“What’s wrong?” Ember’s brows drew close together.
“Nothing.” How could I have been so stupid? “When are you fertile again?”
Her eyes widened. “What? It’s a bit late to worry about getting me pregnant, Connor.” She flicked her hair over her shoulders.
I kicked myself for bringing it up. Shifters couldn’t catch or pass on sexually transmitted infections, but there was a small chance she could conceive before her heat fully hit.
“I, er, what? No, that’s not why I’m asking.” Or was it? I glanced down at her flat stomach. I’d never wanted kids, and would never even consider bringing a child into this awful place, but the thought of seeing Ember’s stomach swell with my child sent a bolt of desire through me so strong I had to grab the table top to steady myself.
I wouldn’t let the warden take her, or let Zander put her in the round up for the science wing. No, we’d be out of here by the time she was capable of conceiving. No other male was getting within ten feet of her when her hormones began to party. I’d make sure of it. Four years in this place had been long enough. It was time to up my game. I’d find the information Zander and our faceless boss needed, and get those I cared about out of here.
“Why are you asking then?” The fire was back in her eyes.
I took a deep breath. This conversation was going off track quickly, and would be over if I couldn’t keep my thoughts and worries about her in check.
“Nevermind, forget it. There are other things we need to talk about.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and waited. I decided to dive in, no holds barred. “This prison is a front for a lucrative fight ring.”
She nodded. “The gym.”
“Yeah, Doherty has Rawson and Zander…”
“Who’s Zander?”
“The guy that brought you here, he has red eyes sometimes.”
Her lips flattened into a tight line. “Oh, him.”
“Yeah, him.” I chuckled at her expression. “I can see he’s not your favourite person.”
“No, he’s not, but then again I seem to have quite a few unfavourite people here.”
I chuckled. “You do. Zander works for the warden. He and Rawson are tasked with bringing in shifters who Doherty has marked as candidates for the fight rings. Those who survive the plane flights are shoved into gen pop. Sometimes they are invited to join a pack by one of the alphas—or if they are strong enough, they get to choose which pack to join.” I looked her in the eye and cocked a brow.
She unfolded her arms. “Yeah, well, you weren’t going to give me a choice.”
I let it go, though she didn’t sound as convinced about that as she had, and we had other things to talk about. Arguing over the same ground was a waste of time. “The fight rings are not gentle or fun, they are fights to the death.”
Her gaze shot up to mine, her body stiffening. “Death?”
I took a deep breath and blew it out between pursed lips. “I am tasked every four months with ensuring fighters from all the packs are registered on a database. I don’t know how they choose who will take part in the fight ring, but it’s announced over a PA, and there is no option to refuse.” I balked at revealing the depths of my depraved situation, but there was no hiding from it, and Ember would find out soon enough that having morals in here was useless and likely to get her killed.
“And if they do refuse, or don’t turn up to fight?” she prompted, her voice carefully neutral.
“I kill them.” I got up and paced across the room, my large strides eating up the space quickly, but sitting still while I revealed the extent to which I had fallen wasn’t an option. “I am the Prime for a reason, which is to keep the shifters compliant. The only way to ensure that compliance is by violence and death. That’s what I do, I deal out punishment and where necessary, death.” I rubbed my face, sighing. “Even if the chosen don’t refuse, I send them to die in the fight rings.”
“Gods, Connor, how many people have died in Doherty’s sick games? How many have you had to kill?”
I looked at her, steeling myself for her judgement and accusation. Her face was utterly blank, giving me no way to tell what she was thinking.