The Champion

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About the Author

Copyright Page

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To my readers, for all your support.

This book could not have been written without you.

PROLOGUE

“You’re a murderer, Cade.”

Finch’s voice drifted from the darkness. Cade could not see him. He floated in a black oblivion.

He knew this was not real. That somewhere he lay in bed, tossing and turning from fever. He had a memory of it. Saw it in his mind’s eye.

Quintus, fussing over the infection in his leg. Unpicking the rough stitching with his gladius. Draining and cleaning the infection that had set deep into his leg.

Amber, bathing his head with a wet rag. Blessedly cool as his brow burned and he tossed from the pain.

But the fever dream did not abate, even as he clawed at consciousness. He could not wake, no matter how hard he tried.

More memories flashed across Cade’s psyche. The slavers, taking him to New Rome in chains. The emperor, trading armor and freedom for victory in the arena. His return, and the battle with the alpha. Amber kissing him. He clung to that single happy memory, but it melted away like snow.

“Murderer!”

Cade walked in the sands of the arena now. It was almost empty. No cheering crowds. No emperor watching from his box.

But there were men standing in front of him. Pale as corpses, eyes wide and staring. Finch. The Chinese soldier. The Confederate colonel.

Three men he had killed, for the entertainment of thousands.

“I had no choice,” Cade whispered. “Abaddon made me do it.”

“There’s always a choice, Cade,” Finch’s voice rasped across the sand. “Abaddon picked you for a reason. Because deep down, he knew what you were. A killer.”

He laughed, a choking, wheezing laugh. And as Cade spun away, seeking the oblivion of unconsciousness, Finch’s voice morphed into the cruel voice of Abaddon’s avatar.

“What’s the matter, Cade?” she giggled. “Don’t you like my game?”

But then there was another voice. It was distant. But kind.

“—gonna be okay,” it said. “You can do this.”

He saw his mother. His father. Going about their lives, cooking together in their home’s kitchen, like they always did. His home. And he would return someday. One way or another.