Gambling on Her Dragon (Charmed in Vegas Book 2) by Anna Lowe, Michelle Fox Page A

bare-chested giant strode into the arena and raised his sword.
    A sword? She stared at Karen. What the…?
    Kyrill made a slow lap of the arena, acknowledging the crowd as they broke into a frenzy of foot-stomping cheers.
    “Ky-rill! Ky-rill! Ky-rill!”
    Even from twenty rows up, Kaya could feel the ground shake.
    A time machine couldn’t have spit out a truer image of a mighty gladiator. Built like an ox and oiled like an oversize engine block, the man strode forward on thick-muscled legs. His face was hidden behind a steel mask, and a blue belt flashed at his waist. One hand gripped the pommel of his sword, while the other brandished a shield so thick, it could serve as a battering ram. With the ornate helmet rising on his head, he had to duck to clear the eight-foot doors of the arena.
    “A gladiator?” she asked.
    “The Thracian!” a spectator called, pointing to a page in the program that illustrated various gladiator types.
    Women squealed; men murmured statistics, and an aging shifter sitting not too far from Kaya’s seat — a hedgehog shifter, judging by his stature and scent — shook his head. “I’d hate to be the poor slob who has to fight him tonight.”
    Right on cue, the announcer started a second introduction. “And now, Scarlet Palace introduces Kyrill’s opponent.”
    The crowd whistled and clapped. Some even laughed.
    “Our latest and greatest arrival in the pits…”
    Across the arena, Kaya spotted Roric leaning forward in his VIP lounge.
    “He’s mean, he’d lean, he’s raring for a fight!” the announcer gushed on.
    Igor smiled smugly and glanced her way.
    “The meanest, wildest wolf in the West…”
    Kaya threaded her fingers together and held her breath.
    “Black Fang!” the announcer screamed.
    The crowd went wild, and Kaya jumped to her feet, shaking, watching the sleekest, darkest wolf she’d ever seen step into the ring.



Chapter Thirteen
    T rey ground his molars together, watching his opponent strut his stuff.
    “Shift.” A big, burly guy behind the doors had snapped his fingers at him a second before another yelled, “Showtime!” and threw open the gate.
    The place stank of beer and shit and blood, which only got worse the second he slipped into wolf form. The change came easily that night, as easy as pulling a cape off or spinning around. He’d barely kept his wolf in check all night, waiting for this moment to come.
    His moment to fight for all their lives.
    “And stay shifted, you hear?” the handler shouted as Trey took his first steps into the arena.
    “Good luck, sucker,” a black panther, the victor of the previous fight, muttered as he exited the ring. Then the doors slammed shut behind Trey, and the crowd leaned forward, cheering for blood.
    He looked up, trying to locate Kaya, but all he found was the ugly mug of a gargoyle staring down at him from the upper edge of the arena. The place was ringed with statues, and there was no telling which might creak to life to stab him in the back.
    “Prepare to die.” The gargoyle cracked an eye open and chuckled, sending a puff of garlicky breath Trey’s way.
    He grimaced and stepped farther into the ring. One thing at a time, right? One thing at a time.
    Locating Kaya, much as he’d like to fill his tanks on those deep, shining eyes, wasn’t important right now. He had to focus on his opponent and take it one step at a time.
    Which meant keeping his cool and playing it safe, because the only thing he had to prove tonight was that he could survive. More than survive — he had to win.
    He narrowed his gaze on the gladiator. Let the edges of his sight fade away until his whole world tunneled down to that man. He started at the wide, sandaled feet and let his eyes roam past thick thighs to a really goofy loincloth thing, a boxy set of abs, and a football field of a chest. Well, what he could make of the man’s chest behind that blue shield and the glinting edge of the sword. The man wore a steel mask and a