Chapter 37 #2
Roderick stopped a punch with his hand, then the other until they were in a full-blown grapple.
Roderick’s broad shoulders dwarfed his opponent, whose arms began to shake with effort.
A weak growl escaped his throat. Hans almost seemed to bend back in half, then abandoned his grip against Roderick and rolled to the side.
Roderick lost his balance and slammed to the ground.
“Get up! Get up!” Anya shouted. Every second felt like a minute of stillness.
Hans approached him, fingers tightened into fists. When he bent a knee to pin Roderick down, Roderick seized Hans’s wrists and slammed him down behind him, then shot to his feet…
…and winked at her.
Hans struggled to get up, one wrist contorted in an unnatural direction. Roderick towered over him, then shoved him back down with a single foot. Hans exhaled, expelling any remaining resistance from his lungs.
“One!”
“Two!”
“Three!”
“THAT’S MATCH!”
The bell rang.
A relentless grin stretched to the heights of her cheekbones. Round after round, Roderick fought his way to the final match with the grace of a dancer and the lethal intent of a viper.
That was her mate up there.
Her.
Mate.
Roderick Bryson
Roderick was good, but he wasn’t a god.
His final opponent, Henrik, was built like a young Captain Verden. He even had a salt-and-pepper beard to match—but not that chipper, grandfather-like kindness. During his first match, he’d nearly beaten the other Were to a bloody pulp before the crowd pulled the man out of the ring.
Though Henrik had sustained a black eye early on, it hadn’t slowed him down. There wasn’t any other mark on the man.
Except for the blood of four other Weres.
Roderick managed to dodge the most lethal blows, but the constant footwork was draining him.
Every breath burned; his muscles screaming for respite.
His body had devolved into a mass of bruises, aches and throbs.
He was on the ropes, losing steam and options fast as Henrik encroached.
He found himself chattering a bit more, unable to channel his nerves anywhere else.
Henrik did the same, trying to tip Roderick over the emotional edge.
“Come ‘ere, you runt!” Henrik growled. “I’m done chasing you like a hare!”
“Ah, you’re surrendering? I gladly accept.”
“Shut your trap!” Henrik threw a hook at Roderick, grazing the top of his head. Roderick dodged in the wrong direction, his gut meeting Henrik’s tight fist. He skidded on his side, scrambling to get up. His eyes flicked between Anya and Henrik.
“That your mate?” Henrik mocked, flashing too-sharp teeth at Anya.
Roderick spat blood. “Jealous?”
“He’s shifting!” Anya cried. The announcer did nothing. Not like he could against a man like Henrik.
“She’s too pretty for the likes of you.”
Henrik thrust a foot into his chest, slamming Roderick against a stake along the ropes.
“You don’t move like a Were.”
Kick.
“Ah!” he groaned. Sharp pain shot up his diaphragm, forcing the breath from his lungs.
“Roderick!” Anya screamed. He could hardly see her as she fought to keep the other folk from crowding her view. He hoped they would. He hoped they would block her sight and hide Henrik’s words from her ears.
“You don’t talk like a Were.”
Another kick.
Blood came up.
“Your blood don’t even smell like a damn Were.”
“Get up! Get up!” Anya shouted. Roderick’s chest hitched. A pair of Weres held her back from the ropes.
“So tell me, Roderick. How long will she stay with you after she’s seen a real Were in action?” Henrik bent down, twisting his foot into his neck. “Because she’ll be begging for me to bed her after I win this fight.”
Blow after blow threw Roderick back into his days as a squire; to the thrill and anonymity of the Cockatrice Club. It was the only place that could beat the guilt out of himself, if only for a day, an hour, hell, even a few minutes.
When he won, great.
When he failed miserably, it was what he deserved.
Pain like his people, his granddad, his own father and Millicent had endured.
But no matter what his opponents dished out, how deep their rage permeated their punches, it never put an end to the pain in his heart.
He’d lost three times: his granddad, Millicent, and soon, Anya.
Henrik was right.
He had Anya for now. Just like he had them.
But sooner or later, he would slip up and lose her too.
Wouldn’t she be happier if he refused to hold onto her?
Let her go, let her explore Aquillas and be with her own kind without the muddy, dark recesses of his mind ready to suck her down right along with him at any moment, beholden to a damn flower to stay afloat?
His vision began to fade from the outside in as Henrik beat him into the cold stone.
“You strut the ring like an alpha, but you’re no better than the dung on my boot.”
The stars…you’ll watch with me, won’t you? Anya’s soft, longing voice as he pulled her out of the sea and warmed her in the circle of his arms soothed his aching bones.
By some Divine-wrought miracle, Anya was giving him a second chance. She’d seen his worst, his best, even his sand coated, sea-stained, crab-killing self who probably smelled like rotten fish until today.
So he’d better seize it.
Ready your swords, gentlemen, we’re going headfirst into heartbreak.
Anya’s starshine eyes and howling cheers drew the rest of his strength to his legs, then his arms. Roderick muscled Henrik’s foot off his neck and forced him against a post with a single arm, swiping the blood from his face.
Henrik growled, but Roderick pressed the man’s spine harder against the post.
“What…are…you?” Henrik croaked, clawing at his throat.
Roderick’s fangs released as he hissed, “I’m her knight.”
He slammed Henrik to the ground with a hollow thud.
“One!”
“Two!”
“Three!”
“THAT’S MATCH!” The announcer rang the bell, jumped into the ring and thrust Roderick’s arm in the air. Anya was a gorgeous mess of happy tears at the edge of the ring, howling and clapping for him.
“WE HAVE A NEW CHAMPION!”
“You did it!” Anya cheered, waving Roderick’s shirt in the air. He flew from the ring and rushed her with a spinning hug, turning the crowds into a blur. While the world clamored around them, her beaming smile stayed steadfast on him, an anchor in his tumultuous life.
Their spar of hearts was almost over.