There was nothing left to live for, so he attacked.”

  Ilya stepped closer to me, his body tired from the mixture of the drugs and the physical toll of the fight. He stared at me and I stared at him. I watched a large tear slip from the corner of his eye and roll down his cheek. “Master has already hurt you. He made me watch. His only move left is to take you from me for good.” He winced at the thought. “To kill you … and that would kill me.”

  “Ilya.” I choked on a sob when I heard the truth of his confession.

  He froze, then with a hazy confusion in his eyes he, questioned, “Il … Ilya?”

  My stomach flipped when I realized what I had just revealed. Ilya’s hands tightened on my face. His fingers began to shake. Inhaling to calm my nerves, I said, “Ilya … it is your name.”

  Ilya’s bowed head lifted and he searched my face for reassurance and an explanation of what I’d just revealed. I wasn’t sure. “What?”

  I nodded my head and smiled through my tears. “You heard me correctly.” My hand drifted down off his cheek to run over his tattoo. I traced the numbers 901, then said, “You are Ilya Konev. You are from Russia. You were taken from an orphanage as a child by the Wraiths and brought here. You are twenty-four years old. I don’t know more than that, but…” I laughed, unable to hold back my happiness. “You have a name. You are someone, moy voin.”

  “Ilya … Konev…?” Ilya whispered, the words unfamiliar on his lips.

  “Yes,” I replied, and my smile grew wider.

  Ilya’s skin bumped even more as the temperature in the room dropped. Releasing him, I reached for a towel for each of us. When he took hold of my wrist, I turned to see him looking at me, his expression still one of deep surprise. “You…?” he questioned. He looked at the back of my neck, where my tattoo was placed, and asked, “Do you know your name?”

  Standing stra
ight, I answered, “Inessa. My name is Inessa Belrova. From Russia. I also was taken by the Wraiths from an orphanage.”

  Ilya was silent in response. I could see this information had cost him more energy. Taking his hand, I brought him to stand beside the towels and quickly dried his wet skin. He stood there watching my every move. When I had dried myself, I walked us to the narrow bed and sat down on the edge. Ilya immediately followed my lead.

  He still watched me. He was watching me with such intensity that I felt a self-conscious blush travel up my neck and bloom on my cheeks. I ducked my head, escaping his rapt attention, but he captured my chin before it tucked against my chest and guided it to meet his eyes.

  “Inessa,” he said quietly, like my name was a prayer on his lips. My heart skipped a beat, my lips parting in response. This close I noticed flecks of gray in his blue irises. “Inessa Belrova,” he murmured, adding my surname.

  Shifting his body beside me, he pushed my hair from my face. Inessa and Ilya.”

  I closed my eyes, savoring the sound of our names being uttered side by side. I squeezed the hand that still lay in mine. “Say it again,” I asked.

  Ilya sucked in a quick breath but complied. “Inessa and Ilya. Ilya and Inessa … more than just our numbers.”

  My eyes slammed open. A new kind of expression had taken root on Ilya’s face. I determined it was due to the knowledge of who he was. But before I could think about it anymore, he slowly leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine. I moaned as our lips touched. Ilya’s lips were tentative and gentle.

  I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

  Ilya’s mouth broke away, and he pressed his forehead to mine. I listened to his controlled breathing, then he said, “As much as I’m pleased I know my name, I think I like knowing yours more.”

  “Ilya,” I whispered in reply, overcome by the confession.

  Ilya opened his mouth to say something, but I shook my head. “Lie down,” I commanded gently.

  A stubbornness flitted over his face. “I’m not weak,” he uttered coldly.

  “I know,” I said soothingly, “but I’m tired from today and want to lie beside you.”

  This seemed to work. Ilya carefully lay down, favoring the parts of his body that were hurting him. When his head hit the mattress, he turned to look at me. I mirrored his position. His hand lay on the patch of mattress between us. I covered his hand with my own.

  Ilya watched me, but it wasn’t in possession or want. He was looking at me as though our time was limited. Like I would be ripped from his side any second.

  A surge of sadness rushed through me because I knew it could be true. Ilya’s eyebrows pinched together as he watched me. I knew my sorrowful expression must be the cause. “I hate Master for forbidding me to come to you anymore.”

  Ilya’s breathing paused. His fingers beneath my hand became rigid. Before he could speak, I continued. “He said that his work with you is done. He will keep me to himself. He is going to keep me in my quarters.”

  “He’s going to cage you? Imprison you further?”

  “Yes.”

  Ilya shifted toward me, his thick muscular leg lifting to cover my own. “How do you know all of this?”

  “My chiri. She has become my friend. Her name is Maya.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “She knows her name?”

  “She knows everything that happens in this pit. She can move round undetected, without suspicion because of her lowly status.” I glanced to his identity tattoo and explained, “One of her people was able to discover who we are.”

  Ilya stared in disbelief. As he did, another name circled my head: Valentin. A finger coasted down my cheek. I closed my eyes at the feel, then opened them again. Ilya was waiting for me to speak.

  So I did. “She discovered something else, too,” I confided. “She found that I had a brother. He was brought here to the pit.”

  “A brother?”

  I nodded, then turned my hand over to grip his. I needed his hand tighter now. A pain had built in my chest, and my head ached as I tried to push myself to remember him. Something about him. All I got were broken images and fractured flashes flitting through my mind.

  I squeezed my eyes tight shut when a pressure built behind them. I opened them, meeting Ilya’s worried gaze. “He was called Valentin. Valentin Belrov.” I sighed in frustration. I lifted my hand and rubbed it across my forehead. “But I can’t really remember him … the drugs … the drugs have robbed me of a clear recognition of his face.” I thought of Maya’s face and said, “I see scars. I see Maya’s scarred face, and something about it reminds me of a male. Then I dream. I dream of a boy holding me tightly, telling me he will come back for me. Other images sometimes break through, but I don’t know if they are real or in my imagination.”

  “What do you see?”

  “A larger male,” I replied, trying my very best to hold on to the picture I saw in sleep most nights. I moved my hand to my cheek and neck. “Scars. He has scars that litter his skin.” I then moved my hand to Ilya’s chest and all the tattoos Master had forced upon his champion’s skin. “He has tattoos, like yours, but at the same time not like yours. More like writing rather than pictures.” I looked down at my bracelet and at the metal. “He also wears a collar, like my bracelet. And it makes him angry. It makes him change. He goes from being kind to being cold and brutal in a flash. Just like my bracelet makes me crave a male as soon as the drug hits my blood.”

  My eyes filled with tears, some unknown emotion making me very sad. Ilya moved closer still, his body heat warming my cold, shivering skin. Inhaling a long breath, I said. “But thinking of him makes me sad. Because I think this male … he was someone to me.” I patted my chest over my heart. “I feel him here, like he is part of me.” I blinked twice to clear the tears from my eyes. “I now believe he is my brother.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Maya couldn’t find out. His information had been taken. I don’t even know his number. I don’t know if he was forced to fight or if he was a chiri.” My throat clogged with a large lump, but I managed to say, “I don’t even know if he still lives.”

  Ilya looked away. When he looked back, his eyes flashed with understanding. “194,” he murmured, his voice indicating he had understood something in his mind. I frowned. He explained, “The Russian new champion fighter. 194. You were watching him in the training pits.” Ilya nodded and said, “He has scars and words tattooed on his skin.”

  My stomach rolled at the thought of that frightening male. But Ilya was right. When I had seen him watching me, I couldn’t help but watch him back. “Yes,” I replied. “I am used to males staring at me. I am used to the fighters watching me on Master’s arm, but when I saw that warrior, I couldn’t help but stare. He has scars. The tattoos … the red mark around his neck.” I shook my head, disappointment flooding my heart. “But the male wasn’t clear to me. For a silly moment, I let myself wonder if that fighter could be the male from my dreams. But although similar, he also looked so different from what my dreams show me.” I laughed a mirthless laugh. “I am being foolish. All fighters have scars and tattoos, many have collars or contraptions that Master forces upon them to inject them with his drugs.” I sagged into the mattress. “For a moment, when I saw him watching me, I wondered if he knew me, if he could possibly explain why someone who looks like him is in my dreams. But I forgot it quickly. When Maya told me of my brother, the young boy I see at night made sense. But he looked nothing like the male in the pits. It was wishful thinking that I had anybody in this place. That I wasn’t alone.”

  Silence stretched for a moment, before Ilya said hoarsely, “You have me.”

  My lips parted as a short breath left my mouth. Ilya’s unwavering eyes never strayed from mine. And I felt it, I felt the truth of his words. I felt my heart beat louder and faster—a beat created just for him.

  “You have me, too,” I replied, and laid my hand on the side of his neck. Ilya took in a slow breath
. Chest filling with light, I closed in and kissed his bruised mouth. But Ilya didn’t seem to feel the pain. Instead his hand raced up my back to thread into my hair. I moaned as he pulled me closer against him, my breasts now flush with his chest.

  And we kissed. We kissed and we kissed until I broke away on a gasp. But Ilya stayed close by, his hands traveling over my bare skin, making it bump in their wake. My eyes fluttered shut at the feel. Ilya groaned as my hand ran down his chest, my finger stroking his lower stomach. I opened my eyes just as Ilya rolled me onto my back. He moved to climb above me, but as he did, he hissed out a pained sound. I stilled, seeing his teeth gritting together. “What is it?” I asked.

  Ilya flopped back to the mattress, his muscles tense with pain. “The fight today,” he said in a low, husky voice. “It drained me.” I roved my eyes along the expanse of his body. Severe wounds and large black bruises covered almost every inch of his skin. When I met Ilya’s eyes, he confessed, “I want you.” He swallowed and added, “I need you. I have to have you with your name on my lips and mine on yours. Us, together, each as someone.” My lungs held in a breath as he added, “More than the numbers Master forced us to be.”

  Needing it too, I exhaled and moved above him. Ilya watched me with hunger in his eyes as my hand drifted to his hard length. His cut lips tightened when my fingers wrapped around him, and he hissed a guttural groan when I began moving my hand up and down.

  My skin began to heat at the sight of this warrior as he closed his eyes and arched his back. I knew I had taken many males before, but never like this. I knew I hadn’t, even though I had no memory. Because no one else could ever make me feel like this. No male could ever make my heart beat like Ilya.

  I drank in his hard muscles and dark tattoos. Then I suddenly cried out when Ilya moved his hand to the apex of my thighs. I moaned as his fingers ran along my core. The pleasure he brought made my hand work faster on his length. Ilya growled a low, savage groan. I saw fire light in his eyes, and as I leaned down to kiss him, to join his lips with my own, he pushed his finger inside my channel and I burst apart with light.