Thrall by K. A. Riley EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: K. A. Riley
- Language: English
- Genre: New Adult & College Fantasy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2.4 MB
- Price: Free
THE TOWER, Several Weeks Ago
THE DAGGER FLIES at my chest with ridiculous speed.
In a desperate attempt to avoid sudden death, I hurl myself sideways,
but as usual, I’m too slow.
The blade strikes my shoulder, slicing in deep enough to draw a stream
of blood and force a sharp cry from my lips.
“She’ll be fine,” our fight trainer, Ore, calls out when gasps erupt from
around the class. “She always is—haven’t you idiots figured that out yet?”
With rage bubbling up inside me for his utter lack of empathy, I curse
under my breath before pushing myself up from the ring’s floor.
I glower at Ore who smirks back, his usual shit-eating grin plastered to
his lips.
I leave every single class blood-stained and near tears.
He expects it.
No.
He thrives on it.
A bloodless Fight Class is a waste of Ore’s precious time, and I’m his
top bleeder.
It’s a dubious honor, at best.
As for why he chose to pair me with the biggest, fastest Tethered in our
cohort, Ore always insists he chooses us randomly—but I’m convinced he
orchestrates the fights to suit his sadistic tendencies. There’s little doubt in
my mind he enjoys watching blood seep slowly from my multitude of fresh
wounds.
Short of decapitation, I can pretty much tolerate any level of abuse and
come through fight class in one piece, thanks to my ability to heal quickly.
So right now, rather than let me out of the combat ring to tend to the deep
gash in my shoulder, Ore calls out, “Round Two!”
With a grunt of disgust, I brush off my light gray uniform and once
again begin the pointless dance with my opponent.
Drukkar is a tall, broad-shouldered Tethered who would probably be
considered our cohort’s hottest male commodity…if he wasn’t such a
dickhead.
He revels in chaos, and it doesn’t help that his power is the ability to
move with blinding speed. Drukk usually shoots around the combat ring
like a crazed rat who’s ingested too much caffeine, lunging this way and
that so fast that I can scarcely follow him with my eyes, let alone avoid any
weapon he hurls my way.
Right now, though, he’s taking pleasure in taunting me. He’s a cat,
patiently watching a wounded mouse stagger around, knowing it has no
hope of winning an absurdly uneven battle.
He’s standing motionless across the ring, his boorish smile showing off
a set of snow-white teeth and a penchant for cruelty.
Determined to do something other than just lie in wait for the next
assault, I clasp my blade in my right hand, bringing it up to shoulder height
and readying myself to fling it. Like all our training daggers, it’s sharp
enough to pierce through Drukk’s uniform and bury itself in his flesh. But
it’s unlikely to do any real damage unless my aim is impossibly good—
which it never is.
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