Chapter 23
Marcus satin the back seat of his chauffeured sedan. One look at the entrance to his casino, and his stomach threatened to purge the whiskey he’d downed. Cold sweat painted his skin and he gulped shallow breaths. On either side of the casino’s massive doors, twenty-foot marble griffins glared down at him, ready to render judgment on the weakened, pathetic male before them.
Here, in this very spot, was where his previous life had ended. One moment, he’d stood beside his car, staring at Helen’s retreating back as she raced inside on some errand. The next…
Fire.
The blast of the explosion ruptured his eardrums. Flames seared his flesh from his bones.
“Marcus,” said a soft voice. “Marcus, look at me.”
His head buzzed, his heart thundering.
Gentle hands cupped his cheeks. “Marcus,” the voice firmed, snapping with concern.
Power snaked through his insides, crawling up from the darkest recesses of his core. Energy infused his body, tightening his frozen muscles while his flesh burned.
“Who threatens us? We will destroy them,” snarled the demon in the back of his mind.
“Oh no. Marcus, your face. Darn it, Shadow, not now,” the gentle voice said. “Breathe with me, Steele.” Dove’s worried countenance swam into view. “Deep breath in. Slow breath out.”
Her words penetrated. He filled his lungs and exhaled. “Can’t let them see me like this,” he grated between clenched teeth. “If anyone finds out about the possession—”
“They won’t. How about we deal with one demon at a time, okay?”
He nodded.
Dove rapped on the window separating them from his driver, taking charge. “Change of plans. Take us to Steele’s private entrance.”
The sedan sped off, taking them to a secluded doorway on the side of the building. Once Marcus was away from the bright lights and curious stares, his breathing slowed, his muscles relaxing. To his demon, he sent a mental demand, “There is no threat. Stand down.”
From deep in his mind, the spirit grunted a sound of disgust. “Feeble male.” The power throbbing at his core settled. Darkness receded, and the car’s interior lights flickered to life.
Dove clasped his hands, uncurling his clenched fingers. “That’s better. Take all the time you need.”
His mind cleared, reality returning in a rush. By the gods, what was wrong with him? What would Dove think? He dared to meet her eyes. Where he expected disgust and pity, in her expression he found understanding.
Acceptance.
Part of him wanted to snap at her. Push her away. Hide his weakness. Except the demon at his core wouldn’t allow him to hurt her in that way. Neither would the vampire.
Emotions tightened his throat. “I… uh…”
“Overcame a challenging situation. Now you are going to regroup and forge ahead.”
His lips curled at her confident, authoritative tone. He wasn’t the only one to rise to the challenge. Words failed him, so instead, he cupped the back of her neck, drew her in, and kissed her. He plundered her mouth, showing her the depths of his emotions. With a touch, he shared the intensity of what he felt for her.
When they were both dazed and breathless, he withdrew, gazing into her hooded eyes. He nuzzled his nose to her cheek, whispering against her mouth, “I confess I didn’t want you here, but now I’m glad you came.”
Her lips curled, her eyes sparkling with humor. “I’m glad I’m here too.” They’d argued vehemently yesterday about the part she would play at the fight tonight. In the end, he’d given in, preferring to have control over her safety rather than leave her to her own devices.
“Have I told you yet how beautiful you look?”
She wore a plum-colored gown, skillfully designed to entice. The outer layer was lace and fell to her ankles while the inner satin stopped mid-thigh. Through the peekaboo fabric, he caught a glimpse of her shapely legs. Two strips of gathered material swathed her chest. Her neckline plunged nearly to her waist, baring the swells of her breasts.
She grinned. “You don’t look too shabby yourself.” Tonight, he’d forgone his hood. She smoothed the lapel of his fitted suit and caressed his smooth cheek. “Shadow’s withdrawn. Are you ready to do this?”
He nodded.
They exited the sedan, followed by two members of his security team. Both hand-selected by his bodyguard.
“Any updates from Bishop?” Dove asked as they entered the dimly lit corridor.
“He’s in the locker room.” Marcus would have preferred to have him at his side. Unfortunately, tonight that wasn’t possible.
“Celeste already texted me fifty times. It will be exciting seeing him fight.”
It might have been, under different circumstances. “The event is sold out. Placing Bishop in the wildcard match accomplished what we’d intended.”
“I imagine your presence had something to do with it as well,” Dove said.
They hung a right down another corridor. Using his private entrance should have been his first choice instead of falling back on his old habits. The darkened hallways would take them directly to the arena, avoiding the masses.
“I’m told the gaming area is at maximum capacity,” Marcus said. “Those not interested in the fight still came for the show.” Morbid curiosity enticed many of them. Others came, hoping to see him weakened and frail, enjoying his fall from grace. Thanks to Dove, they’d go home disappointed.
They entered his private elevator, riding up several floors. When they exited, yet another pair of guards awaited their arrival, escorting them along the corridor to his personal box seats. Bishop had trained his crew well. Members of his team were positioned throughout the arena. Others were scattered around the gaming area. Their mission, to identify and capture Helen. Already, there had been a number of unusually large bets placed. The likelihood his former CFO placed one of them was good. Anticipation hummed in his veins. This time, she would not escape.
He squeezed Dove’s hand. “Ready?”
“Ready,” she said.
He jerked his chin at the guard, keeping his eyes on the female at his side. Despite what was at stake tonight, he found he wanted to witness her reaction to the place. The door swung open, revealing his private suite as well as the arena. Dove gasped. Seeing her face light up, he wasn’t disappointed.
Dove’sstomach pitched as she strode to the railing, taking in the view. The event arena was beyond grand, fit for royalty. Better suited to opera or Shakespearian plays than combat. Their box seats were in a private suite, three stories up. Below them, patrons filtered in. Two tiers of seating rose from the ground level. Above that were two additional levels of box seats with theirs positioned in the middle. Crystal candelabras glittered against the gilded walls. Rich banners with family crests, the kind a medieval knight might have carried, hung from metal rods. At the center of it all was a massive iron cage.
Anticipation charged the atmosphere. Marcus joined her at the railing. At his appearance, heads swiveled in their direction. Voices lowered to dull mutterings. Furtive glances cast their way. The weight of their curious stares itched like a rash between her shoulder blades. Rather than retreat, she lifted her chin and raised her hand, executing a perfect royal wave. The Queen of England would have applauded her finesse. Goddess rest her soul.
Marcus coughed an exasperated sound. “Do not encourage them.”
“I’ve always wanted to do that.” Dove turned to him, only to find his focus fixed on her instead of the crowd. Her heart skipped. It was in this casino where they’d first met, shortly before his accident. Back then, he’d looked through her as if she were as insubstantial as vapor. Someone unworthy of his notice.
Tonight, his heated gaze bore into her. Appraised every inch. His attention was a warm caress, stroking her flesh. She pictured him as a great dragon and her a jewel in his priceless hoard. In that moment, she felt treasured.
She warmed beneath his intense stare. “Marcus, I…”
Before she could say something to embarrass herself, the door swung open and Celeste breezed in, face flushed, eyes bright. “Have you ever seen anything so grand?”
Celeste had begged and begged for tickets. Dove, in turn, begged and begged Marcus to bring her friend. Marcus agreed, much to Bishop’s annoyance. At least this way, if Marcus was called away on urgent Helen business, Dove wouldn’t be alone.
Dove greeted the witch with a quick hug, sighing dramatically. “Seems a shame to watch a couple of guys beat each other bloody in such a refined space.”
Celeste snorted. “Whether it be a gilded showroom, gymnasium, or darkened alley, I don’t care, as long as I get to see a half-naked Bishop in action.” She twirled, holding out her shimmering skirt. “Do you think Bishop will like my dress? I added a bit of magical razzle-dazzle. Just a simple glamour to capture his notice.” Dark curls cascaded down her back, the top swept into a loose knot. Multiple strands of gold and glittering gems circled her neck.
“He won’t be able to take his eyes off you,” Dove assured her. If the dunder-headed lycan wasn’t captivated, there was no hope for the guy.
Celeste’s gaze drifted over Dove’s shoulder, and her eyes widened. “Oh wow. Is that champagne?”
“Help yourself,” Marcus said, and Celeste skittered to a small sideboard loaded with snacks and beverages.
Dove and Marcus returned to the railing, looking out over the crowd.
Dove whispered, “Any news on you-know-who?”
“Nothing yet.”
“I wish it were easier to see their faces. Half the audience has their backs to us. Do you think she’s down there somewhere?”
“Perhaps. Only time will tell,” he said, his voice tight.
“When does Bishop fight?”
“His is the final match of the evening,” Celeste joined them, passing out three champagne flutes.
“Saving the best for last.” Dove sipped from her glass, bubbles tickling her nose. Hopefully, Helen made an appearance before the suspense drove Dove to drink the entire bottle.
She hated leaving Celeste in the dark, but Marcus had asked her not to share their plans, worried about tipping off his former CFO. Though from what she’d heard, Helen was twisted enough to show, regardless.
The lights dimmed. Spotlights illuminated the massive iron cage. Music boomed from the speaker system.
Celeste bounced on her toes. “It’s about to start.”
Dove wished she could share her enthusiasm. This was going to be the longest night of her life.
Two minutes into the first round had Dove watching with both hands over her eyes. “Is it over yet?”
“Almost, a couple more hits like that and this guy is toast,” Celeste said, sounding breathless. Her friend was totally into it. Who knew the witch had a violent streak?
Even with Dove’s eyes closed, the sound of fists thumping flesh was grossing her out. “I thought there would be rounds with short breaks, giving spectators a minute to settle their stomachs. Also, why is there no referee?”
Celeste snorted. “Because nobody wants to put themselves in a cage with two supernatural opponents. For a similar reason, there’s isn’t a bell loud enough to break them up once they’ve started. The fight ends when one is knocked out or submits.”
“You mean there’re no rules?” Worry for Bishop tightened the knots in her shoulders.
“Just a few. No dismemberment, no killing, no weapons, no performance-enhancing drugs.”
Dove arched a brow. “No drugs? How mortal. Since when is the underworld concerned with steroid use?”
“Apparently, it’s becoming a big problem. What with Zion and his followers peddling black ice all over town.”
This, at least, Dove understood. Black ice was the newest craze in underworld street drugs. It was said to set your inner demon free. Overdoses were known to turn users into their most primal and dangerous forms. For many, it was the stuff of nightmares. It was certainly a nightmare for those who were already low on the food chain.
Finally, after twenty matches full of brutality the likes Dove had never witnessed before, the announcer stepped into the ring, declaring there would be a short intermission before the Wildcard event. With each match, Marcus’s tension built, along with her disappointment. It seemed Helen was a no-show.
Dove eased from her seat, rolling her head and stretching her back. “Oh, that last fight was the worst.”
“Did you see his tooth fly into the crowd?” Celeste’s eyes sparked with excitement.
“I’m so glad we didn’t sit ringside.” Dove clasped a hand over her churning stomach. Underworld cage fighting wasn’t a sport for pacifists.
While Dove and Celeste had gasped and groaned, watching the fighters, Marcus had remained silent. His focus on the spectators.
“Anything?” Dove cast him a sympathetic glance.
“Nothing,” he hummed a frustrated noise.
“Maybe we should stretch our legs.”
“I could use a visit to the ladies’ room,” Celeste said. “Don’t want to pee my panties when Bishop makes his entrance.”
“Very well.” Marcus nodded and led them to the door. Outside their private suite, groups of spectators strolled past them. The corridor surprisingly congested. Pinpricks of unease traveled along Dove’s glyph.
“Oh man, look at that line. I’ll be right back,” Celeste said, hustling off into the crowd.
Directly in front of them, a small cluster of people walked past. Perfume snaked up Dove’s nostrils, and she winced. Goodness, did the woman bathe in the stuff?
Beside her, Marcus sucked a sharp breath and exhaled a growl. “She’s here.”
Her stomach dropped. “Really? Where?”
“Watch her,” he snarled to his guard, pushing Dove in his direction.
Dove stumbled, and the guard caught her arm. “Marcus, wait. Shouldn’t you…”
Marcus dove into the crowd, shoving people out of his way. Her heart stabbed holes in her chest. What if Helen was setting a trap for him in return, luring him away from his security detail? Before she could urge the guard to go after him, Marcus caught up with his target. The woman was rocking a retro Jackie O look with her colorful headscarf and rounded sunglasses.
Was this it? The moment they captured Helen? Surely, it couldn’t be that easy.
Marcus grabbed the woman’s arm and jerked the silk head covering free. He yelled indecipherable words at the terrified woman and dragged her back to them.
“Lord Steele, please,” Jackie O cried, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He swung the woman around to face them, and her sunglasses slid down her nose. Dove’s chest sank. “That’s not Helen.”
Marcus thrust the scarf he held into his captive’s face. “Where did you get this?”
“It was a gift from an admirer. I swear.” Tears welled in the woman’s eyes. “The scarf, glasses and perfume were all gifts.”
“From who?” He snarled, and the woman quaked.
“I don’t know. They arrived at my home with no name and a free ticket. The only conditions were that I wear the gifts.”
Dove’s gaze drifted past the weeping woman. “Marcus, look.”
Yet another Jackie O strode straight for them. Same scarf, same glasses. “Lord Steele,” she said as she drew closer, her manner anxious.
Dove groaned. What madness was this?
Marcus’s guard intercepted the woman. “That’s close enough.”
“I… I… have something for Lord Steele.” She raised her arm and the guard seized her wrist, making the woman cry out. In her hand was a cell phone.
“Explain yourself,” Marcus snapped.
“There was a man,” the second woman said. “He said he’d pay me if I delivered this to you, wearing the scarf and perfume.”
“What man?” Marcus said. “What did he look like?”
“I don’t know. He had dark hair and wore a suit.”
“Just like every other man here,” Dove grumbled.
“Check it,” Marcus ordered.
The guard popped the back cover off the device. “It’s clear,” he said, passing it to Marcus.
Celeste strode their way, standing beside Dove. “What’s going on?” Her head swiveled between the Jackie Os.
Dove glanced past her and groaned. Two women in matching headscarves strolled in their direction. “Um, Marcus?” She pointed them out and Marcus released a very Shadow-like growl. Lights flickered over their heads.
“Both of you, back inside.” He set his hand to the small of her back while ushering them toward the door.
“Lord Steele?” the guard called out, restraining both Helen decoys.
“Release them,” Marcus said over his shoulder.
Once inside their private suite, he strode to the railing, his dark gaze sweeping over the crowd. Dove gasped. Below them had to be fifty women in matching headscarves and glasses.
“The scarf and perfume were gifts I gave her for her years of service,” Marcus snarled through gritted teeth.
“What are we going to do?” Dove said. “Your guards can’t unmask fifty women. Besides the time constraint, it will cause a spectacle.” Which is exactly the kind of thing Helen would thrive on.
Celeste’s head pinged between them and the arena. “What scarf? What’s going on?”
Before Dove could answer, the lights dimmed. The announcer’s voice boomed over the sound system. “And now. The event you’ve all been waiting for. I give you the greatest Wildcard match of all time.” Crimson spotlights sliced through the dark like laser beams. Fog machines bellowed smoke. The lights extinguished, casting the arena in darkness.
The announcer roared, “Four-time, heavyweight champion, Bishop McGregor.” Bright lights blazed to life and poof, Bishop appeared in the iron cage. The crowd went nuts, cheering, clapping.
Celeste was right. Bishop was a sight to behold, bare-chested, in a pair of tight-fitting black shorts. He prowled a slow circle around the cage, mean-mugging the audience, and the spectators loved it. His powerful muscles gleamed beneath the spotlights. Tattoos sleeved one thick shoulder and arm. The lycan was a powerhouse, promising pain to any who dared to face him.
Celeste fanned her face, elbowing Dove’s arm. “Now, do you understand?”
Dove nodded, distracted from her Helen concerns. “I confess to having a whole new appreciation for the sport.”
The announcer stepped to the center again. “His opponent, the lucky draw in our Wildcard match.” Once more, the lights dimmed. Red spotlights cut through the crowd, then fell dark. “Damion Hernandez!” The lights flared. Across the ring appeared a bare-chested lycan in green shorts. His short-cropped hair and longer beard were the color of a shiny new penny. On his rugged face was an expression of such deep, abiding hatred, Dove shivered, wrapping her arms around her middle. He pulled his lips back, baring massive canines, and the medallion on his chest gave off a dull, red glow. His beast was fired up and raring to go.
The crowd erupted, cheering.
“What? No!” Celeste grabbed her chest, stepping away from the railing. She peered at Dove, her face pale. “Oh, this is bad. He wasn’t even on the list of opponents.”
“What’s going on? Why is everyone freaking out?” Dove shouted over the noise.
Marcus answered, “It was Hernandez’s brother whom Bishop killed in his last fight.”
Meaning, this guy wasn’t here to win. He was here for vengeance. Bishop had been set up. Dove turned to Marcus. “We have to stop this. Pull a fire alarm or something.”
Marcus shook his head, his expression grim. “Bishop can handle—”
Tinkling bells chimed from the phone Jackie O had given Marcus. Dove watched him with rounded eyes as he pressed the screen. Held it to his ear. Spoke into the speaker.
“Hello, Helen.”