(Dark Earth unedited excerpt)

Chapter 3

I laid on my back and stared at the center of the fluted and domed ceiling cut out to reveal a pitch black void were the sky should’ve been. The impact of my body slamming onto the dirt floor left me dazed and generated a deafening ring in my ears.

In my stupor, I forgot that I was lying in the center of the arena’s ring in front of hundreds of screaming spectators who wanted my to see my blood or, even worse, taste it. All I could think about were Jason and Morgana. Why did he do it? Why did Morgana set me up? What kind of powers did Jason have? And why had I been such a fool?

I only knew one thing for certain (if I got out of this alive, and right now that was a big “if”): Celia was going to kill me.

My hearing returned with a sudden, thunderous roar, like someone had cranked up a stereo full blast in a quiet room. I jolted upright to a sitting position and was immediately greeted with pain rocketing up my back to my head. Outside the cage, four vamps held a struggling Daniel by his arms and neck. Then Morgana leapt over the barbed-wire cage and landed with a graceful thud on her heeled boots in the center of the ring.

“Shit.” I bent over, planted my palms on the ground, and tried to lift myself up. My arms wobbled and gave out, still weak and in shock from the impact of my fall. I landed face first back in the dirt. I began to crawl, using my forearms to inch myself closer to the exit.

“The only way out is in a body bag.” Morgana leaned over and picked me up by my jacket, then flung me like a rag doll.

My back hit and rebounded off the cage. A bolt of pain shot up my spine. I put out my hands to catch myself, but I landed hard; the metal stakes inside my jacket banged into my ribs and knocked the breath from me. My jeans had caught on the wire cage and ripped a hole just below the pocket where blood began to seep.

“Too afraid to fight back?” Morgana taunted.

The pain in my lower back was unbearable. Bile rose in my throat. My vision hazed over and threatened to go black. Pins and needles spread up my spine, over my shoulders and arms, ending in a stabbing pain at the base of my skull.

Morgana strutted along the edge of the ring. She played with the crowd. Yelled at them. Flirted with them. Asked them what they wanted her to do to me.
Any other time, I would’ve been aggravated by such an arrogant display. But it bought me time to center myself. I took a few calming breaths to dull the pain. When the pain subsided enough for me to think, I devised a plan.

I reached into my jacket and eased out a stake from an inside pocket. I laid, still as death, on my stomach and clutched the silver stake to my heart. I lowered my lids to just a slit and waited until Morgana’s black boots stopped in front of my face.

She nudged me with her boot’s stiletto heel. When I didn’t move, she placed her foot under the left side of my chest and kicked me over. I rolled onto my back, my right hand angled up with the sharp stake. I rammed it into the side of her knee. I forced it past her pliant skin, past her soft tissue, and felt it grind into her bone.

Morgana fell to the ground and screamed. She struggled to remove the stake, but the silver scorched her hands. She screamed again. The wound pulsed blood over her black boots and powder-white skin and soaked the dirt floor. She tore off her sweater, exposing her black lace bra, and wrapped it around her hand so she could pull out the stake.

Adrenaline buzzed through me. Images of the evening careened through my mind: Tatia’s remark about my father, Jason’s betrayal, Morgana’s repeated attacks. They mixed together into a potent fuel that fed the rage within me. My anger spiked. My power purred to life. Rage flowed through my body like an electrical current and gathered in the center of my brain. My vision tunneled until all I saw was Morgana’s pale, naked chest between the lace cups of her bra.

I focused on crushing her heart.

“No!” Jason leapt into the cage.

I felt her heart as if it were beating in my hands. I mentally squeezed; she clawed at her chest as if trying to grab the invisible hands clutching her heart.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard the crowd begin to chant, “Kill the vamp! Kill the vamp!” But the voices faded into white nose and all I heard was Morgana’s erratic heart, thumping like a caged rabbit within her chest.

Two strong arms wrapped around me and lifted me off the ground. They cradled me, though I kept my focus on Morgana’s heart. I wanted to crush it. I wanted her to feel my pain. Nothing else mattered—not the crowd chanting for me to finish her, not Jason crying by her side, not the stranger clutching me to his chest. I was inside of Morgana. I felt her heart weaken under my pressure and soon it would burst like a water balloon.

“Michelle, come back to me. You don’t want to do this. Trust me, you don’t want to kill her,” a male voice pleaded.

His words echoed around me, like I was at the bottom of a well, and he was leaning over the edge, shouting down to me. I ignored him and kept my focus on Morgana. She was becoming more and more desperate. Her panic-filled heart thudded louder in my ears. Her nails clawed at her chest until red rivulets crisscrossed her pale skin. I almost had her. Just a few more moments, just one more heart-wrenching squeeze and …
Something silky and moist touched the base of my neck.

I craned back my head and struggled out of the arms cradling my body. He crushed me to his chest with a vise-like grip that felt as if he’d fold me in two. The moist sensation on the side of my neck turned to a light kiss directly over my pulse.

My skin heated.

No, damn it, no.

I arched my upper back and tried to slip from his hold. I wedged my right hand under his neck and tried to shove him back to no avail. Warm breath danced over my skin just below my ear. A tongue trailed a soft path over my pulse.

I groaned. My focus on Morgana faltered. I shuddered.

The lips kissed their way up the side of my face.

No!

I tried to hold onto my rage, but with every light touch, it melted away like standing in front of a heat lamp after being out in a snowstorm, until I no longer felt chilled.
I turned my head and the lips slid across my cheeks and met my own. A cool tongue slipped into my mouth.

I lost my psychic grip on Morgana’s heart as my mouth opened wider and the tongue delved deeper. My body flushed. Heat rose from my stomach and exploded through my chest.

Like waking abruptly from a deep sleep, my tunnel vision widened. Everything came into focus at once—the crowd shouting, a bright spotlight shining on me, the sweet musky scent of leaves and earth and citrus-laced cologne, and the soft stubble brushing against my upper lip and chin.

I opened my eyes wider. Daniel’s blonde hair fell across my face. The pores of his cheek were centimeters from my eyes. I could count his long blonde lashes on his closed lids.

Then I realized, with an earthshaking panic, that I was making out with Daniel in the middle of the coliseum.

I pushed back and shoved him away. “What are you doing?”

“Saving you.” His green eyes flashed under half-closed lids.

I fought the urge to lick my lips, which were somewhat swollen from our make-out fest. I rubbed the back of my palm across them instead. My heart continued to race and the heat that had flushed my skin had yet to retreat. I was ashamed to admit that my breasts still tingled at the feel of Daniel’s solid chest pressed snugly against them.

I clenched my teeth. “Let me go.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

Before I could protest again, the crowd began booing. Bottles and pieces of half-eaten food landed around us. Across the ring, Jason helped a semi-conscious Morgana to her feet.

The spotlight swung from us to Henry, the master of ceremonies, who seemed to appear out of thin air to stand in the center of the ring.

“Ladies and Gentleman,” he said into his microphone.

The crowd’s shouts toned down to a few catcalls.

“Ladies and Gentleman,” Henry repeated. “What you have just witnessed was a pre-show warm-up to whet your appetites. And I can see you are positively ravenous.”

The audience roared.

The spotlight swayed to the black archway where a Kendal warrior marched into the arena.

Under his breath, Henry said to Daniel, “Take her backstage. You’ll find help there.” Without missing a beat, he again faced the audience and announced the fighters’ stats.

I closed my eyes when the arena started spinning. I took a deep breath and prayed I wouldn’t get sick.

“Where are Celia and Heidi?” I asked.

“Not sure.” Daniel ran out of the ring with me bouncing in his arms. “Celia was desperate to contact Tatia’s father. I told her that I’d take care of you.” He glanced down at me—bloody, bruised, and caked with dirt—and shook his head. “Guess I’ll be on her shit list for awhile.”

“It’s not your fault.” I winced with every jostle of my body. “And, trust me, I’ll be the one topping it.”

My ears rang and the crowd’s shouts droned and melted together. I did make out a few catcalls of “you go, girl” and two women hissing a threat at me. Then I heard some scary-voiced men ask me for a date, but the words they used would’ve made a sailor blush.

“You know,” I rasped, “I’m really mad at you for that.”

“For what?”

“The kiss.”

“Oh, that.” He grinned like a kid who had stolen a cookie and knew he would never be punished.

“But right now, you’re lucky. I’m too exhausted to hurt you.”

I felt the coldness of the black screen as we passed into the backstage area.

“Don’t fall asleep. You may have a concussion,” Daniel said.

“I’m resting my eyes.” Everything started to turn black.

Daniel squeezed me. “Don’t fall asleep.”

“Can’t feel my legs.” I nestled my head in the hollow of his shoulder and stared up at him.

“It’ll be all right,” he said, but the concern on his face said otherwise.