Bleu landed without a sound in the middle of the dense crowd, the vapours from the short teleport shimmering around him for a second before he kicked off, leaving them in his wake as he broke through the throng. His steady gaze locked on his target, focused there even as he felt his six men appear a short distance behind him and begin to pursue him. Two came to flank him, the remaining four spreading out through the disgusting gathering of creatures like black tendrils, taking down any who dared to stand in their way.

He would have killed them all if he had the choice, but his mission was clear—retrieve the two elf females with minimal fuss.

Gods, he would give anything to sink his fangs and his blade into many of the wretched bastards present at the black market auction, a suitable punishment for their despicable behaviour, trading in flesh and lives.

He snarled, baring his fangs at a fool who rushed into his path in his blind panic, and swept his hand over the length of his black sword, commanding it to transform into his preferred double-ended spear. He swept the curved blade at the end before him upwards, slicing across the side of the male as he turned red eyes on him. Vampire.

Bleu bit out a nasty curse and gave himself a split-second off the mission that had been his sole focus for the past three weeks, all the time it took to spin on his heel, bringing his spear around in a deadly black arc to relieve the vampire of his head. The male toppled onto the black ground, some members of the crowd shrieking as they leaped away from the pool of blood cascading from his neck. Bleu would have paused to spit on the foul abomination, a disgusting shadow of his own noble species, had his second in command not taken the lead at that moment, shouting orders at the other elves and propelling him back into action.

Darkness dropped like a veil, and the panic in the arena increased, the crowd growing frenzied as they tried to make off with their sick prizes, scurrying away from the scene of their crimes. A chill swept through the oval canyon and Bleu sensed magic, a powerful enchantment that warned he wasn’t alone in desiring to rescue one of the poor souls being thrown onto the slab and sold as meat by the ringmaster of this terrible circus.

He threw a glance off to his right, to the black stage, easily able to see it using his heightened vision. A male. Bleu paid him no heed as he raced onto the stage, to a shifter female. A Hellcat. No wonder there was such a large crowd.

The other female on the stage moved so swiftly he couldn’t make out anything about her, leaping onto the back of the fallen angel who was responsible for the auction. His heart gave a painful beat as she roared and attacked, a sharp sensation that went through him and gave him pause, causing his step to falter and his breath to still.

He swallowed hard and frowned at the odd sensation, hazily aware that he should recognise it but unable to comprehend why.

A male swung into his path, stealing his focus away from the stage, and Bleu cut him down with his spear, shoved him aside and sprinted harder, catching up with the rest of his team.

The damned bastards who had purchased the elf females as if they were animals had backed them into a corner, tucked against the black rock and the dark wooden stage.

If they thought that would stop him from slicing them open from balls to brains, they were fucking wrong.

His mood degenerated as he reached them, a darkness as thick as the one that had veiled the world in black descending over him, and he slowed his step until he was stalking towards them, the crowd parting to allow him through, as if all present could sense the dark intent rolling off him.

The hunger to deal justice with his blade.

Light from the torches around the canyon and on the stage flickered back into life, the sensation of magic weakening as the darkness lifted.

His vision responded in an instant, adjusting to the bright light and dulling.

He flexed his fingers around the black engraved shaft of his spear and sent a mental command to his skin-tight armour, ordering the small obsidian metal scales to flow over his hands and form his claws over his fingers.

His violet eyes locked on the male stood slightly forward from the other two. The elf females huddled naked behind them, clinging to each other, their fear a palpable thing that drummed in Bleu’s blood, blackening his mood.

Bleu signalled with his free hand, slowly raising it, and his six elf warriors spread out, encircling the men, giving them nowhere to go.

He snarled at them, flashing his fangs. He would deal with them first and then he would deal with the fallen angel who had orchestrated this market, daring to take two of his kind from their kingdom.

The leader foolishly lashed out at one of the warriors on his left, brandishing a sword made of steel. Steel. A pathetic mortal made weapon for a weak creature.

Bleu drew down a deep breath, catching the scent of their blood, and wasn’t surprised that it matched their weapon. Mortal made. These three were from that realm, but in their blood was a hint of fae, an ancestor that had given them access to this realm.

Hell.

He curled his lip at the three men and dropped his hand.

Six elf warriors launched at the men, easily overpowering them, and Bleu wished he had orders to kill not contain the fiends.

“Thank you, but I have to go.” A soft female voice rose above the din and Bleu stilled. “I have to fly.”

A chill skated over his skin beneath his armour, his eyes slowly widening as he finally comprehended why he had felt such a strange yet familiar sensation on seeing the female on stage attacking the fallen angel.

Fly.

He spun on his heel to face the stage.

A heartbeat of time passed, a split-second that felt like an eternity as he stared up at the female on the stage, taking in the striking violet-to-white eyes that he would never forget as they locked on him. Her lips parted, long lashes falling to shutter those incredible eyes, and his pulse hammered into overdrive as the three long scars on the left side of his neck tingled. He slowly raised his hand to rest his fingers on his armour over them.

He inched his right foot forwards.

Towards her.

She turned in an instant and he could only watch as she transformed into an enormous violet dragon, tearing stunned gasps from the remaining few people in the arena. She reared onto her hind legs, flashing the white stripe that ran from beneath her jaw, down her throat, and under her ribs, and beat her wings, the white membrane between her purple wing bones stark against the dark sky of Hell.

His breath left him in a rush as she threw her head back, her long white horns almost touching her neck, and roared, the sound deafening as it echoed across the land.

“Wait!” He launched onto the stage in a single leap, unwilling to let her escape him again.

She snarled through gleaming white fangs each as long as his arm and swept her left paw downwards, delivering a devastating backhand that hit him square in the chest, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him flying across the arena so fast that he didn’t have a chance to teleport.

His back slammed into the rough black rock, fire searing his bones as his mind scrambled, the pain so intense that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think or feel anything for a second.

All the time it took for the dragon to launch into the air, her enormous wings sending gusts of wind at those remaining on the stage, almost knocking them over.

He couldn’t let her escape him again.

He wheezed as he pushed onto his feet and staggered towards her, his ears ringing and vision wobbling.

He growled as she took flight and used the last of his strength to call a portal. Green-purple light shimmered over his black armour and he dropped into the darkness. It dissipated a second later as he landed on the stage where the dragon had been.

Bleu bit out every curse available to him in his native tongue, his legs wobbling beneath him, barely strong enough to support his weight as pain wracked him.

He stared at the dragon as she flew into the distance, unable to pursue her in his current condition, forced to watch her as she disappeared into the gloom.

Slipping through his grasp once more.