Chapter 12
POV: Callum
As predicted, Wayfarers was bursting at the seams. The mood between us had shifted, and no matter how I tried to reassure Sorsha—spoiling her, spending freely—it had backfired. Somehow, I’d managed to annoy her instead.
It didn’t take much to understand why she clung so tightly to every penny. Her family had taught her to live on scraps, always to fear the next hungry night.
But me? I wasn’t poor. I had more coin put away than most men in Bridgeford. The bank manager near tripped over himself whenever I walked through the door.
And if the forge work ever fell short, well… there were other ways to earn, should the need arise. The pits always paid, and I never lost. Sometimes it was good to let the rage out that way.
But I hadn’t set foot in the ring in nearly two years. The shop kept me fed, the work kept me steady, and I’d promised myself those days were behind me.
Unlocking the single room, I stepped back to let Sorsha inside. She gaped, then looked up at me in question.
“There’s just one bed?” She bit her lip, but before I could tell her I’d sleep on the floor, she spun toward me, eyes blazing.
“Are you expecting… sex now that you bought the rings? You said we could wait, but I guess you’re a man and I am your wife.” She broke off, words collapsing into the silence between us.
Her accusation hit me like a punch to the gut. The thought that she believed I’d force her twisted something deep inside me.
I stepped closer, careful not to crowd her.
“Sorsha,” I said, voice low but firm, “I will never take from you what isn’t freely offered. You’re my wife, yes—but that does not mean I expect anything from you.” Her eyes shimmered with doubt, and I forced myself to hold her gaze.
“Then why did you marry me?”
I couldn’t tell her I loved her; she would think I was being manipulative just to get her into bed.
“Lock the door when I leave.”
I set the satchel on the bed and walked out, lungs tight, needing air. As the fairer sex, she was no match for my physical strength, and sleeping on the floor in her room wasn’t the answer—not while she believed I could be a threat. It would make her feel cornered, and I didn’t want that.
Once I heard the key turn in the lock, I headed outside and leaned against the wall, idly watching the passersby.
A heavy hand clapped my shoulder.
“Well, well, well. I thought that was you in the market square,” Gordo drawled, a big grin spreading across his pockmarked face.
Fuck.
And I’d left my tea upstairs.
“I’m not interested.” I spat on the cobbles and crossed my arms.
“Come on, tonight’s a big one. That’s why Mount Pinnacle’s bursting at the seams. I’ll give you a shot at the champion. Winner takes ten crowns.” Gordo leaned in, breath sour with ale. “What do you say? For old times’ sake?”
“Ten crowns? Since when do you pay so much?” I narrowed my eyes.
Gordo’s grin widened, showing the gaps in his teeth. “I’ve doubled it. For you. One-time offer—going, going…” He made a show of flicking his fingers like an auctioneer, voice low and taunting.
Fuck. It was tempting. Ten crowns could buy peace of mind for months—and maybe if I gave Sorsha the prize money, she could squirrel it away and feel a little more secure.
Just one more time, I told myself, for her.
“Who’s in the final round now?” I asked, keeping my tone flat.
“The Hammer and a newcomer. You don’t know him.”
The Hammer. I’d beaten him more times than I could count. He was past his prime and should have stopped years ago.
“Give me more detail on the newcomer,” I pressed, suspicion sharpening my voice.
Gordo wasn’t trustworthy, and I wasn’t about to walk mindlessly into one of his traps. Once, he’d pitted twins against me—and that night, I barely crawled out of the ring on my feet.
My fists clenched before I even realized it, the bones in my knuckles tightening with remembered impact. Heat surged in my chest, the old pulse pounding through my veins like a war drum.
The Berserker inside me was already stretching awake at the thought of blood and battle.
Gordo’s eyes narrowed, and his grin widened knowingly. He sensed the shift in me.
“He calls himself Clash,” Gordo said, voice low with relish. “Hasn’t lost a fight yet. Bigger than you—and he’s got crazy eyes. Just like yours.”
The words cut me to the quick, sharp and poisonous. Crazy eyes. The same words whispered behind my back by an audience that shouted my name. My fists curled tighter, every muscle itching to move, to prove him wrong.
“I just want a look at this guy first,” I said, but even to my own ears it rang hollow. I was hooked, and I knew it.
Gordo nodded knowingly. “Sure. Come and watch the fight. I don’t know if Clash will still be standing after, but let’s see.”
Sly bastard. There was no doubt in my mind that Hammer would take a beating if what Gordo said was true.
None of the pit fighters ever turned down a challenge—not if they wanted to keep their reputation intact. I was already committed, and this talk of just watching was nothing but an excuse I fed myself.
I followed Gordo down alleys I knew too well, recriminations shoved deep where they couldn’t reach me. Already, the chant of distant voices rolled through the stones, pulling me toward the underground arena.
“Who’s the girl with you?” Gordo asked, smirking.
“My missus,” I growled, rage sparking hot at the edges.
He lifted both hands. “Easy. I won’t go near her. But didn’t you swear you’d never get married?”
I only grunted, but he knew to back away.
When he pulled open the door, the roar of the crowd slammed into me. It was like a spark to tinder, stoking the fire already burning in my chest. The fight hadn’t even started, but the air tasted of blood and sweat and fury, and my pulse answered it eagerly.
I didn’t need leading. I knew the way to the edge of the ring and took a seat, muscles coiled, waiting. Whispers rippled outward as people recognized me—then the arena erupted, chanting in unison:
“Rage! Rage! Rage!”
The sound hit me like a war cry, and the Berserker inside me stretched hungrily.
Hammer strutted into the ring, punching the air with both fists as though the crowd might forget him otherwise. He looked like hell—half his teeth gone—but he kept coming back, chasing that rush.
My father used to warn me about it. The rush. Said it was harder to resist than drink, harder than women. And yet he was the one who brought me here, using it as an outlet himself.
The thought of him sobered me for a heartbeat. My mother’s lifeless body flashed in my mind, her face slack after one of his rages.
What the fuck was I doing? I should never have married Sorsha. Being with me put her in mortal danger.
My chest twisted tight. I’d give her the prize money, her papers, and let her walk free. Let her live somewhere else, safe from me.
If I harmed her, I’d never be able to live with myself.
But the tea steadied me. The herbalist, who first brewed it for me in these very pits, had known what I was. And the bitter taste had become my lifeline ever since.
I didn’t want to let Sorsha go. I loved her with every beat of my heart. More now that I got to know her, no, I couldn’t let her go.
Hammer climbed over the side and into the ring.
Now the crowd shifted, their chant rolling like thunder.
“Clash! Clash! Clash!”