Chapter 7
SEVEN
Flash too much muscle, and someone will test it.
CELINE
“If you keep walking like there’s a piano strapped to your back, we won’t make it there by sundown.” I toss a disgruntled look at Luca as he ambles along behind me, making our two-block walk seem endless.
He yawns. “You woke me up after four hours of sleep and made me run for miles. I’m exhausted, baby.”
I scrub my hand over my face. He’s right, but without training I won’t be able to defeat my dad. And with Luca glued to my side, he needs to be ready too.
The four hours we slept weren’t enough, but I’m too wired to be sleepy. Experience tells me I can survive months this way before I crash. Luca will adjust.
“I appreciate you running with me,” I tell him.
“Scary,” he mutters. “You’re about to say something awful, aren’t you?”
“We’ll be doing that run every morning.”
“Like that.” Luca sighs and jogs reluctantly to my side. He drapes his arm over my shoulder. “Are you ready for the fight? We can call it off if you want more time.”
“I’m ready for whatever they toss at me.”
I smile brightly at him even while caterpillars explore my stomach lining. The nerves are a good sign. They mean I’m locked in. Fighters should respect their opponents enough to feel a rush of anticipation before a match.
As dusk falls, the Mouth of Hell appears the same as any other warehouse.
Far off the Strip and deep in the heart of the Fringes, the setting sun casts the graffiti—colorful, magic-infused witch wards meant to repel humans—in honey-tinged gold.
Beautiful, but gone too soon. The sun dips behind a building, returning the wall to its normal, shadow-gray pallor.
“Do you think Malach will burn the apartment down while we’re gone?”
I glance over my shoulder, then peer up at the darkening sky. “I’m more worried he’s sneaking around watching us. He was weirdly chill when I told him he had to stay behind.”
“Agreeing to avoid a lie?” Luca chuckles. “That’s not a bad evasive maneuver.”
I grind to a halt. “I’m not an obstacle course.”
Luca presses a kiss to my temple. “No, you’re more complicated than that.”
I want to argue, but I can’t. Not unless I want to get slapped by my own magic. “I’m going to win this fight, Luca,” I say instead.
“I know, baby.” He groans. “I’m just praying my basilisk doesn’t lose it if you take a hit.”
A pleased warmth settles over me.
Luca’s basilisk is protective and deadly. I like that a lot.
When I sense Alistair coming, the caterpillars in my stomach transform into butterflies. He thinks you’re a slut, Celine. Get over him. No matter how many times I deliver the lecture to myself, it won’t stick.
“Angel,” he whispers, his voice a molten purr that rolls over me like hot wax.
I dip my chin to acknowledge him, pleased when I manage not to shudder.
“Luca.” Alistair looks him over hungrily.
Luca rubs his thumb over my stiff shoulder, laughter in his voice as he glances between us. “Hey, Ali.”
I want to smack the smirk off his face. This isn’t funny. It’s maddening. I’m mad, dammit, and maybe a little crazed too. “Great,” I say sarcastically. “We all know each other’s names. Can we get this show on the road?”
“Certainly.” Alistair raps his knuckles on the rusty metal door of the warehouse.
Rocking on the balls of my feet, I hammer out my battle plan.
When the door swings open, I find myself face-to-face with a tree of a woman.
Easily six feet tall, she’s all sharp angles, sleek muscles, and lean, barbed energy.
A gnarly scar cuts through her left eyebrow, past the corner of her eye, and bisects her cheek.
A claw mark, maybe? It’s hard to tell what made the scar, but the jagged, raised white line does its job: this woman radiates danger from every pore.
We study each other silently. I think I like her.
“Come in,” she says, her voice a sensual rasp.
I walk into the familiar venue and blink as the harsh fluorescent lights reveal the practical side of the supernatural fight club.
Bottles clink as workers stock the bar. A handful of witches circle the pallet towers, casting stasis charms on the rickety platforms. That explains why the stacks never tip over, but I’m a little disappointed that the ramshackle vibe is more for aesthetic than anything else.
Suspended high off the ground, the cage in the middle of the warehouse hasn’t changed since the last time I was here.
A man sweeps the floor while several others test the strength of the walls by tossing bricks at them.
The heavy projectiles bounce right off, the cage walls crackling with lime-green magic as they absorb the hits.
When one of the bricks ricochets and smacks a sweeping worker, he curses and throws his broom, making the others laugh.
“The tryouts will begin once they finish checking the cage.”
I nod at the tall woman and survey the rest of the room. To the side of the cage, a handful of people are stretching and wrapping their hands. My eyebrows shoot up. For some reason, I thought this was a solo audition, but apparently, I’m not the only one in the running for a slot.
“Resker,” Alistair snaps. “Do you expect Celine to defeat all these fighters? That’s ridiculous.”
I grind my teeth, annoyed by his interruption. I asked him to connect me with the owners of the Mouth of Hell, not hold my hand and pick fights on my behalf. He’s over involving himself, something he promised me he wouldn’t do.
Ignoring him, Resker winks at me. “Something tells me your champion doesn’t need coddling, Alistair.”
“I don’t,” I assure her. “I want to get back in top form. While I’m not as good as I used to be, I have a lot of . . . training. And I’m an expert at putting on a show.”
“Of that I have no doubt.” Resker shoots Alistair a smug look, then gestures for us to follow her to the ring.
“Don’t embarrass me,” I hiss at Alistair, including Luca in my glare to be safe. He hasn’t said a word, but you can’t be too careful with the two of them. We may be standing in a boring warehouse now, but fighting will shift the energy, and I don’t need any more enemies.
We follow Resker to the cage, and I mentally adapt my strategy based on the new information. If this is a last one standing competition, I’ll be at a disadvantage. Instead of toying with my opponent and illustrating my showmanship in the process, I’ll need to fight efficiently.
Resker glances at her watch and waves her hand at one of the guys testing the cage walls. He grabs a lever on the edge of the octagon and lowers a steep, narrow staircase.
“If you’re fighting for real, you’ll enter from the top trapdoor, the tunnels, or one of the spelled pathways, but for this audition, you’ll go up the boring way.
” Resker winks at me, obvious interest in her eyes.
I consider setting her up with Imani, then remember I’m here to crack heads, not matchmake.
“Got it,” I say. “What are the rules?”
“No killing. Other than that—impress me, angel.”
I flinch at her use of Alistair’s nickname, and he freezes at my side. My skin prickles. I glance to my right and swallow a curse.
Gone are Alistair’s crystal-blue eyes. They’ve been replaced with crimson slits. He’s fully vamping out, fangs bared menacingly at Resker. I ignore how the raw possessiveness in his expression makes me burn and bump him with my hip. “Snap out of it,” I whisper.
“Yes. Unless, of course, you want to work that aggression off in the ring,” Resker coos.
There’s an undercurrent of cruelty as she speaks to him.
I’m not sure how Alistair knows her, but there’s a sinister rivalry boiling beneath the surface.
Another secret it would have been nice to know about in advance—like his disdain for strippers.
“Five minutes, Resk,” a big, beefy man shouts from the floor of the ring, his misshapen face disappearing from the trapdoor above the stairs.
“Wonderful.” Resker claps her hands, her conniving expression nowhere in sight. “I’ll leave you to get ready, Celine. I can’t wait to see what you bring to the table. I have high hopes.”
“Me too,” I mutter, doing my best to shake off my trepidation.
She walks away, and I focus on loosening my joints and stretching my arms and legs.
Adrenaline from the fight will take me a long way, but it won’t give me the win by itself.
I’ll have to stay calm, strategic, and brutal, which means I can’t waste focus worrying about what Alistair is doing with those fangs.
“You good?” I grunt, not bothering to look at him. He’s paying attention; I can feel his eyes on me.
“I’m fine,” he barks.
“Don’t fuck this up for me, Alistair. Your temper—”
“Is under control. I apologize.”
I nod, not pushing him harder. If he says he’s fine, that’s good enough for me. Just because I no longer want him in my bed—liar—doesn’t mean I think he would betray me.
Unfortunately, there are miles of ground between trust and its opposite. That gray area is where we all live, breathe, and eventually die. Finding the limits of your tolerance is key to forming any kind of alliance on the Fringes.
“Luca?” I ask, bending to stretch my right calf.
“I’m great, baby.” He cracks his palm against my ass, and my fingers curl around his throat before I realize what I’m doing.
“Great reflexes,” he wheezes, winking at me. “You’ve got this.”
“Celine and Dominic—you’re up.” Resker’s voice echoes off the concrete walls of the warehouse.
I kiss Luca hard, then release his throat to crack my knuckles. After a measured inhale, I walk to the narrow staircase and climb. My wings are stowed, but I have a few situations I might bring them out for. The element of surprise is worth its weight in gold.
I’m two steps from the top when the staircase shudders. I’ve got company, and something tells me Dominic is a brick house. Good for him and better for me. The big ones always fall harder.