17. TALIESIN
Aurora presses back against me, and I can feel her shaking.
A massive surge of protectiveness and anger travels through my body.
“Rory?” I can feel the vibrations of her tremors, and even though I don’t want to do any kind of public claiming, which will put a target on her back, I can’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around her. “What’s happening? Do you know him?”
The newcomer saunters into the middle of the yard and the chant of fresh-fish dies away.
Never seen that happen before, but I get it. This guy carries himself with an aura that establishes he’s never been someone’s bitch.
“Rory?” She’s gone white. All the blood leached from her skin. The way she swallows repeatedly and can’t seem to find her voice is exceedingly un-Aurora Drakeward.
What the fuck?
I look back to the center of the yard and try to get the measure of the person who has upset her so much.
With shiny dark hair, and pitch-black eyes, he moves with a grace that is almost inhuman. His skin is a light olive tone and flawless, and it’s obvious his slim figure is sinewy muscle under those red scrubs that he wears like it’s an Armani suit, or some such bullshit.
The man flashes a smile in Rory’s direction, all white teeth and intention.
Oh no he didn’t.
Not. On. My. Watch.
“Clay,” I mutter to my second. “We’ve got trouble.”
“Who the fuck is that, Boss?”
“I don’t know, but I soon will.” I don’t bother to do the usual courtesy eyeball with Dimitry, just stride down the bleachers, Diggers moving right and left to clear a path for me.
The black-eyed prick waits casually, as though for all the world he’s meeting a friend to go for cocktails, or whatever rich-dicks do.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dimitry sending Heinz down as well. The giant has healed up fine and is probably raring for round two with me—or anyone else come to that—it will be a matter of his big, fat, German pride.
I stride across the concrete until me, Heinz, and the new man are only a few feet apart.
“Who the fuck are you?” Heinz snarls at the obvious Elite.
He tilts his head and gives a snake-like smile. “Bonjour, mon ami. Francois de Vaux. A pleasure.”
French. The one language I kind of know my way around. Mom had fostered a kid from Lyon for a couple of years. But why is the name ‘Francois’ pinging with recognition in my head? It’s not like I know a lot of fancy French fucks.
I cross my arms and sneer, wishing that I wasn’t an inch shorter than this asshole—or sac à merde, as his countrymen would say.
His eyes slide to me. “A welcoming committee, I am touched.” The prick’s gaze doesn’t stay on me. It drifts past my shoulder again, back toward the Digger bleachers. Toward her. I see a slight flare in his eyes and it makes my blood run cold.
This is a predator who’s looking to claim his prey. And that appears to be Aurora.
I take a half-step sideways, blocking his line of sight, my hand inching down to my shiv. I want to rip that Gallic charm right out of his throat.
Heinz kicks at a rock that just misses the Frenchman. “Enough chit-chatting,” he growls, stepping closer and looming over him. “You look like money and Elite pampering, little man. What brought you here?”
Francois de Vaux doesn’t even flinch. He just adjusts his collar, looking Heinz up and down with bored disdain. “Let’s just say I’m here to protect an investment.”
The German narrows his eyes, clearly not liking the riddle, and spits on the concrete. “The Guild will take any investment you got, if you wish a place with us. It’s either that or remain a no-man. The Diggers won’t take you. Their gang is human-only.”
“Gang, how quaint,” the Frenchman says. “I haven’t ever been, what do you say, a joiner?
But needs must, it appears. I have no interest in your ‘guild’,” he says to Heinz, waving him away dismissively with a flick of his elegant wrist. “I find myself much more drawn to this society of Diggers. So earthy and industrial.”
He turns his gaze slowly toward me, his dark eyes flickering with an almost unnatural light. “And you must be the one holding the keys to my admission. Tell me, Digger, what’s the application to your country club?”
A low murmur ripples through the crowd. “The Diggers don’t take witches, didn’t you get that memo?” I growl.
He fucking grins at me, showing perfect white teeth. “Ah, but I see you bend the rules, correct? Your charming friend hiding away at the top of the escaliers is a very important Elite.”
“That bitch,” Heinz snarls.
Francois whips around and glares at him. “That is not polite. Know your station, animal stupide.”
Heinz growls menacingly. Shit is going south, fast. The two men enter a stare off, but within a beat, Heinz ducks his head and takes several paces back. Fucking weird. But I can’t focus on that, Aurora is my priority. She obviously knows this man, and is terrified of him.
He needs to be put in his place.
I force out a laugh. “Enjoy the No-man zone. I’m sure someone can show you the ropes.” Then I turn my back on him, even though my every instinct says that’s a fucking dangerous move.
“I think…not. No, instead I shall challenge.” His words stop me from taking another step. Looking back, he raises an eyebrow, giving a little smirk. “I believe you have a by-law, n’est-ce pas? I can challenge for a position in the Diggers if I win against their leader—and then take his place.”
What?
His shark’s grin widens. “Please, mon ami, take this as a formal challenge, or is there some little tradition I’m missing. Do I swipe your face with a glove, or some such unforgivable insult?”
The yard falls silent, and my hands curl into fists. Fucking great. The last time anyone challenged the Bossman, it was me. Against an OG—Zed.
I won, just. You don’t challenge for boss unless you’re a contender, or a complete idiot.
This man is not an idiot.
“T, what the fuck is going on?” Clay is suddenly in my ear, his voice frantic.
“I told you to stay with Aurora.”
“She sent me down. Said this guy is dangerous. He’s a Conclave kid.”
Right, that makes sense.
Still, in here he is only flesh and blood, no magic.
“He issued a challenge,” I mutter, shedding the top half of my coveralls and tying the arms around my waist. “So what else am I going to do but fight? Go look after the Princess.”
“Layla and Jensen have her, she’s good. You’re the one who needs me right now.” He puts a hand on my shoulder.
Heinz holds out his arms and raises his voice, a cruel, hungry glint in his eyes. “A challenge for Digger boss has been issued and will go ahead. To the yield, blackout, or the grave. Et kütt wie et kütt.”
The yard becomes a sea of noise, but the space between me and this Frenchman feels eerily quiet, as if the air itself is thickening into something toxic. “If this goes south, look after Aurora, Clay. This guy wants her.”
“Fuck. Then things better not go south, boss.”
“No shit.” My muscles are coiled, and my pulse stays steady despite the rush of adrenaline.
A challenge for Boss has officially been laid down. There is no path now apart from forward.
Heinz lets out a sharp whistle. “Contenders…fight!”
I move first.
I’ve spent years in the pits of Havengard; I’ve known how to end a man with a single, well-placed blow since I was twelve. I launch a heavy cross aimed right at his flawless jaw, expecting him to dodge or parry.
He does neither. He flows.
It’s the only way to describe it. He moves with a liquid, boneless movement that shouldn’t be possible in a yard where the Null-Wards make your limbs feel like they’re made of lead.
I miss by a hair, and as he slips past my guard, he whispers, “Trop lent, espèce de plouc.”
The fucker just called me a slow hick.
I pivot, throwing a low kick to find his center of gravity, but he’s already gone. He’s dancing around me, making it look like a fair, athletic contest to the spectators on the bleachers, but up close, the reality is terrifying.
Every time he gets within a foot of me, a wave of icy cold washes over my skin.
It’s not just the fear of losing; it’s a physical presence, a creeping numbness.
My vision blurs at the edges, turning gray and hazy.
My lungs burn as if the very oxygen in the yard has been replaced with something toxic.
What the fuck is happening?
Why does he look stronger, faster, and more vital with every passing second while I feel like I’m drowning.
When our arms finally lock in a clinch, I look into those black eyes. They aren’t just dark. They are endless. The sunlight doesn’t reflect off them; it gets swallowed, as if his pupils are twin abysses.
“You… you’re using magic,” I choke out, my voice sounding thin and distant.
When he smiles, for a split second his pupils seem to turn to slits. “Impossible,” he murmurs, his breath smelling minty fresh. “There is no magic here, Gravedigger. Only nature.”
He strikes. It’s a palm-heel to my solar plexus, delivered with a force that feels like a battering ram. The impact doesn’t just knock the wind out of me; it feels like a needle of pure ice driven straight into my central nervous system.
The world tilts. My lungs seize, refusing to pull in any air. I see the pale gray sky and hear a scream—Rory—but I can’t move my arms. I can’t even blink.
The poison, the fear, the darkness… It’s all-consuming.
As the darkness rushes in, the last thing I see is Francois de Vaux standing over me. He looks down with the bored curiosity of a predator that’s already moving on to its next kill. He doesn’t have a single scratch on him. Not a bead of sweat.
I try to reach for the shiv in my waistband, one last desperate gamble for my block, for her, but my fingers are dead weights. The Bossman of the Diggers is gone before his head even hits the dirt.
And everything goes black.