Chapter 14 Kaian
Kaian
“Holy shitballs,” Kaian curses under his breath, taking in the entire scene like he’s at some IMAX theater.
The room is huge, with high ceilings where spectators can watch the cage-enclosed “pit” with a bird’s-eye view or get up close and see every sweat-slick pore.
The whole vibe (minus the cage) reminds him of clubs in New York where you can see bands play all night for the price of the cover, and get sweated on by a hot drummer from five feet away.
Not that Kaian’s done that before…a lead singer once and his guitarist, but that was backstage after the show.
It’s the same loud voices, simmering excitement, and even the scent of blood (metal concerts can get rough) that are familiar and go a long way to easing Kaian’s nervousness.
“Hey, bro. You going in or out? You’re stopping the flow,” a voice says from behind him, and for whatever reason, he hasn’t put a hand on Kaian’s shoulder or pushed him out of the way.
In North America, people thought nothing of clapping a shoulder or brushing past too close on the bus. He’d never liked that. Asia had been easier, where more often than not people kept their hands to themselves, and so he’d stayed there longer than anywhere else.
The least Kaian can do is return the unexpected kindness and move out of the way. “Yeah, sorry.” Kaian moves off to the side, back coming up against the now-empty cage.
“No problem. This your first time?” The guy looks nice enough, broad-shouldered in a band T-shirt.
His brown hair is artfully tousled in the way people do who don’t want you to think they spent an hour doing their hair.
His smile is genuine, and he’s alone, as the rest of the bottleneck on the stairs clears out and makes their way to the bar.
“Yeah. Was I that obvious?”
“You did look a little like a kid at the zoo…” He mimics a wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression. “Seriously, though, I had the same expression my first time. It’s weird to think all this goes on down here when the Humans are up there singing Taylor Swift, you know?”
Humans? Kaian’s confusion must show on his face.
“Not you, obviously. The regular Humans.” He waves at someone on the second floor. “Hey, my name’s Clint. My friends and I have a spot up top if you want to join us?”
Regular Humans? His access to The Plain is pinging at least four other people down here who can access the flow, but Clint isn’t one of them, so why would he think Kaian isn’t a “regular” human?
There’s a pop and a hiss from a sound system, and Clint looks up into the upper level. “Shit, they’re going to start the main matches in a few, I gotta get a drink. What did you say your name was?”
“Kai. I think I’ll stick down here for a bit, but thanks.”
“Sure thing. We’re up there if you change your mind.
” He points up where a pretty girl with red hair waves.
“If you’re looking to lose some money, there are a couple of guys taking bets by the bar.
But if it were me, I’d watch a bit first. They’ll start with a few low-tier fights, then bring in the big guns.
I hope Vexley fights tonight. He’s next level.
” With a two-finger salute, he heads off toward the bar.
The crackling sound system engages again, and a tinny microphone hisses over the speakers mounted to the rafters. It’s enough to quiet the din as a woman’s voice, bright and clear, announces, “Follow the fucking rules. That’s it.”
The crowd chuckles, but when the gate to the cage opens, a tall man with biceps the size of Kaian’s thighs enters, followed by a shorter one with a buzz cut and a tattoo on his neck. There’s a cheer as both men posture and flex.
Kaian had expected more of a Brad Pitt Fight Club than a WWE vibe, but it’s sort of both.
The bloodstains on the concrete floor indicate that this isn’t staged or an act, but these two fighters are still smiling and hyping up the crowd.
Biceps flexing and waving to the crowd, they circle the outside of the cage, raising their arms to get the crowd shouting and cheering.
People crowd close beside him, but that unexpected sliver of space remains so Kaian can focus on the fight without worrying he’ll have timelines taking him to his knees one after the other.
A buzzer sounds, and in the blink of an eye, the two men start swinging.
Now, Kaian isn’t an expert. He’s never thrown a punch; there’s no easier way to lose a fight than to be immobilized while you glimpse someone’s timeline after their fist breaks your jaw. These guys, though—this isn’t their first time.
The big guy throws the first punch, his meaty fist connecting with the shorter guy’s stomach. He follows it up with a brutal blow to his thigh.
With a roar of pain, the short guy drives them both to the ground.
The crowd roars hungry and loud. The short one’s fists blur, a storm Kaian can’t track.
They should shatter bone, end the fight outright, but the big man heaves him off, slamming him into the cage so hard the steel dents right in front of Kaian.
The big guy staggers back when the shorter one kicks him off with a roar.
“What the—” Kaian mutters, taking a step back.
“Cool, right?” A woman in a hot pink mini dress and what looks like a real Chanel jacket shouts beside him. “I’ve got money on Gregor.”
“Gregor?”
“The shorter beta. Don’t count him out because he’s small. I’ve seen him take on an alpha and win. Ian looks big, but he’s weaker when they get to the ground.”
Beta? Alpha?
Gregor doesn’t wait for the big guy—Ian—to get steady on his feet. He’s already running, body low, a cannonball of fury. He tackles the big man flat, pins him with weight and rage. Two clean punches to the sternum, one crack under the jaw, and it’s lights out for Ian.
The woman howls, rattling the cage. Her long nails drag down the metal, catching the light—curved, almost claws.
“Told you! I just made five hundred bucks!” She shouts with a big grin before she scurries away, leaving Kaian staring after her.
Were those fangs?
A creeping sense of anticipation crawls down Kaian’s spine. It’s not the same kind of intuition he gets when the Academy is hot on his heels, or creepy-bad like the one he’d had at The Glory Hole when he’d thought about taking Big Bad Bruce up on his offer at the club.
It’s the opposite.
It feels like what he calls luck. Something is going to change for him, and it has the potential to be good. Really good.
If only he could read his own timeline like he can every other living soul, he’d know which way to turn. Does he follow after fake-fanged-out Elle Woods and try to place a bet on an unknown fighter and turn his twenty-nine bucks into five hundred? Or does he stay put?
He slips his hand into the pocket of his coat, feeling for the coin he found on a sidewalk outside a dance club in Phuket.
It’s brass, with a lunar moth on one side and flames on the other.
He’s always let the moth mean fly high or go, or yes, and the flames mean crash and burn or stay, or no.
Most often it’s a feeling, like yesterday when the moth had meant Nashville.
Pulling it out, he’s about to flip when the crowd roars so loudly, the hair on Kaian’s arms stands straight up.
The two men in the ring are opposites in that one has hair dark like midnight, shoulders that are three feet wide, and he must be at least six-foot-eight. He’s grinning like a crazy man, and with a wolf tattoo covering half his face, it makes Kaian think his fangs are real.
It’s the second man, though, that has all of Kaian’s attention.
Whipcord lean, he’s fair with his hair buzzed close to his scalp.
Stunning, with high cheekbones and full lips, he has a scar bisecting his left eyebrow and down over his cheek, framing eyes that glow pale green under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Kaian’s stomach shivers with arousal at something he rarely feels or lets himself acknowledge. Even without eye contact, it feels like this man’s aura is reaching out across the distance and wrapping one sizzling hand around his dick and another around a place deep in the center of his chest.
This time, there’s no congenial crowd engagement as both men stand holding each other’s gaze, just waiting for the buzzer. It ratchets the tension up to an unbearable pitch.
Kaian jumps when the bell goes and, blinking, he misses Wolf Tattoo’s lightning-fast jab to his opponent’s jaw only to follow it with an undercut to his solar plexus.
Green Eyes doesn’t even stagger back or raise his fists, and Wolf Tattoo hits him three more times while the crowd roars. He’s letting Wolf Tattoo beat on him like he’s earned every strike.
The previous sizzling attraction has turned to nausea, as Green Eyes’s head snaps back with a fist to the nose. Blood spills fast and bright over his mouth, but he just widens his stance to absorb the impact.
Wolf Tattoo taunts him between punches. “You’re a pussy, Vexley.”
This is Vexley? Clint had said he was “next level,” and maybe this is what he meant? Maybe Vexley has put himself out there and lets others mete out punishment for something only he knows.
The microphone sizzles and pops again, and the woman’s voice comes over the loudspeaker, “Follow the fucking rules, Vexley, or you’re done.”
Vexley rolls his eyes and shakes out his hands, dodging the next fist to his face. It’s enough to make Wolf Tattoo laugh and double his efforts. He’d been pulling his punches earlier, and if Kaian had thought Ian and Gregor had been fast fights, this was—as Clint had said—next level.
The next few minutes are a flurry of punches and swipes. Just as many of Wolf Tattoo’s hits miss their mark as Vexley’s land, each hit driving Vexley forward, broad shoulders a thing of beauty as he tries to back his opponent into the cage.