The Spoils

[Oriena]

It proved to be a long-term investment. Weeks had passed since the Almaz and Ori's new acquisition. The injuries he'd sustained from White's beating were on the mend, bruises a kaleidoscope slowly fading against his bronze skin, no bones broken, fortunately. She visited frequently, food and water her gift, but he rarely stirred from the thicket of his den. The chains did not clink, but she could hear him breathing in the dark shelter she had offered him to recuperate. Sometimes she caught the feral glitter of gold eyes. A low warning growl.

The man had been plucked from the Underground; senseless, penniless and half-starved. Insane, by all accounts. Savage, more beast than man. Perfect for exploitation in the pits; a brutal fighter spurred, not by money or fame, but by the desperate will to survive. It served as both his motivation and his reward. But it was the yellow eyes that had fascinated her, and sparked the machinations of her presence that night at the club. One could not technically own another person. But she had brought his contract following his release into the crowds, and now he as good as belonged to her.

The smell of him was offensive, his clothes the stained remains of garments he'd worn in the fighting pits. His hair curled dark and wild about his head. Skeletal cheekbones razored above a thick and knotted beard. He was almost lupine in the shadows, coiled on all fours, crouched in the shadows. Though he was chained, she didn't underestimate the corded power of his muscles. Burnished eyes followed her movements. She did not go close. She was not afraid, but neither was she stupid. The food and water she placed within arm's reach, kicking away the remnants of her last visit. She retreated, twisted a chair, and sat. Waiting.

[This is related to the events in Blood Sport]