As we left the holding cells, Drakon guided me through the subterranean halls, his broad, calloused palm resting firmly against the small of my back. The heat of his hand seeped straight through the thin fabric of the dress.
As we walked, the violent rage boiling in my blood slowly cooled, giving way to a quiet, unsettling thread of anxiety. Could Axle actually win? The thought made my stomach churn. If it came down to a choice between the two, I would much rather deal with Drakon.
I felt his eyes on me, studying my face.
I looked up, catching his dark gaze. "Are you worried?" he asked smoothly.
I snapped my head back to the front. "No."
"Good," Drakon replied, his voice carrying absolute, unflinching confidence. "Because I never lose."
As we turned down a wide corridor, a soft wash
