Ilya’s cell was dark when I approached. Maya opened the lock with the keys from her dress and she silently opened the door. A faint creak filled the barren hallway. I stilled, praying a guard had not been nearby. But there was nothing. Just silence.

I slipped through the doorway. Maya stood awkwardly behind. I reached back and pressed my hand against her scarred cheek. Her dark eyes looked up at me. “Go,” I whispered, but she shook her head. “Go,” I repeated. “Do not risk your life for me. I will say I left of my accord if caught.”

It appeared that she wasn’t going to move, but when I dropped my hand, she nodded in defeat and disappeared from the hallway. Steeling my nerves, I moved into the shadows of the room. I squinted my eyes, adjusting to the lack of light. One lamp was dimly lit on the far wall, blanketing the cell in a hazy yellow glow.

A quiet groan sounded from the direction of the far wall. I moved closer. On the floor sprawled a bloodied, naked Ilya. I rushed forward and bent down beside him.

My hands hovered over his huge body. I didn’t know where to touch him. I didn’t know where he was hurting. Sensing I was here, he rolled painfully onto his back. His blue eyes blinked up at me. His left eye was bruised and swollen. Dried blood stuck to his skin, and his hair was matted with blood and sweat.

Ilya inhaled, wheezing as he did so. My stomach dropped at how broken he appeared. This huge male, the undefeated champion, was now vulnerable. He stared at me. I wondered why, when his hand lifted and brushed down my cheek.

I lifted my hand and laid it over his to keep it in place. “Moy prekrasnyy?” he whispered, barely making a sound.

“Yes,” I replied, and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. This close I could see that the pupils in his eyes were dilated. “They drugged you,” I said, scanning his body to see where he was most injured.

Ilya moved his free hand to his chest, and I saw a small insertion. “They shot you with a drug pellet?” I asked. I suddenly frowned, wondering how I knew that the Wraiths did that. The vision of a young boy being shot with one came to mind. A black-haired boy. The one from my dreams.

“Yes,” Ilya rasped out, pulling my attention back to him.

Ilya’s hand twitched on my cheek, and he looked me straight in the eyes. “Last night … when you didn’t come to me.”

“He has forbidden any more contact with you.”

His jaw clenched. Ilya looked away, and I saw handprint bruises on his neck. My stomach lurched at how close he had come to death. I shifted to my feet and reached for his hand. Ilya threaded his fingers through mine, trusting me completely.

I helped him up and led him to the shower. I turned the handle and the spray came on. I shed my dress and proceeded to wash him down with soap. My hands ran over every inch of hard muscle; Ilya’s huge body was still uncoordinated with the aftereffects of the drug. I pressed kiss after kiss to his back and his shoulders, then moved to stand at his front.

Ilya’s head was bowed, and he watched me as I washed him. My hands smoothed over his torso and broad chest as Ilya’s fingers stroked along my dampening hair. I smiled peacefully as I washed the blood from his chest, his number tattoo coming into view. My heart raced as I thought of his name, of how to tell him that he had a name. Ilya took a long, deep breath, and I quickly looked up. At first I believed it was simply the water from the shower cascading down his face. But when I truly looked into his eyes, when I saw the gutting expression of sadness and defeat on his face, I knew that it wasn’t.

He was crying. Ilya, the Pit Bull, the champion of the Arziani death-match pit, was breaking down.

Reaching behind him, I switched off the shower. My stomach sank. Ilya’s eyes were downcast, and his arms hung weakly by his sides. Rolling onto my tiptoes, I placed my hands on his cheeks. Ilya blinked and met my eyes. When he did, my heart splintered at the tears trickling down his pale cheeks. His blue eyes were dulled with pain, the whites bloodshot from his sorrow.

“Moy voin,” I whispered, throat tight. Ilya’s drying skin bumped in the cool breeze that drifted around his dark cell. A tear ran over my thumb on his cheek. I wiped it away with a brush of my hand. A lump built in my throat at seeing a big male so broken. “What is it?” I asked, and searched his gaze for an answer. “Are you in pain? Do you hurt?”

He lightly shook his head. Ilya glanced away, then looked back in my eyes. His arms lifted and he placed one hand on the side of my neck. I momentarily closed my eyes at this feeling. His other hand skirted down my cheek. My eyes fluttered open under his touch. When he knew he had my attention, he rasped, “I thought I was going to lose you.”

A pit caved in my stomach, hollow and deep. “No,” I replied, but his eyes dropped and more tears fell.

I couldn’t stand this sight. Couldn’t stand this strong male feeling so torn. I opened my mouth to speak, when his gaze glazed over and he said sadly, “First he makes you want them. He makes you need them in your heart. Then he takes them away, he takes them away so that you’ll do anything to get them back.” I held my breath as the words kept pouring like razors from his mouth. “He uses your need for them to break you, to do anything he demands … then the minute you fail, the minute you don’t do what he demands, he hurts them. He hurts them and makes you watch. Keeps you behind heavy bars where you cannot help, where you must watch and feel every hit like it was you that was receiving the pain.” Ilya’s hoarse voice cut off. He cleared his throat, then finished, “And finally, when you’re desperate, when you’ll do anything just to touch their face or hold them in your arms, he will end their life—slit their throat, put a bullet through their brain, stab them in the chest … and he makes you watch. Keeps you helpless, and through their death, takes your soul as his own.”

Ilya’s fingers chased the tears on my cheeks. I hadn’t even known I’d been crying. “Please,” I cried, and shook my head.

When I looked back into his eyes, he said, “He will take you from me, moy prekrasnyy. It has already begun. He gave you to me.” Ilya stared at my face like he would never see it again. He studied my features like they were the most important thing in his world. Sighing, he added, “You became my heart.”

Ilya’s eyes squeezed shut and his heart contorted with pain. When they opened, he said, “He made me want you like I have never wanted anything else. Even my freedom doesn’t compare. If I had to fight every day for the rest of my life here in this pit, I would do it gladly to have you with me.” He swallowed, and his expression turned to one of grief. “But he won’t do that. He wants me to pay for years of disobedience—by losing you. He will keep you away, or at the very worst…” He trailed off, then rasped, “He will kill you. Like he did 140’s female. Like he did with 667’s female today. The champion had not meant to kill so soon; it was instinct. He struck out in the way we had been trained to defend our whole lives.” He shook his head. “But it did not make a difference. Master killed 667’s female without a second thought. I watched from the waiting cell, and in that second, I saw the male die too … only his heart still beat and he still drew breath.” Ilya swallowed. “But he was dead. I saw it in his eyes. There was nothing left to live for, so he attacked.”

Ilya stepped closer to me, his body tired from the mixture of the drugs and the physical toll of the fight. He stared at me and I stared at him. I watched a large tear slip from the corner of his eye and roll down his cheek. “Master has already hurt you. He made me watch. His only move left is to take you from me for good.” He winced at the thought. “To kill you … and that would kill me.”

“Ilya.” I choked on a sob when I heard the truth of his confession.

He froze, then with a hazy confusion in his eyes he, questioned, “Il … Ilya?”

My stomach flipped when I realized what I had just revealed. Ilya’s hands tightened on my face. His fingers began to shake. Inhaling to calm my nerves, I said, “Ilya … it is your name.”

Ilya’s bowed head lifted and he searched my face for reassurance and an explanation of what I’d just revealed. I wasn’t sure. “What?”