Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Carve respect for yourself or
carve your own coffin.
LUCA
Nerves buzzing, I shove through the crowd until Malach and I are inches from the cage. Close enough to see and hear anything Celine gets hit with.
Don’t kill anyone, I beg my basilisk. It’s rattling inside my chest at a low frequency. Not pissed yet, but on guard, and eager to see Celine fight.
It enjoyed watching her beat the spider, although it also wanted to turn the arachne shifter to stone and keep her as a souvenir. I squashed that idea, knowing good and godsdamned well Celine doesn’t want a massive, half-shifted spider made of rock in her apartment.
“The fight is crowded,” Malach says, his green eyes rolling over the stacks before stopping on the cage. “She will win, Luca.”
I nod, not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself.
Alistair materializes at my side—a six-foot-four battering ram with murder in his eyes. He shoves two guys flat and takes their spot. They protest loudly, but their angry shouts die off as soon as they spot his narrowed ruby eyes.
“I see you’re calm,” I mutter sarcastically without bothering to raise my voice. He’ll hear me no matter how loud the crowd gets.
“Perfectly at ease,” he says.
I nudge him with my shoulder and shake my head. He’s as stiff as Roscoe . . . after I killed him. Nothing about that says “at ease” to me. And the look he’s giving Malach would make most people piss their pants.
I suck in a breath for patience, and a fresh wave of sweat and beer hits my nose.
“Did you bring healing potions?” I ask, reminding him of our earlier conversation about precautions. Celine doesn’t know, and if nothing goes wrong, she won’t have to. But these fights are dangerous. If things go south, we’ll need a fast-acting way to patch her up.
I feel pressure in my pocket as Alistair slides his hand into my jeans, then pulls it out, leaving the weight of a vial behind. “It’s the best,” he assures me.
“If she asks,” I remind him, “then no, the fuck it isn’t.”
Alistair clenches his teeth, fangs peeking over his bottom lip. “She’s too stubborn. Why won’t she accept my help?”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “She’s entitled to her pride, Ali. For some of us, it’s all we’ve got.”
“Celine has far more going for her than pride,” he hisses. “As do you.”
The bell ringing saves me from having to come up with a response.
An excited rumble runs through the crowd as the emcee appears in the cage through a cloud of smoke.
Stretching his arms wide, he shows off his colorful tattoo sleeves to the rabid supernaturals packed shoulder to shoulder in the warehouse.
“Welcome to the Mouth of Hell,” he booms. “We have a special treat for you tonight: four new fighters ready to test their mettle and whet your appetite for blood.”
“Four?” I raise my eyebrows, surprised that many were added to the roster.
“Resker loves her games,” Alistair mutters. I barely hear him over the approving screams of the spectators. The row behind us lurches forward, and Malach, Alistair, and I have to plant our weight to keep from getting bowled over.
“Rowdy,” I say. “I’ve never felt so much anticipation on fight night before.”
“They can sense it,” Malach says. “They want to be entertained.”
An ominous chill runs down my spine. His words aren’t prophetic—I don’t think he has magic like that—but they are spooky. “You’re creeping me out, dude.”
“My apologies.” Malach’s lips curl, and Alistair shoots me an unimpressed look.
“Already making nice with your new roommate?” he asks, his voice dripping with bitterness. “He tried to have you killed, and had me run through, I might add.”
I massage my temples. “Yeah, yeah, everyone here is a murderous dick. Can we forget about it for now? We’re here to support Celine.”
“Indeed.”
“Judgment, not murder,” Malach mutters.
Despite myself, I grin. Then the announcer calls for Thorn and Verity to enter the cage, and I tense. From opposite sides of the elevated octagon, Celine and some guy I’ve never seen before enter through rounded gates. Once they’re through, faint bands of magic quiver and wall the openings off.
Dressed in all black, Celine’s tight sports bra and spandex shorts are molded to her curves like a second skin. If I weren’t so worried about her, I’d be drooling. She rocks on the balls of her feet; her full mouth is pressed into a tight line.
Her hair is braided to the scalp to prevent anyone from grabbing it. In normal fighting, hair pulling wouldn’t be allowed, but this is the Fringes. If you’re dumb enough to have your hair swinging around, you deserve what you get.
With a fresh buzz cut, Thorn clearly got the memo. Otherwise, he’s difficult to read. Of average height and weight, he’s still and watchful, completely ignoring the crowd as he stares Celine down.
I can’t tell what kind of supernatural he is. He looks completely human, so maybe a witch? The only notable thing about him is his ears. The tops are discolored, a mottled pink and white. Maybe a birthmark or tattoo? It’s nothing I’ve seen before.
“What do you think?” I ask Alistair.
Celine bumps knuckles with Thorn, and they circle each other.
When Thorn charges her, I flinch.
“He’s fae,” Ali says. “The ears. They’re not pointed because the tips have been cut off.”
“What the fuck?” I snarl as Celine narrowly dodges a brutal uppercut.
Thorn’s fist grazes her cheek, leaving a bloody gash in its wake. Superficial. I know that. But seeing him go for her face pisses me off. He put so much force into the blow that he’s off balance. Celine sees the opening and delivers a swift kick to his gut.
“Yes, baby,” I mutter, too scared to shout and steal her focus even though the crowd is deafening.
The kick sends Thorn backward, but he doesn’t lose his footing. I frown. With Celine’s strength, he probably has at least one cracked rib. How can he stand there as if he feels nothing?
“I don’t like this.” I shift my weight, my hands balling and releasing as I watch the fight.
“Relax,” Malach says. His green eyes dart my way before focusing back on Celine. “She can handle him. You must remain calm.”
I’ve almost managed to convince myself he’s right when Thorn hurls a jagged burst of red energy over Celine like a net. Her head drops back, her mouth opening in a silent scream.
Celine is in pain. Terrible pain. My fingers spasm, and a low rattle escapes my chest as the familiar icy chill sinks into my eyes. My basilisk has had enough. As far as it’s concerned, everyone here needs to die.
“Hold it together,” Alistair hisses. “She’s got this. Fuck—your eyes. Look down!”
Hands shaking violently, I stare at my feet. Calm down. Calm down. Calm the fuck down, I beg. It doesn’t work. I’d rather kill the first person to accidentally make eye contact with me than miss the fight. I can still hear everything, and my brain is filling in the blanks with worst-case scenarios.
Pain stabs my gums as my fangs descend, coating my taste buds with bitter venom. I grab Ali’s arm. “Tell me what’s happening,” I beg.
“They’re keeping their distance. Circling—wait, he’s charging! Move, angel!” Alistair shouts. The crowd gasps with delight.
“What?” I squeeze his arm brutally, my fingers spasming as I fight the urge to shift.
“She let her wings out and used them to dodge. Get a hold of yourself; you need to see this. She’s incredible.” There’s reverence in Alistair’s voice. I can’t believe I’m missing this.
“Come on,” I beg my basilisk to stop fighting me. It listens, probably only because it wants to see too, and the cloudy, cold mist in my eyes retreats.
Whipping my head up, I take in everything I missed.
An airborne Celine hovers above Thorn near the top of the cage. She’s using the vantage point to watch for an opening. I’ve never seen her fly before, and gods, she takes my breath away. Ferocious, deadly. I’m gone for her.
“Creative,” Malach whispers fiercely. “Be creative, My Truth.”
Thorn stares up at Celine, and the slight widening of his eyes is the only sign he’s surprised. He hurls another bolt of red magic at her. She doesn’t try to dodge, gritting her teeth as the magic hits her shoulder. Then her wings smoke.
“Smart.” I squeeze Ali’s arm. “She’s letting him get a few hits in so she can get mad.”
Another bolt of magic grazes the tip of her right wing. A heartbeat later, it bursts into flames—each feather burning bright orange.
Screams, gasps, and cheers erupt around us as the crowd loses it, turning into a feral mob as Celine catches fire. Frenzied, they press forward. It’s all the three of us can do to keep from being shoved under the cage and trampled.
I snarl at the people behind me, but they’re being pushed too.
“Back up,” Alistair shouts. There’s a mesmerizing quality to his voice that I’ve never heard before, and the hairs on my arm stand on end. Like zombies, the row of men behind us steps back as one, buying us some breathing room. Their eyes are glazed.
“What did you—”
“Compulsion,” Alistair snaps. “It won’t hold forever, but it should buy us some time.”
I nod and drag my attention back to the fight.
Face flushed with anger; Celine snaps her flaming wings together. The move sends her hurtling to the floor of the cage—body aimed like a spear. Thorn dodges her fists and feet but forgets about her wings. Spread fully, they bathe him in fire from the tip of his head to his knees.
His clothes light up until he’s a walking candle, and the crowd roars.
“Shit,” I mutter. Celine didn’t break any rules, but if Thorn panics, he won’t survive this. And I know Celine didn’t come here to kill anyone.
Luckily, he doesn’t panic. Instead, he drops to the floor, rolling until the cloud of thick, gray smoke makes it hard to see what’s happening.
He’s saved himself from burning to death, but Celine doesn’t waste the opening.
Through the haze, I see her kick him in the head—once, twice—only stopping when his head lolls to the side. With her foot in the air, she watches Thorn with a hard stare, then blinks rapidly, as if she’s coming out of a trance.
Celine drops to her knees beside the fae and uses her bare hands to smother the last of the flames on his pants leg.
Her wings droop, and their fire goes out suddenly.
Pure white, the feathers are delicate and untouched.
If it weren’t for the burning in my throat and Thorn’s charred clothes, it would be easy to think they were never on fire to begin with.
The bell rings and signals the end of the fight.
Celine stands on wobbly legs.
The emcee is talking. I see his lips moving, but I can’t hear anything over the possessive roaring in my ears. He lifts Celine’s clenched fist high, and I realize the sound in my head is real—the audience is that loud.
They’re obsessed with her. Absolutely wild about my girl. With soot on her cheek, half a dozen magical burns on her arms, and raw determination carved into her face, she’s never looked so dangerous. Or so hot. She looks like mine.
Celine leaves the cage through the same tunnel she entered from, and I shoulder my way through the crowd. I don’t know where I’m going—all I know is that I need to find her. Now.