Chapter 7 #2
“Nice ass.” His voice sounds like a godsdamned landslide, but it’s the amusement in it that sets my teeth on edge. Whatever. He’s free to underestimate me all the way to the morgue. We’ll see if he’s still laughing when I make him gargle his own blood.
“Thanks,” I say breezily, reaching the top of the stairs and winking at him.
He pops out of the trapdoor, his shoulders grazing the edges as he squeezes himself through.
Good grief. He’s bigger than big. Less brick house and more brick hotel.
Adding to the visual, Dominic is also the most rectangular person I’ve ever seen—his body might as well be made from a pile of cinder blocks.
If he manages to get me on the ground, I’ll be toast. But I’m hoping a man of his size has spent most of his life relying on intimidation to discourage others from challenging him.
Dominic checks me out too, but his stare is less assessment and more interest, like he’s window-shopping for something he wants to own but can’t afford. I can work with that. Stretching my arms over my head, I arch my back so he can get a better look at my cleavage.
He licks his lips.
Internally, I vomit. Externally, I toss him a shy smile. “Be gentle,” I whisper, doing my best to set him up for a humbling he won’t forget.
“Sure, sweetie.” His grin is wide and eager, and I catch a glimpse of blunted fangs. Some kind of shifter? Or maybe a vampire. Either way, I plan to stay away from those teeth.
“Fighters ready?” Resker pops her head out of a tube on the right side of the cage, magic flickering around her face as she penetrates the protection barrier.
I nod. Dominic grunts. The bell rings.
Dropping into a standard fighting stance, I distribute my weight and rock on the balls of my feet. We circle each other a few times, then Dominic laughs and stands up straight.
“You know what? You’re hot as hell. I’ll give you one free shot, darlin’.”
I smile, then pout. “If you’re sure.”
He nods and taps his chin invitingly. I squat and spring forward, zipping through the air and driving my fist into his forehead with all the strength at my disposal. The crack of the punch is as loud as a gunshot.
Dominic’s pupils surge, black overwhelming the medium brown.
His right eye spasms, its pupil shrinking to a pinprick before his eyelids flutter closed.
The breath leaves his lips in a single puff, and he falls—slowly, like a sawed-off tree.
Dominic collides with the cage floor with enough force to rattle the walls.
I step closer, examine his body to make sure he’s out cold, and glance at Resker. “His pupils went wonky there for a second,” I say. “Might have a brain bleed.”
Resker laughs, throwing her head back as the rich, cruel cackle bounces off the walls. “A brain bleed? He’s lucky if his brain isn’t soup after that hit.” She snaps her fingers, and two burly guys enter the ring to drag him out.
I shrug, flexing the fingers of my right hand. My knuckles hurt like a bitch, but I was careful. I don’t think they’re broken. Nothing an ice pack can’t fix.
“Next,” Resker shouts.
I eye the trapdoor with wary curiosity. I can’t keep up the one-hit wonder act.
It’s good for making a statement, but there are better ways to put on a show.
A woman pops through the hatch and bumps her knuckles against mine.
Her grin is as wide as the Grand Canyon.
There’s a gap between her front teeth, almost big enough to fit another tooth. The look works for her.
“Nice hit,” she says. “It was all I could do not to shout timber when he went down.” When she speaks, there’s a whistling lilt to the words. It’s charming. “Kind of ironic if you think about it. Humans think unicorn pigs are extinct, but that one will wish he is when he wakes up.”
“Thanks.” I smile.
“Ready, ladies?” There’s a veiled eagerness in Resker’s question that snags my interest. She’s excited to see us fight—which immediately puts me on guard.
My opponent may not be massive, but she’s here for a reason.
On the Fringes, it’s far more likely to be schadenfreude than masochism.
Thanks, Imani, for that word of the day.
“Ready,” I say, deciding to hold back until I’m sure what her moves are.
“Let’s do it.”
The bell rings, and I dodge on instinct alone as a glob of white goop flies by my face and hits the wall behind me with a malevolent hiss. I have no idea what the fuck that was, but I know for a fact I don’t want that shit on my face.
My opponent starts to . . . Weave isn’t the right word, and she’s not bobbing either.
Shit, she’s skittering around the cage, her feet nothing but a blur.
When she drops to all fours and picks up the pace, I steel my nerves and stop moving.
I can’t match her speed, and if I keep trying, she’ll wear me out.
Another glob of white paste flies at me. I dodge, but the next one grazes my bare arm, and I hiss in pain. Gods. It’s fresh lava, acid eating away at my tissue until nothing but bone remains.
“She’s an arachne shifter, baby,” Luca shouts. “Don’t look at the web; it’s a trick.” There’s a grunt from below the cage, but I’ve already heard him loud and clear. Maybe my arm is rotting away, maybe it isn’t. If I take my eyes off her, I’m fucked.
Gritting my teeth, I lower my head and charge.
Her arms and legs shift and multiply, and when she runs up the side of the cage, I jump, grabbing her by the base of one spiny foot and throwing her on the floor.
The end of her leg is razor sharp and covered in tiny barbs.
It tears through my skin and muscle, blood oozing between my fingers and making it hard to get a good grip.
The second we hit the mat, I grab her throat with my left hand. Her human head disappears, turning into a horrific spider face. Gone are the cute, gapped teeth. In their place are massive, wriggling fangs as big as my forearms.
Only an inch from my bare skin, I watch them and grimace.
It’s time to end this fight—she is terrifying. Tightening my grip, I press on her throat, then roar in pain when one of her legs pierces my side. Hot agony—there’s nothing to blunt the pain. My fingers slip, and I give up using my free hand to hold her legs down and use it to grab her neck too.
Desperate, I squeeze harder. Her eyes—round, black, and shiny as marbles—roll back in her gruesome head. She lets out a pained squeak, digs two more legs into my sides, then taps the floor of the cage with another.
“That’s a tap out. Celine wins.” Resker’s voice reaches me faintly, and I release my hold and roll to the side. I’m a pincushion, and I can only hope those legs weren’t poisonous. Thankfully, the last two punctures don’t seem as deep as the first.
“You’re awesome,” I wheeze, flopping my head to the side so I can see her.
Clothes hanging in tatters on her trunk, she smiles back at me. “No, you’re awesome. I’m Lyss. Lyss Venmara.”
“Celine,” I sputter, lifting two bloody fingers to my mouth. “What do you call those crazy fangs?”
“Chelicerae.” She frowns. “Most people call them mandibles, but that’s stupid. I’m not a fucking ant.” Good thing I asked, because that’s exactly what I would have called them. Why does my lack of scientific knowledge keep biting me in the ass?
Resker’s blurry face appears above us, her eyes glittering with excitement. “You’re both in. Now get out of my cage so we can mop up the blood. The others will keep fighting, but I want you two rested and ready for your first fights next week. Welcome to the Mouth of Hell, ladies.”