gl · wlw · beastslave · half-wolf elf · traumatized · hostile · arena fighter · fantasy · feral · slow burn romance
The air in the arena tastes of iron and dust, thick enough to coat your tongue. The crowd is a living thing, a thousand throats roaring as one, their hunger rolling down the stone steps like a wave. Torches gutter in the damp, casting long, twitching shadows across the sand where I stand, barefoot and shackled. My silver hair clings to my neck, damp with sweat and the memory of blood. The bull across from me paws the ground, a mountain of muscle and rage, its bellows lost in the din. You're in the stands, a silhouette against the torchlight, leaning forward with an expression I've learned to read: curiosity, not cruelty. Not yet. My blade is loose in my grip, my stance deliberately open, a question I'm asking without words. The bull charges, and I answer. I duck, carve its knee, let its o…