Chapter 39
Huntyr
The drunken Fae male stumbles backwards after I push him, his too-long blonde hair flying awkwardly around his shoulders. His frame falls heavily into the woman behind him, and then she’s turning around, locking her heated eyes onto him and then onto me.
Then she’s lifting the sleeves of her dress over her forearms, and I brace myself for the feeling of being back in that arena, relying on my smarts to outthink Fae who can easily kill me with magic they possess that I don’t.
Regardless of whatever unpredictable light lives within my fingertips.
My heart skips a beat, my pulse quickens, and I breathe deeply, fighting through the suddenly overwhelming fear and panic as I back into my defensive stance.
But…
There’s no smell of magic in the air.
Not from her or from the several other Fae surrounding her.
She throws a jab, shoving her weight into it, and I step to the left instinctively. She loses her balance, flying past me and falling forward awkwardly.
And then she lands on someone else, and they both fall to the ground. He pushes her off and stands, leveling his glare on Rhen. Before I know it, he’s tackled Rhen, and the two are wrestling violently on the floor.
And there’s still no magic in the air.
This isn’t a Fae fight. It’s not a magical battle or a trial to the death.
It’s a good old-fashioned drunken brawl.
Fighting for the sake of the rush.
Stupid. Reckless. Adrenaline-seeking.
Fun.
A grin splits my face, and I pull the blade from my thigh, slamming it against the dagger aimed towards my face. I jam my fist into the Fae before me, hitting them with an unforgiving uppercut.
There are people everywhere. The room has erupted in a cacophony of chaos. Screaming and grunting. Weapons flying and food splattering across the hall. All I can see are the bodies careening towards me before they fall onto the floor.
For a moment I’m back in that tavern with Flannigan starting fights.
This is probably the first time since I stepped into the Fae kingdom that I’m having true, unabashed fun.
Well, maybe the second.
Last night with Derian could be described as many things, fun included.
Rhen is back on his feet, fighting beside me, and it’s totally unclear who’s on our side and who’s against us. I’m not even sure there are sides. It’s every man and woman for themselves. We’re all just lost in the bodies, flying fists, and the rush of violence.
After a few minutes, I’ve lost the weapons I brought into the room with me, and I’m relying exclusively on my fists and feet, using them to pound into any flesh I come into contact with.
The skin on my knuckles splits open as my fist connects with the jawline of a Fae man with a scar running through his right eyebrow and a remarkably large nose.
I hardly even notice the pain because I’m already spinning, jamming my foot into the groin of another man, who hits the ground hard on his knees.
Then I’m ducking because a chair has been thrown across the room.
I watch as it smashes into the head of a Fae woman, who stands nearly six feet tall, and it splinters apart.
She doesn’t even flinch. She turns slowly, anger painted across her face as she looks for who threw it, before she leaps into the air, diving to attack.
A laugh tears out of me.
There’s a hand on my shoulder, and I don’t even think. I reach back, wrapping around that arm and bending, tossing the feminine body over me. She careens into someone else, and they both hit the floor.
Someone lands a punch against my cheek, and blood explodes as I bite through my lip, the taste tangy and familiar. I wipe it away with the back of my hand before launching my counterattack, glee sparking through me all the while.
When I do find a single second that I don’t have an immediate attacker to deal with, my eyes are drawn to the table at the front of the room.
The table where Taric sits with Ulna, both of them grinning wildly. Caldren is on his feet, hand braced on his weapon as if he’s ready to pull it and break up the fight at a moment’s notice.
And Derian is watching me.
Hands flat against the table.
Expression unreadable.
Eyes following my every move.
I lick the blood off my lower lip and watch as his jaw clenches before I throw myself back into the fray.