Chapter 2 #3
I heard feet hit the dirt to my side and turned to see a large man standing several feet away.
His head was shaved, and he had a close-cropped golden-brown beard.
From what I could tell, he was a couple inches taller than me and more muscled, but I wasn’t worried.
It was hard to fear most opponents after fighting Samhail.
I sensed the man was mortal, although it didn’t really matter since using magic wasn’t allowed in the pit. As if on cue, Delia snapped a caronium cuff on my wrist, and my power died.
Xerxes knew I was perimortal, but he didn’t know what my power was. The cuff didn’t lock, so I could get out of it in an emergency, but fighters were on their honor to keep them on.
All things considered, Xerxes’s operation was civilized in comparison to some of the other fighting rings I’d experienced.
He kept a healer on hand, albeit not a powerful one, and fighters were forbidden from killing each other.
Disposing of bodies was messy, annoying work, and it was the easiest way to attract the notice of people who might be inclined to shut you down.
Xerxes stayed in business because he paid the city guard to turn a blind eye and because he didn’t give them any reason to come looking for him.
He promised blood and violence to his patrons but not death.
The venues that dealt in death didn’t last long in the city.
Malachi and I stepped to the center of the pit to face each other as one of the guards helped Delia out.
This was part of the pre-fight ritual, a chance for the combatants to size each other up or engage in some psychological warfare, some – What had Axenus called it that time? – ‘competitive incivility?’
Malachi looked me up and down with an expression like he smelled shit. He huffed a laugh. “Surely this is a joke,” he said. “They want me to fight you? You’re too pretty to hit.”
I held back a smile. Samhail had said almost the same thing to me the very first time we’d sparred at the training camp where we’d met. Then he’d punched me.
I remained quiet as Malachi waited for my reaction. I didn’t usually exchange barbs at these meetings.
“Or maybe you’re pretty because I’m supposed to fuck you instead of fight you,” he went on when I didn’t speak. “I bet your ass would squeeze nice and tight around my cock.” He grabbed his groin and laughed.
My expression didn’t waver.
“Get ready!” Delia shouted from above the pit, and Malachi and I retreated to opposite sides of the circle.
A bell clanged, and we rushed toward each other again. He took the first swing, but I dodged it and caught his arm to pull him forward for my answering right hook. He grunted as my punch took him in the temple, and he stepped away, shaking his head.
“Am I twice as pretty when you’re seeing two of me?” I asked him.
Fine, maybe I wasn’t entirely above a little verbal sparring.
Malachi growled and surged toward me again. I blocked his punch and answered with another to his jaw, then landed a series of jabs into his mid-section. Again he stepped away and tried to circle around me.
The problem with fighters like Malachi was that they automatically assumed they had the advantage because of their size.
I was smaller. I was ‘prettier,’ so clearly I had no chance in his eyes.
One of the things I respected most about Samhail was he never underestimated an opponent.
He always assumed a fighter was good enough to beat him until they showed him otherwise. Which they always did.
Malachi charged again, and this time I didn’t anticipate his combination. I dodged his first punch but stepped right into the second.
Stars burst behind my eyes, and I staggered back a step. My vision cleared just in time to see the look of surprise on Malachi’s face. He’d expected me to go down.
That was the other good thing about training with Samhail. I knew how to take a punch.
I swung before Malachi realized I’d moved, and then it was all but over.
I hit him again and again with shots to both his head and body so all he could do was keep his hands up to try and protect himself.
When he was too slow to get his forearm up in time to block my punch, I connected with his temple again, and he went down.
Malachi crashed to the dirt, and the roar of the crowd swelled to near deafening. I waited a moment to be sure he wouldn’t rise again, but he remained still. A second later, Delia jumped into the pit to declare me the winner, although the words looked sour in her mouth.
“Are you up for another opponent?” she asked me. “Or are you too out of shape to go again?”
“I’ll let you know when I break a sweat,” I said. “Bring on the next.”
The smile she gave me could only be described as sinister.
A loud thud sounded behind me as another pair of feet – even bigger feet – hit the dirt of the pit, and I turned to see what fresh hell had entered.
My jaw dropped open at the sight of the huge man standing there. No, not really a man, I corrected myself. The huge gargoyle.