Chapter 14 Kaian #2
He pivots, letting Wolf Tattoo’s hard slash glance off his forearm. As he spins clear, he answers with a sharp jab to the ribs. The impact steals Wolf Tattoo’s breath with an audible oof, but it doesn’t slow his charge.
Wolf Tattoo is using every last bit of his reserves, lightning fast, but repetitive. He’s got Vexley beat with sheer brute force. But if Gregor from the last fight taught Kaian anything, it’s that the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Hopefully.
Kaian is surprised when he hears his own shout of encouragement. “Kick his ass, Vexley!”
Even though there would be no way Vexley could have heard Kaian’s voice over the roar of the crowd, his head turns, and he takes a hard punch to his sternum.
Staggering back, Vexley gives ground inch by inch, each time, but his counter comes faster: A jab to the jaw, an elbow angled just so, the whip-crack of a knee catching mid-thigh.
Wolf Tattoo swings wide, crowding him, but every miss costs him balance.
Vexley doesn’t waste a breath. He moves as if he’s been exactly here before, every step calculated, every strike exact.
The wolf-tattooed man fights with rage as if every blow is a personal insult, while Vexley fights calm and patient, each blow rendered with precision. As if he has no feeling about it either way.
The lack of reaction is what finally gets to the bigger man. With a rage-filled roar, Wolf Tattoo goes low in a powerful tackle, his momentum pushing Vexley back the last few feet into the cage and inches from where Kaian’s fingers grip the metal cage.
So close, he can smell Vexley’s sweat, sweet and vaguely floral. It sends a shiver down Kaian’s spine. He sees specks of blood on his flawless skin and the edge of that old scar high on his cheekbone.
He can’t help it. Something about Vexley overrides Kaian’s self-preservation and the hard line he usually keeps around touching people without permission. Bracing himself for his usual paralysis, he gives in to the urge to touch the bigger man’s sweaty shoulder with a single fingertip.
The earlier sizzle of attraction bursts into a conflagration of desire, and two things happen at once.
First, where he expects the flood of golden threads—Vexley’s choices, his timelines, the unbearable weight of futures—there is nothing. For the first time since he was twelve, nothing happens when he touches another person.
No paralysis. No threads. Just blessed absence.
Second, Vexley’s head snaps around, green eyes locking on his, nostrils flaring, jaw slackening with a gasp as recognition and arousal burn raw between them.
Neither of them sees Wolf Tattoo’s fist until it crashes into the side of Vexley’s skull.
Vexley’s eyes roll back, and he slumps to the floor, unconscious and still.
Wolf Tattoo looks surprised for a millisecond. It’s fleeting, and it’s immediately replaced with a howl of triumph.
The crowd goes silent as if they, too, are surprised, but the reprieve is gone in the next instant as it floods back, louder than before.
Boos and cheers fade into the background as Wolf Tattoo leans in and, with a wink, shouts “Fuck yes!” right in Kaian’s face, before taking a jog around the perimeter, arms raised high.
Dropping into a crouch, Kaian focuses on Vexley, still unconscious despite the noise.
“Hey, wake up.” He pokes the big man through the cage again, but it isn’t enough to move him.
“I wouldn’t touch him if I were you,” the woman from before shouts from beside him. “He wouldn’t appreciate it, and it’s against the rules. You’ll get banned.”
The reminder that he’s touching an unconscious man without his consent adds to the swirl of guilty nausea. “Yeah, sorry.”
A medic in a pair of scrubs jogs across the arena and crouches beside Vexley’s still form. He checks for a pulse and pulls up his eyelids, muttering under his breath. Whatever he said makes the woman beside him chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Kaian asks, more than a bit worried when the medic looks more worried than before.
“Didn’t you hear him? He was praying that Vexley won’t wake up before he can get his vitals and bite his hand off.”
The medic signals to someone over his shoulder, and two guys skirt the still-triumphantly-posturing Wolf Tattoo at a jog.
“That guy got lucky,” Kaian feels like he has to say it, because he’d been sure, until he and Vexley had locked eyes, that Wolf Tattoo would lose.
There’s also a bit of guilt that Vexley is being hauled out between the two men because of Kaian.
Kaian can’t take his eyes off him until he disappears behind a leather curtain, but once he’s gone, Kaian’s stomach drops to his toes, threatening to bring Oscar’s excellent meal right back up again.
“Fucking right he did. Vexley has never lost a fight. Whoever bet against him won big tonight.”
He’d never lost a fight? That’s crazy. Even the best fighters in the world don’t have pure odds like that. And Kaian should know—his magic is all about luck, probability, and predictions.
Realization hits him then.
Vexley is why he’d come to Nashville. He’s why his feet had carried him to Oscar’s and why he’d been there to hear heliotrope from Jackson’s friend’s lips.
“Sorry, I gotta—” Kaian mutters as he walks away.
Skirting the ring, he passes by the bar where several people are arguing with two smaller guys at a table. The bookies. They wouldn’t have been prepared for Vexley’s loss, and the winners are loudly demanding their payout.
Whoops.
He’s not sure what he’d been planning when he hits the curtained-off area, but he’s stopped for the third time that night by a raised hand and a shaking head.
“Sorry, fighters only,” the beefy security guy blocking the curtain shakes his head.
“But—” Kaian frowns. Not surprising that they wouldn’t let him in, so he could waltz up to an unconscious man and—
Shit. “I need to talk to Vexley.”
“Kid, you and about twenty other people. No one likes to lose money on a sure thing. Now git. He don’t have time for groupies.”
Kaian grits his teeth, the unfamiliar urge to try a little magical persuasion tingles at the base of his skull, and that’s enough to have Kaian back off and turn away.
For as much as Kaian has done to survive this life, the moment he chooses that path is the moment his life won’t be worth the fight.
The crowd around the arguing bookies has grown. A stunning giant of a man in a maroon suit talks the winners down with silky reassurances and a smile that works like magic—real or not.
With the focus of the nearby crowd mesmerized by Maroon Suit, Kaian can slip up to the bar without the usual wait.
The bartender had been watching Maroon Suit, too, but when Kaian slips onto a stool, he shakes it off. “What can I get you?”
“That was a crazy fight, eh?”
“Fucking crazy, Vexley never loses. Wishing now I’d had money on Klein instead.”
“Yeah, I heard. Do you know where I can talk to him?”
The bartender’s eyes get wide, and he’s shaking his head even before he says the words. “Vexley? You do not want to do that, buddy. He isn’t the friendliest at the best of times, but after a fight that he fucking lost? Dude, he’s going to be pissed.”
Kaian thinks about making up a story about being a journalist or a long-lost friend or even appealing to the bartender with what’s left of his meager cash, but something is telling him to be truthful.
“I’m the reason he lost.”
“What? Are you serious?” The guy’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline.
“As a heart attack.” Kaian wipes a few droplets of water from the bar top with the same finger he’s used to touch the fighter, remembering the feeling of the smooth, hot skin. “He recognized me.”
The bartender tilts his head, his mouth dropping open in surprise.
“For real? Well, shit. Vexley, huh?” Even though the words don’t make much sense to Kaian beyond the obvious, they seem to have meaning to the bartender.
“You can usually find him in the alley for a smoke after a fight, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. ”
“Hey, thanks…” Kaian checks the guy’s name tag, slipping from the stool. “Derek. Does he have a name other than just Vexley?”
“Nope. Always just Vexley. Good luck.” He wipes away the small design Kaian had etched onto the counter, muttering, “You’re going to need it,” under his breath.
That tingle of excitement earlier peaks in his gut as he skirts the crowd, taking the stairs two at a time. Ruby is busy with customers, and he follows a noisy crowd past the bouncer, out the door. Small groups of smokers and vapers gather out front, their voices retelling the fight of the night.
To the right is the cross street that leads back toward The Hole, and to the left, a long, low warehouse beside the bar. Turning left, he sees there’s a narrow alley, maybe twelve feet wide.
It’s surprisingly clean for an alley, but there is a small pile of black trash bags at the end of the alley, illuminated by the single light hanging over what must be the staff entrance.
He’ll just wait here until Vexley comes out.
Maybe practice what he’s going to say so he doesn’t make a fool of himself to the hottest guy on the planet.
When he gets to the door, he realizes it’s not trash bags at all but a body—Vexley, unconscious and slumped to the side.
“Hey,” Kaian whispers so as not to surprise him. “You okay?”
Nothing.
“Hello?”
But Vexley is out. He must have been conscious enough to pass the medic’s check, but he hadn’t gotten far.
“Dammit.” He tries the door, intent on getting a staff member to call an ambulance, but it’s locked with a keypad.
Kaian doesn’t even have a phone. Too easy to track, and with a bill to pay and no way to pay it, it was easier to rely on the kindness of others. Besides, he’s got no one to call.
“Maybe you have a phone?” Kaian goes to a crouch, lets his fingertips slip over the unconscious man’s wrist without hesitation.
Half expecting the earlier had been a fluke, he braces again for the inevitable flurry of golden threads, but there’s nothing. It’s blissful relief, and for a moment, he lets the warmth of Vexley’s skin seep into his bones and his strong pulse ease his mind.
Vexley is holding his phone, and it’s still lit up. “You’ve not been out long, then. Who were you calling?”
The contact says Blaze, but he hadn’t pressed the call button.
“Someone special?” The small photo is of a stunning man with deep bronze skin, sleeping in bed, glowing in the sun. There’s a satisfied curl to his lips, but it’s clear he’s asleep. “Whoa.”
Kaian’s belly slithers with attraction. “What is up with me? Jesus, Kai. Get your shit together.”
The call rings and rings before it disconnects. No voicemail, not that Kaian would leave a message anyway. What would he say, after all? Hey, your mega-hot boyfriend is unconscious in an alley because he lost a fight when he recognized me or some shit and—
He presses the call button again, and this time, the call connects.
“You gotta be kidding me, cher.” His voice is smooth like hot honey.
“Uh, this is Vexley’s phone. Is this Blaze?”
There’s a swift drawn breath, followed by dead silence.
“Who is this? Where’s Soren?”
“My name is Kai, and I’m—I’m in the alley behind All’s End, and he’s unconscious. It looks like he was going to call you, but…”
Blaze sucks in a breath, and what sounds like a metal locker slams. “He’s what? What happened?”
“He lost a fight—”
It is dead silent again as Blaze processes the information.
After a minute, Kaian whispers, “Should I call an ambulance?”
“I’m on my way, just stay where you are, okay? I’m five minutes out.”
“Oka—” And Kaian is talking to dead air. “Well, alrighty then. Just you and me for five more minutes, hot stuff.”
He slips to his butt, making sure he’s between the door and the unconscious Vexley.
Soren Vexley.
Kaian hums. Closing his eyes so he can better recall those few seconds before Wolf Tattoo had knocked Soren out. He inches closer so their shoulders brush, as he murmurs, “Soren,” to himself.
It suits him. Bold, mysterious, but also a little soft. It’s a weird thought to have about someone he doesn’t know at all and has only ever seen beating the shit out of someone for fun or penance.
Soren is so warm beside him, and even though it’s been an adrenaline-packed few hours, Kai feels the pull of that heat, tingling down his arm, warming him up, and dragging him into a quiet doze.
“You’re going to be okay. Your boyfriend is coming. Way to go by the way; he’s smokin’,” Kaian murmurs to fill the silence.
He is supposed to be protecting Soren. Kaian is the conscious one, and with the magic of The Plain, he’s probably stronger than even the fierce fighter, but…
something about him puts Kaian at ease. Just being pressed against his shoulder turns down the need to run, hide, and be ever vigilant.
Makes him think about things he can’t entertain.
Like being still. Being comforted. Being home.
Pressing closer, his head lolls over onto the bigger man’s shoulder. Maybe he could just rest his eyes.
He’ll wake up when Blaze arrives. Just five more minutes.