Chapter Twelve #3
Ty felt rage boil up inside him. It yearned to escape, to break upon Gunnar for the mere suggestion that he share.
He’d shared her for the last nine fucking years and he was absolutely done with that shit.
She was his, and he’d never share her again with anyone if he had his way, let alone these absolute dickbags.
“Not in the mood for sharing,” he managed to grit out. He had to keep his cool. He couldn’t let them know how strongly he felt for Ena. They would almost certainly relay that information to Cole, and that would only spell trouble for her.
“Are you sure?” Gunnar asked, moving closer to Ena and pulling a dagger from the sheath on his waist. “I’m sure we’d all appreciate the chance to make the witch scream.
” His eyes filled with malice as he dragged it down Ena’s jawline—not hard enough to make her bleed, but Ty saw her flinch back a bit in confusion and fear.
Ty whipped out, grasping Gunnar’s wrist before his dagger could complete its perusal of Ena’s jaw. “Don’t worry, Gunnar,” he said, feigning nonchalance and taking a step closer to the man so he stood between him and Ena. “I’m making her scream enough for the both of us.”
Gunnar looked at him and grinned, his crooked nose spreading out as he did. “If you say so,” he said, his dark eyes staring lecherously at Ena, filled with both hatred for her kind and lust for her beauty.
Gunnar turned away, heading for the wall of weapons, but Chans lingered.
“Filthy witch,” he said, spitting on the floor at Ena’s feet.
Ty snapped, and he knew there was now no fucking way they were leaving this room without blood on them. “You know what,” he said, much too calm. “I changed my mind. I will share her with you two…if you can beat me.”
Gunnar turned around where he stood at the weapons wall. “You want to spar with me and Chans?” he said, looking pleased.
“Yeah, why not?” Ty said. “I could use the practice.” He smiled at the men menacingly.
Turner cleared his throat. “Ty, can I speak to you for a second?”
Ty turned to look at his cousin. He didn’t look concerned, per se, but was definitely annoyed. He walked over to him, grabbing Ena’s wrist and gently leading her over with him.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Turner whispered under his breath as he stared daggers at Ty. “Take them both on at once? They’re not mortals, Ty.”
Ty shrugged. “Fine, I’ll tell them fists only. Happy?”
“Ty,” Ena said, her voice tense. “Why are you doing this? They were gonna let me go.”
Ty turned to look at her, and his heart stuttered again. How could he explain to her the guilt he felt for bringing her here? He’d known how some of the daemons were likely to treat her. He knew the things they’d say. They’d said them all about his mother.
How could he explain that he needed to do this, to show her, to show them, to show himself that she was his and that he could protect her?
“Trust me,” he said. “This needs to happen. They need to see that you can’t be taken from me.”
Ena looked concerned, but she nodded.
Turner gave a put-upon sigh. “Alright, you crazy bastard, but if they fuck you up, I’m not carrying you back to your room all by myself. We’ll have to get Steig.”
Ty laughed at that. “Don’t worry. It won’t come to that.”
Turner hadn’t truly experienced what he could do. Unbeknownst to them, he’d always held back, just a little, when sparring with his friends, but he had no intention of doing that now.
Ty walked into the center of the fighting ring, placing his axe and dagger on the floor outside it. “No weapons,” he announced. “You two are due on a mission soon, aren’t you?”
Gunnar nodded slowly, placing the sword he’d selected back on the wall. “Good point,” the man said. “Wouldn’t want to disrupt Iblis’s plans. Doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you, though, boy.”
Ty didn’t even respond to that. He’d let his fists do the talking.
Gunnar and Chans entered the ring with Ty. Both men had stripped off their shirts, as was custom, and he could see their onata across their chests and arms. Gunnar had the most, given he’d been at this longer than Ty, and he was a jacked as a fucking boulder, but Ty wasn’t afraid.
Chans, on the other hand, was smaller, lither, with greasy black hair tied back into a low ponytail.
His Power was maeror—not quite as viable in a fight, because he couldn’t imagine himself having any sadness for the man to exploit, but either way, Ty would have to make sure to keep his emotions under control, lest Gunnar capitalize on any fear and turn it into panic.
The two of them circled Ty as he raised his fists in readiness, guarding his face. He didn’t usually fight without weapons, but it was the safer bet with two daemons who were not as likely to pull deathly blows.
Gunnar struck first, his meaty fist arching towards Ty’s face. Ty ducked low, avoiding it easily, and then he felt it—the first little slip of anger.
Did this fucker not know he lived for this?
He felt the channel between him and Gunnar, and pushed it wider, feeding it with his own anger.
The way Chans had spit at Ena’s feet.
The insinuation that Gunnar wanted to hurt and fuck what was his.
Cole and his manipulations. The way he was fucking up the Underworld with his vendettas.
The way he’d kept Ena from him for nine fucking years.
The way Ty himself had let Cole win. Let her be kept from him.
The fact that his mother had left him.
The fact that his father had left him.
He was so fucking angry, and he gave it all to Gunnar.
The man’s face turned red, and he let out an animalistic scream.
He came barreling towards Ty with no plan.
Ty saw Chans balk and back up a step, realization dawning as Gunnar started throwing his fists wantonly, using all his strength and none of his speed to try and hit Ty.
Ty dodged him easily, and as the man slowed down further with exhaustion, Ty struck.
He slammed his fist into the man’s face, watching as another one of his teeth went flying from his mouth, blood and spittle spraying through the air. The man stumbled back, dazed, and Ty struck again, nailing him in the gut.
As he doubled over, Ty brought his knee to the man’s face and crushed it into him.
Gunnar collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.
A knockout with just a few hits? What a fucking loser.
Ty grinned maliciously, turning his attention to Chans, whose face paled with the tiniest bit of fear. He might not be such an easy target for Ty’s Power.
Chans darted for him, striking at his middle.
Damn, the fucker was fast. He nailed Ty in the abdomen, making Ty suck in a breath as the air was knocked out of him. He struggled to breathe, but gave in to the pain, pulling the man’s arm closer to him before he could move away.
Holding on to him with all his might, he rammed his knee up into Chans’s balls.
The man doubled over in pain, and Ty struck him in the face, feeling bone crunch beneath his fists, but the man didn’t go down.
He staggered back up, clearly still working through the pain in his groin, as he swung and landed a blow on Ty’s face.
Ty felt his lip split, filling his mouth with blood, which he spat onto the ground.
He heard Ena gasp in fear from the sidelines, but he didn’t dare look at her.
He went right back to assessing for an opening, when Ty sensed it.
Chans’s anger—not at him, but at Ena. At the witch, just because of what she was.
Ty capitalized on it and fed him.
Anger at the daemons for treating Ena so poorly, for making her wear that fucking collar.
Anger at the witches for binding them to Iblis and damning them forever.
Anger at the matriarchs for keeping it all a secret.
Anger at the daemons for accepting their fate.
Anger at Iblis for always, always being his Master.
Round and around his anger went, a never-ending cycle of torment within him that he yearned to be free of, that he yearned for peace from, but he knew that he would never have it, and that fact made him the angriest of all.
Chans’s reaction was different from Gunnar’s. The man stopped, clutching his chest—right over his heart. Ty could hear it beating faster, harder. It was almost beating too hard as all of Ty’s anger hit the man.
Fuck, he was having a heart attack.
Chans collapsed on the ground, struggling for breath and clutching his left arm in pain.
Dammit. He couldn’t let him die. Cole wouldn’t like that.
Ty let him go, relieving him of the channel of anger between them. He saw the man’s color return, and his breath even out, but as he looked up at Ty, Ty kicked him square in the face, knocking him the fuck out.
Both men lay unconscious in the circle now, unmoving on the ground. Ty made sure they were well and truly done before he allowed himself a deep, calming breath, and turned toward Ena and Turner.
Turner’s face was filled with respect and glee. “Fuck yeah, brother,” he said, coming over to clap Ty on the shoulder. “Don’t know why I ever doubted you. That was epic.”
Ty accepted Turner’s congratulations with a smile as he caught his breath.
Then Ena approached him, too, concern etched on her features. “Are you okay?” she asked him, her voice grave. She moved to touch his lip where it was split, but something told him the split lip was not the only wound she meant.
“I’ll be fine, now you’re safe,” he said, the anger in him beginning to dissipate at her touch.
And he meant it—he really would be fine. Because despite all his anger, despite all the rage and regret he had about his life and the world, she was here now. They had a chance now, to fix everything, to be together—and he would never let her go again.
And if beating up a couple of daemons to send a message was what it took to keep her safe, and his, then he’d do it again, and again, and again.
But as he moved to pick up his shirt, and the three of them readied to leave, he suddenly remembered the feeling of Chans’s anger—the dark rot of hatred that he’d had for Ena, just because she was a witch—and he worried that maybe the message would not be enough.