Chapter 22
Friends Avenge Each Other
Sinta
Furious, seething, practically vibrating with anger, I watched him enter the Pit with a cocky swagger that set my teeth on edge.
He was tall, built with wide shoulders, and stacked with thick muscle.
It was an intimidating sight.
I would have bulked against if I weren’t so full of fury.
I was sure I’d wake up tomorrow and proceed to berate myself in every way possible, but right now all I wanted was his head on a spike.
I watched him move – his wide steps, the swaying of his shoulders, how he slouched slightly.
He moved well. But I’d seen better.
The male who’d taught my self-defence class was bigger than him and moved like a lithe tiger – we hadn’t been allowed to graduate from his program until we could beat him five times out of ten.
‘So I know you have a chance’, He’d said. ‘I’m teaching you to fight, so you can survive’.
I wondered what he’d think about my single-minded focus to beat this asshole into the sand.
Probably shake his head and then cheer me on.
Moving to the centre of the Pit, facing his smug face head-on, I felt my dragon rise up, thrashing her tail, writhing with our combined fury.
She’d taken a liking to Kenya from the first, and she was all for me ripping this male to shreds.
Feeling her rise, my skin tight, my face boiling with heat, it all encouraged the anger I felt like fire in my veins.
“Hope you weren’t planning on walking out of here.” He taunts, grinning with sharp beastly teeth. “You’ll be lucky if they can scoop you onto a stretcher.”
“I’ll be picking your teeth out of my fist.” I promise him, my expression deadpan.
He roars a laugh, tossing a look back to his fan club. “I don’t lose, baby girl.”
“Good.”
He raises a brow.
“Then I’ll be damaging more than just your face. How will your ego ever recover?” I sneer.
His expression sours. “Bitch.”
“Cowardly woman-beating wannabe asshole.” I clip right back.
He growls and tosses a look to Trevone.
“On my mark.” Trevone calls, hand raised, smiling.
Tremore hunches in, crouching slightly, his fisted hands before him.
I raise my own, shift one foot backward, and angle my torso.
“Ready.” Trevone calls.
“Fuck him up, Sin.” Nat calls.
“Rip his balls off with your teeth!” Yelana screams.
I nearly smiled.
“Fight.” Trevone roars.
Tremore comes straight for me, charging like a bull, a fist raised as he screams a battle cry.
I collapse, hitch back my arm, wait until he’s close, and slam my fist into the arch of his right knee.
He yells, the knee buckling, and as he falls I push up with every inch of muscle I have to ram my knee into his stomach.
His abdomen is solid, layered with muscle and sinew, but our combined momentum contained enough power to wind him and bring a dull throb to my kneecap.
Delivering a quick heel kick to the same knee, I dance out of his reach.
“Fucking whore.” He screams.
“Bully.” I spit, keeping out of reach as he struggles to rise.
I consider going in for a kick to the head, but he’s recovering too quickly.
He stumbles upright and hitches a little on the fucked knee.
His magic was aiding his recovery – I wouldn’t have been able to get up so quickly.
He charges again, coming in with heavy swing after heavy swing.
No technique. He’s only aiming to do as much damage as possible.
I avoid or glance the hit where I can, wincing when I’m forced to bounce it off of an arm or shoulder, feeling bruises already starting to form.
But I realise he’s not lithe. All that bulk is meant for power, not speed.
He can’t keep up with how fast I’m moving, growing frustrated when he misses.
So I dance him around that Pit like a fucking ballerina.
“Fuck yes, Sinta.” Yelana bellows. “Tire him out, run him down!” She encourages.
Tremore’s face reddens, realising what I’m doing.
I cursed Yelana, but it’s not like it changes anything. He’s still unable to land a solid hit as I duck and turn and shift, twisting like a sheet in the wind.
“Fight me.” He snarls, panting. “Fucking stay still.”
“And make it easy for you?” I laugh darkly. “Hell no.”
He roars, his features contorting into a bestial mask.
He looked like a bear.
He raises a hand containing a writhing orangey-red ball of power.
I jerk and mutter a curse, leaping back.
He pegs it at my legs.
I swerve and it misses.
But he throws another, and another, over and over again until I’m jumping and twisting for my life, too distracted by the pain to monitor Tremore’s approach.
I’m dodging a power ball heading for my left foot, spinning away from it, when he body slams me into the wall.
Crying out, my head burns with a shattering pain, my back screaming.
I don’t have time to combat the fist he ploughs into my jaw.
Grunting and stunned, the taste of copper on my tongue, I barely get my hands up to shield against his next hit.
“Not laughing now, are you?” He jeers.
His friends cheer.
“Break her jaw, Tremore!” Someone yells.
“Teach that powerless bitch not to open her mouth!” Someone else screams.
“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll come over there!” Yelana roars.
Tremore attempts to throw a hook into my ribs while I’m gasping, wetness dripping from my lips.
I block his hit to my right but miss the follow-up to my left, gasping and curling around it.
When he tries to pull his arm back I hold on, using the momentum to twist around his bulk and swing him with me.
Reverting our positions.
Not having good footing, I risk falling and twist to deliver a high kick to his side.
He makes contact with my shoulder and we both stumble, cursing.
He hisses and cradles his ribs.
I want to place a hand over mine, feeling them burn with every move, but I straighten up.
I swing a punch to his mouth while he’s distracted.
His head snaps back against the wall.
Blood wells from the split in his lip.
The savage grin I give him, feeling my limbs burn and my chest seize with blazing energy, must spook him enough to summon more power into his hands.
He holds them before him as the magic gathers into his palms, forming a large ball between us.
I won’t have time to run – I’m too close.
I deliver a sold flat-footed kick into his stomach – just as he unleashes that power right into my chest.
Everything goes silent.
I feel myself moving – spinning. That sensation of being weightless, like that moment when you dive into a pool, and you’re suspended in time.
But I hit the ground, the sand ripping at my skin, and skid along it on my side.
I can’t tug in air, my chest is too tight.
My limbs only jerk when I try to move. Every inch of me is stunned.
When the sound rushes back in everything is too loud, my ears ringing.
Coughing, choking, I writhe and try to move my head.
People are cheering, enough for the Pit to be ringing with noise, and someone is screaming a tremendous sound of victory.
My chest hurts so bad that when I finally drag in a stuttering breath, it wrenches a cry from me.
Tasting blood, my hearing shot, my chest too tight with the pain, I force my head to move.
He's standing where I left him, his group leaning down and praising him, celebrating with him.
I can see Nat not far from him, her concerned gaze on me, an awake but wobbly Kenya leaning on her side.
Kenya looks as if she’ll jump into the Pit to come get me, her hand gripping the wooden slatting of the wall.
She looks scared, flinching every time Tremore makes a sound, her wet eyes wide.
I don’t like it.
I don’t like that look on her face. I don’t like that bragging smug bastard. I don’t like being so powerless and weak and fucking useless.
And I absolutely fucking hate losing just because he can use magic.
I thought I was angry before. I thought I was furious.
Clearly, I’d never been furious.
Because now I felt as if I could set this entire courtyard on fire and dance on his burning corpse.
Pulling in a blistering breath, my dragon expanding until it felt like she was trying to rip her way out of me, the sinew and muscle of my limbs flexed.
Sucking in another breath, dragging it deep, I felt a burning like no other travel up my throat, my eyes filming with a strange haze.
It paints the world in a catalogue of bright colours.
Feeling strong, like I’d suddenly been infused with steel, my arms finally moved to push my chest up from the ground, my legs scrambling under me.
As I rose, I looked at nothing but Tremore, his body now bursting with red and orange light.
Not an aura.
Heat vision?
A rumbling growl of approval rattled my throat, startling me even as I fixated on the bastard.
She was so close to the surface – closer than she’d ever been.
And she was going to help me rip him apart.
Her answering snarl of delight echoed in my head.
“Tremore!” Someone warns him.
He turns, smug grin in place.
“Coming back for more, are we?” He sneers, flexing.
I rumbled a deep, rattling growl – felt it as the sound travelled outwards to slam into those around me.
His grin falters, but he straightens and motions for me to come at him. “Let’s go then, bitch. I’ll make sure to break some bones this time.”
“Before class ends, Tremore.” Trevone barks. “I’m not wasting my free time on this uppity bitch.”
The look I pin Trevone with is so hateful, it could curdle milk.
The look on his face, the way his head jerks back, is so satisfying.
“I don’t have all fucking day.” Tremore calls.
I don’t let him come to me this time.
Rushing him, I predict the fist swinging for my head and duck it, twisting to thrust a fist low.
I don’t go for his balls – though I should – I slam it right into his kidney.
Sending pain radiating through his abdomen.
Arching with an agonised shout, I slam the hard point of my elbow into his bared throat.
He chokes and stumbles, hands flailing, legs wobbling.
I don’t let him recover.
Stomping my heel into the damaged knee, it buckles and he stumbles back, his body turning and one of his hands going out to grab the wall.
It’s the only thing keeping him upright.
“What the fuck, Tremore!”
“Fucking fight her!”
His friends aren’t happy, the red glare of their body heat a beacon to my gaze, but I’m focused on my prey.
We’re focused on him, and in complete agreement.
He is not leaving this Pit conscious.
I thrust a fist into his lower back, and again to the other side, wrenching screaming gasps from him.
He scrabbles against the wall but can’t move away from the spinning kick to his spine.
“Hell yeah, Sinta! Thata girl.” Yelana screams. “Rip his fucking head off!”
Wanting to go after him again, I’m forced to instead dodge the ball of magic he discharges.
It gives him time to turn and put space between us.
Staring me down, face lined with a seething hatred, I watch as his body produces horrible popping sounds, like his bones are breaking, and he grows three feet taller.
His face changes, his eyes like a bear’s, his teeth so long they force his lips apart.
He puffs up before me, barrel chest filling, and hunkers down to shower me with a bone-rattling, domineering roar.
I feel his Dominance push against me.
Feel the heavy suffocating pressure of it trying to force me to bend.
To offer throat.
To submit.
Most everyone has backed away from the Pit, their heads bowed.
But we don’t bend. He’s not strong enough to make us.
This fucker was nothing.
Not worth the fucking dirt on my shoe.
Tail lashing, mouth gaping to coat my insides in twisting, raging flames, my dragon pushes her way up.
I feel her like never before. Feel her along my bones and filling the space in my head.
It felt like she took control, rearing to the forefront whilst I became a passenger.
Feet planting, lungs expanding, my head rearing back, it seemed like everything paused for the barest of moments.
But then I’m lunging forward, my arms flying wide, my jaw unhinging with the absolute power that bursts forth from my lungs.
My roar rattled the very foundations of the building and drove everyone back from the Pit’s edge.
People fell over in their haste to flee.
But the bulk of it, the utter fury of it, was aimed directly at Tremore.
His bestial face pales, his arms rising to shield him.
It soothed some of my dragon’s primal rage.
But I meant what I said – he wasn’t leaving this Pit on his own two feet.
Before him in a matter of moments, he swipes out with a clawed hand and manages to rake my arm.
I ignore the stinging pain and seize that hand.
Gripping it and spinning, I wrenched it with me behind his back, shoving it up between his shoulder blades.
I wasn’t gentle, I didn’t do it to subdue him. I pulled it as high as I could until I heard the jarring crack and his roar of pain.
Grappling, avoiding the wild swings of his good arm, taking the kick he sent into my thigh, I hooked my fingers into his waistband and used his momentum to send him hurtling into the wall.
Stumbling wildly towards it, his arm out to brace his fall, I lashed out and kicked in his knee.
His skull met the wood with a hollow thwack.
“Gods damned.” Someone hisses.
Tremore slides towards the sandy ground, his hand grasping at the slats.
Its futile. He’s buckling. His body is giving out.
He’s limp and struggling to move his head, his legs flopping under him like a lifeless fish.
My dragon’s strength drains from me – so suddenly that I almost stumble, my head too light.
Panting, my chest heaving, I take in the damage done to him, glance up at his friends that are no longer cheering.
Watching me with wide, wary gazes, they are all observing from a distance.
They were shocked silent.
Licking my lips, tasting my blood, I consider leaving him as he is.
He certainly looked pathetic – not nearly as bad as Kenya, but I’d done a number on him.
And I was tired, my limbs starting to shake.
I felt drained, as if I’d worked myself to the bone.
“F-fucking…. Bi—tch….” He slurs, struggling to rise. “I should h-have snapped he—er fucking neck….”
Tensing, my resolve snaps into place.
This steaming pile of shit didn’t deserve my mercy.
He didn’t deserve any mercy.
Grasping the spikey gelled locks atop his head, I wrench it back, baring his bloodied and dazed face.
“You don’t touch her ever again.” I snarl.
His eyes flare, turning ursine, his beast staring out at me.
I only give it a rattling growl before I slam his face into the Pit wall.
His legs kick, his arm flying out, trying to pull my hand from his hair.
So I do it again.
And again. And again.
“Alright, enough!” Trevone calls, visibly shaken.
I do it again, wait to see if he moves, then slam it again when his fingers still grasp at mine.
“I said enough! Fuck, he’s down!” Trevone roars.
I look at him, taking in the wide-eyed look on his face. Registering just how shaken he was.
Looking around the Pit, I see how shaken they all are. How they’re watching me with a mix of shock, surprise, and grudging respect.
Respect, because power and strength were the Fae way. The Fae culture.
And I’d just proved that I may not have power, but I was strong.
Releasing Tremore’s hair, watching his body slump to the ground, it occurred to me that I’d just acted like Grande. Like Imelda.
But I’d done it in defence of a friend.
I wasn’t sure if that made my sudden inclination to violence any better.
It was completely out of character for me.
It was out of character.
I begin to make my way to the edge of the Pit. Toward Nat and Kenya.
Yelana called something after me, but I was too distracted to listen.
I climbed out, feeling my ribs protest.
My injuries scream as I crouch down next to Kenya.
I expected her to flinch away from me, not want me to touch her, but she grasped my hand and gave it a squeeze, trying to smile but wincing instead.
I take in her black and blue blood crusted face and try to smile back, but it hurt the same.
“Let’s get you to the healer.” I tell her. “I need to go see my Counsellor.”
“I’ll help.” Nat offers quickly, giving me a nod.
We lift Kenya onto her feet, each taking a side.
Trevone doesn’t try to stop us as we leave.
No one does.
Not a sound is uttered.
Some deep part of me beams with vicious pride.