Arric

“More weight,” I growled.

“There is no more. That’s the max setting on this machine,” Frank, my overly polite, young Scottish spotter exclaimed.

I let the handles down and turned around to see he was right. I grunted. “Lightweight piece of shit.”

“This place is only meant to act as a warm-up facility, mate. Not a full-service gym,” Frank said.

“Yeah? Well, how the hell am I supposed to warm up my back if that’s all the weight that candy-ass machine can handle?”

“Sir,” Frank said, softly. “The competition begins in less than twenty minutes.”

“Your point?” I shot back.

“If you’ll notice. You are the only competitor left here,” he said, nervously looking around the empty tent.

“I thought the Scottish were known for being direct,” I said, urging the guy to get on with his point.

“Yes, well. It’s just that most of the men have completed their warm-ups and are conserving the remainder of their energy for the actual competition.”

“Jesus, Frankie. I’m not a psychic. Are you kicking me out or what?”

“No, no, Mr. Johnson. I only meant that I know you’re new to the games and would hate to see you injure yourself before you have a chance to compete.”

Thoughts of injuring myself, conserving energy, pushing too hard were the furthest from my mind. In fact, lately, I couldn’t seem to push myself hard enough, no matter how hard, or what, I tried. That was half the reason I was here today. I’d planned on lifting until the final minutes before the competition began. There was bound to be an hour of dancing, bagpiping, and who knows what else before the action would begin and I wanted to be as pumped as possible.

“What brought you to compete in the Gunnach games this year? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I saw one of those on a gym wall back in the States,” I said, pointing to a poster advertising this year’s event.

“Everyone wants to be the next Thor Olsen,” Frank said.

“Your poster boy looks over-conditioned, if you ask me,” I said with a dismissive chuckle.

Frank straightened up, clearly offended by what I’d said. “I assure you, sir. Mr. Olsen’s fitness regimen is very precise. He is never over conditioned.”

“Not his workout, man. I meant the guy’s hair,” I said with a playful jab to Frank’s arm. “What the hell is up with that pretty boy anyway?”

“You don’t know who Thor Olsen is?”

Frank laughed. “I take it you don’t watch much television?” he asked, handing me a towel.

“I don’t have a T.V.,” I replied.

“An American without a television?” he asked in shock. “Well, that over-conditioned pretty boy, as you call him, is not only the breakout star of Swords of Fire but the champion of the Gunnach Games for the past five years.”

“Swords of Fire?” I asked.

“You know. The show with the dragons and wizards...”

I stared at him blankly. “Again, still don’t have a TV.”

“What about your phone? Every episode is available for streaming.”

“No phone either.”

“Now I know you’re taking the piss,” he said, stunned.

“That kind of shit requires electricity, and I don’t exactly have that either.” I said, drying off.

“You should catch an episode, mate. Every week some poor bloke gets his head cut off, and then the ladies get their kit off.”

“Kit?”

“Their clothes, mate. They show their diddies, their chebs... you know, their tits?”

I shrugged.

I raised an eyebrow, pointing again to the promotional poster. “That guy is the five-time champ, huh?”

“Indeed,” Frank replied with a nod, but before he could go further, two men dressed in matching kilts and a beautiful blonde entered the tent.

Frank instantly walked over to greet them. “Sir, sir, miss. It’s lovely to see you again. I hope all is well with you.”

“Thank you, Frank,” the first man replied, extending his hand for a formal but warm handshake. “My niece and I are doing well today, thank you. It appears the same cannot be said for Thor.”

“Yes, sir,” Frank said sheepishly, his head bowed. “He had a bit of a...mishap on the leg press.”

The first man turned to me, giving me the once over. “And you must be the young man Thor keeps calling ‘the Runt,’” he said. “Ben, is it?”

I’d signed up for the competition under an assumed name just as I had for every amateur fight, wrestling match, 10K run, or obstacle course I’d been a part of. I never competed twice and never for money, so anonymity had never been an issue.

I let out a grunt, fighting back the overwhelming urge to tell this man every secret I’d ever kept.

“Sorry, your name. It’s Ben, right?”

“Arric, actually,” I corrected him before I realized what I was doing. Shit. I don’t know what compelled me to give him my real name, but the words sort of fell out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“Please, forgive me,” he replied. “Well, clearly, Thor was having a bit of a go at you. You certainly look fit enough to compete in our little games.”

“And who are you?” I asked.

“Do you honestly not know who this man is?” the second man asked, looking both shocked and offended.

“It’s alright, Alasdair,” the first man said, politely waving the second man off. “Our young guest has come all the way from America. Besides, the Gunnach family doesn’t do much business in...” he paused in thought before saying, “Alaska.”

My spine stiffened. “How the hell did you know I’m from Alaska?”

“I have a knack for knowing where people are from. It’s a bit of a party trick, really.”

“Sure, it is,” I said suspiciously. “Gunnach, huh? I get the feeling you’re sort of connected to all this,” I said pointing to my surroundings.

“You could say that. The Gunnach family has held these games for many years,” he replied. His smile seemed genuine, but it did nothing to put me at ease. This guy seemed to look right though me.

“Right on,” I said. “Thanks for having me, then.”

Gunnach continued to study me, his gaze seemingly locked onto my chest. His brow furrowing ever so slightly as his gaze deepened. “Those are interesting tattoos you have there,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied, not sure what this guy’s angle was. On the road, I’d run into just about every kind of creep there was, and they came in all kinds of packages. This guy could be a pervert for all I knew.

“Did you get those done here in Scotland?” he asked.

“No, this is my first time here. I got these... a while ago. Why do you ask?”

“But the markings...” he said, surprised.

“These?” I asked, pointing to the patterns and shapes that made up my chest piece.

“Yes,” he replied. “Where did the artist who gave you your tattoos learn those markings?”

“From me,” I replied and Gunnach’s eyes met mine.

“I apologize for getting your name wrong earlier, Arric. I was told you’d registered under the name Ben Johnson. Did I get your surname wrong as well?”

“It’s Mann,” I replied, once again unable to lie.

Jesus, fucking Christ, why the hell am I sharing this shit?

“A Highlander after all?” he mused.

“If you say so.”

“Yes,” he said, before continuing. “Every year the Gunnach family has had a champion to represent our clan at these games. For the past several years, Thor has been our champion. Now it appears he won’t be able to compete after today’s unsanctioned ‘press off,’” he said, motioning to the leg machine.

“Hey, that shit wasn’t my fault,” I protested. “I was just working out, minding my own business when that Thor guy—”

“No, I’m sorry,” Mr. Gunnach, politely interrupted. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you bear any responsibility for Mr. Olsen’s injury. Thor is his own man, and Thor is...well, Thor.”

“Then what do you want with me?” I asked, growing increasingly irritated by the conversation. Not that it was hard to work me into a lather these days. I don’t know what the hell was wrong with me, but lately all I wanted to do was fight, fuck, then fight some more. Over the past eight months I’d traveled from gym to gym, fight club to fight club, never going to the same one twice. Trying my best to lay low but still needing to feed the beast within me. The beast, whose appetite was growing.

Gunnach continued, “I thought since our veteran competitor must drop out of the games, perhaps our champion this year could be a first-timer. And now, to learn you have Scottish blood,” he said excitedly.

“Look. I don’t know dick about where my ancestors are from and since none of them have ever sent me a postcard or a check on my birthday, I don’t give a shit,” I said.

“You will show Kade Gunnach proper respect, young man, or I will have you removed from the grounds,” the second man said, stepping towards me.

“It’s okay, Alasdair,” Gunnach said, stepping between us. “I’m sorry. My manners. This is my head of security, Mr. Alasdair Ryan and this is my niece, Isla.”

I looked at the young blonde for the first time since the trio had walked into the tent and felt like I’d been kicked in the chest. I’d already worked up a good sweat from the workout, but instantly felt five degrees hotter the second I locked eyes with her.

“It’s, uh. Nice to...meet you.” I said, suddenly feeling panicked. “I’d shake your hand, but, uh. I’m a little sweaty.”

She smiled and I felt lightheaded. I guess Frank was right. I’d been pushing myself too hard.

“That’s alright. I’ve never been afraid to get my hands dirty,” she said and extended her porcelain hand to me. However, the instant before we touched, I recoiled. My body involuntarily pushing me backwards as if I’d gotten too close to the third rail in a subway tunnel.

As I continued my backward motion, I tripped over a piece of workout equipment, sending me crashing into the leg press machine that started all of this. My head flew back, slamming into the metal frame with a dull thud.

“Oh, my God,” Isla said, running to me. She bent down, one hand going to the back of my head and one directly on my chest.

Whatever kick I’d felt before was nothing compared to what happened when Isla Gunnach touched me. A current of pure energy flowed between her fingertips and my body buzzed like a hot plate between them. My skin burned and the tattoos on my chest and arms began to glow. Bright amber light spilled out of my tank top as my mind was flooded with a barrage of vivid, yet distorted images. My body stiffened as the intensity of the glowing light and the fire in my bones increased. If the visions or the pain had gone on much longer, I’m sure I would have gone mad, but as quickly as the episode started it was done.

Isla let go. Scrambling backwards across the floor as far away from me as she could get.

I struggled to my feet, disoriented and in a state of shock. “What the fuck did you do to me?” I yelled.

“Arric,” Gunnach said, softly.

“Fuck you! Who the hell are you people?”

“You should probably sit down,” Gunnach continued. “Frank, get him some water.”

“Stay the fuck away from me. All of you,” I yelled, backing away towards the door.

“Arric, wait,” Gunnach pleaded, but I backed out the door and started running for my car.

* * *

Isla

Holy crap on a stick. What the hell just happened?

My uncle made a run for the exit, but Alasdair stopped him. “You need to open the games, Your Majesty.”

“Someone needs to go after him,” Kade countered.

“I’ll go,” Alasdair said. “You need to meet your brothers on the stage.”

Kade turned to me. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “All I did was touch him.”

“Did you feel anything?”

I shook my head.

My uncle leaned closer to me and stared straight into my soul. “He glowed, lass. After you touched him. Are you sure you didn’t see or feel something?”

I shook my head again. “He just freaked out on me. I don’t know why.”

He narrowed his eyes and studied me briefly before nodding and walking out of the tent. Alasdair was already gone. I bit back tears, taking a deep breath, and trying to shove down my guilt.

Not only had I just lied to my uncle... I’d lied to my king.

“Isla!” I heard the frantic voice of my father outside of the tent.

“In here, Da.”

My father slapped the tent flaps open and dipped inside. “You all right, love?”

I nodded, then promptly burst into tears.

“Och, lass,” he cooed, pulling me against him and wrapping me in his protective hug. “What happened?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I said. “It all happened so fast.”

“Sir, you’re needed on the stage,” Frank said, peeking into the tent.

“They can wait.”

“I’m okay, Da,” I said, giving my father a squeeze. “I’ll come with you.”

He cupped my cheeks and raised my chin. “Are you sure?”

I forced a smile and nodded. “Aye.”

He nodded, kissing my nose, then he took my hand and we made our way to the competition ground, then onto the stage.

Catriona ran over to us looking frantic. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll fill you in later,” I promised as I followed my father onto the stage.

* * *

Arric

“Mr. Mann, please stop!” Alasdair called out from behind as I hauled ass toward the midway. Most of the spectators had already made their way to the grandstands, so the grounds were nearly empty except for event staff and a few stragglers. This was good, as it meant fewer potential witnesses if I had to kick this guy’s ass. Not that he’d be able to catch me. I had a head start and was fast for my size. I’d be at the north lawn and in my rental car before this asshole bodyguard could—

My thought was broken by Alasdair, who’d not only somehow managed to catch up with me, but also tackle me to the ground.

“What the hell?” I growled as I struggled for control. This guy was not only fast, but strong as hell, too. Before I knew it, he had me pinned, face down in the dirt, with both arms secured behind my back.

“Steady on, lad. No need to make things difficult for yourself,” Alasdair said in an almost assuring tone and I had no choice but to comply. “I only want to talk.”

“Funny fuckin’ way of showing it, pal,” I said through a puff of dust.

Alasdair was clearly in shape, but I ate guys like him for breakfast in the gym all the time. Whatever these freaks did to me back at the warm-up tent must have weakened me.

“If I let you up, will you promise to behave?”

“Behave?” I breathed out. “Man, get the fuck off me.”

Alasdair stood me up, still securing my arms behind my back. It was then I knew I wasn’t weak, and I wasn’t imagining things. This guy was strong. Freakishly strong.

“If I let go of you, are you going to run?” Alasdair asked softly.

I shook my head, and he released his grip.

I spun around to face him but before I could speak, he extended his hand and said, “I’m afraid we got off to a bit of a rough start. Perhaps we can try again.”

“Who the hell are you people?” I asked, leaving his hand unshaken.

“We should go inside,” he replied.

“You should go fuck yourself,” I shot back, dusting myself off. “I’m not going anywhere with any of you freaks.”

“Arric,” he said, looking directly into my eyes. “It’s important that you come with me back to the house. We clearly have a number of things to discuss.”

“What did that woman do to me back there? And why the hell was I glowing? How the hell was I glowing?”

Alasdair gestured for me to lower my voice. “I can assure you I have no idea about what happened back in that tent.”

“Bullshit,” I spat out.

“I can also assure you that Isla certainly had nothing to do with it.”

“Like hell she didn’t. She lit me up like a goddamned pinball machine. Not to mention the fact that my brain was in a blender the entire time she was touching me.”

“The entire time?” Alasdair asked, looking confused. “She touched you for half a second at best.”

“Whatever. Play your little games. I don’t really care. I’m outta here,” I said, before turning to leave.

“Mr. Mann. Arric, please. I really do think it would be best if you came with me back to the house. We’ll have a doctor look at you. To make sure you’re alright.”

“The only thing that’s gonna make me alright is getting the hell away from this place and you people,” I said, walking away.

“Þú verður að koma með mér núna.” (You need to come with me now.)

Alasdair spoke the words and my feet turned to lead. I was frozen in my tracks. Completely unable to move. The language he spoke was totally foreign to my ear and yet somehow, I understood and felt compelled to obey every word.

“Ég tel þig vera í mikilli hættu,” (I believe you are in great danger) he continued, compelling me to turn and follow him, which I did willingly.

I say ‘willingly’ because, even though Alasdair was controlling my every move, I wasn’t acting against my will. It was more like I was obeying a primal instinct hidden deep within myself. I wanted to follow his instructions.

I could hear the roar of the crowd in the distance. The games were starting, and I was suddenly hit by a wave of disappointment. I’d come a long way to compete, and despite current events, I still ached for competition. For battle.

We walked silently through the grounds, away from the festivities, towards what Alasdair called the “house.”

House, my ass. I knew a castle when I saw one.