Chapter 18
The din of the underground fight club crashes against my senses, a symphony of violence that resonates with the basilisk within me.
My eyes are locked onto the combatants in the ring, muscles tensing with every brutal exchange.
The temptation to leap into the fray is a siren call; I’ve fought in pits like this before, thrived in them even.
But now, as Fiadh’s presence reminds me, we’re shadows here, not participants.
Just keep it together, asshole.
“Easy, Khol,” Dezi murmurs from beside me, his gaze sharp and knowing as he takes in my barely contained agitation. I can feel the shift under my skin, an itch that demands scratching, but drawing attention is the last thing we need.
I grit my teeth, fighting the primal urge as memories of a painful past claw their way to the forefront.
Uncle Krystos’ training methods were nothing short of barbaric.
From a young age, I was thrown into hellish scenarios, molded to become the perfect soldier by enduring forced shifts and learning to suppress the forbidden ones, all under the guise of discipline and power.
A slight arch of Dezi’s brow suggests he could compel me to stay human, but the very thought sets off a flare of defiance.
Control is something I’ve bled for, something I refuse to relinquish.
Khal’s safety depended on it. He was spared from the horrors and kept in product development because I became what our uncle wanted—a monster among men.
When I kill that motherfucker, he’ll realize he made the instrument of his own demise, and I’ll win.
“Never again,” I subvocalize, more to myself than to Dezi, a silent vow that no one will ever hold the reins over my beast again. Uncle Krystos may have used leader dominance to break me in, but those chains have long been shattered.
“Focus on keeping that form of yours in check,” I remind myself, the words a cold splash of reality against the heat of bloodlust. We’re here for a reason, and it isn’t to lose ourselves in the savagery of combat. Not tonight.
The scent of fae blood, a metallic tang laced with something ethereal, floods my senses as a headless body crumples to the ground.
The crowd’s roar crescendos, a tidal wave of cheers and bloodlust that threatens to sweep me away in its ferocity.
I can feel it, the primal urge, the serpent within uncoiling, eager to join the fray.
“Khol,” Fiadh whispers, her voice a lifeline in the storm of violence, “we can leave if it’s too much.” Her gaze is steady, concern etched into her delicate features. But retreat isn’t an option—not when duty anchors us here, not when I refuse to be the beast unconstrained.
But she noticed, and she admitted she was worried, so I can’t rebuff her.
I shake my head, determined to be better for her. “I’m fine,” I lie.
Fi doesn’t buy it for a second. She steps closer, her hands cradling my face with a tenderness that feels like a balm to my fraying control.
Our foreheads touch, a silent communion as she channels peace through our bond.
It’s a curious sensation—the warmth of her calm seeping into me, quelling the rising tumult.
Dezi watches on, his eyes narrow slits, as if dissecting the magic at work between witch and basilisk.
“Thanks,” I manage after a moment, feeling the beast recede, caged once more by my will. I press my lips to hers in a brief kiss, a flicker of humor dancing in my eyes. “For not letting me make an ass of myself.”
She flushes, a rose blooming in the shadows, and ducks her head. “It’s nothing,” she mumbles, but we both know it’s everything.
Of course, she’s not ready to vocalize things like I am, so I let her off the hook.
Turning back to the chaos, I catch sight of opulence amidst the grime—a group of well-dressed spectators in a roped-off section. Their clothes scream money, and their detached expressions reek of power.
“Bankers or VIPs,” I murmur to Dezi, who nods in agreement. “Those people hold more power than anyone else in this room, even the fighters.”
“Too clean for this pit,” he observes, disdain curling his lip.
Our conversation halts as the masked Fae lunges, his blade singing through the air to find its mark in the wyvern’s heart. The creature’s death knell vibrates through the arena, and victory is claimed amidst a cacophony of applause.
“Powerful spell work,” Fiadh comments, eyeing the fallen wyvern critically. “To pierce hide like that takes serious magic.”
No shit. Dragon hide is insanely impenetrable.
Dezi’s gaze remains fixed on the victor, the enigma behind the mask. “Why all the secrecy?” he ponders aloud.
“Could be anyone under there,” I theorize, watching the Fae’s movements. “An authority, criminal, celebrity—someone with a lot to lose.”
“Or to gain,” Dezi adds, just as the Fae raises their arms, acknowledging the adulation without revealing a shred of identity.
“Let’s get a closer look,” I say, my gaze still locked on the masked Fae. “We might catch something useful.”
Dezi hesitates, his eyes narrowing. “It’s risky. Fiadh...”
“Come on, Dezi,” Fiadh interrupts, her voice low but fierce. “Louie’s internet work was solid, so I’m not a viral sensation anymore, and you know how to make people forget.”
I can see Dezi weighing the odds, the protective streak that runs deeper than blood.
But she has a point. Louie’s work was top-notch, and Dezi’s abilities were nothing to scoff at.
The video didn’t focus as much on us guys—except for the Prince.
He and Sassy were definitely the ones being sensationalized for profit.
But that’s over now and she’s dressed like a normal magic user. It should be fine with us along.
“Fine,” he relents, and we edge our way into the throng of bodies, all pulsing with the rhythm of the fight.
The crowd surges like a living thing, hungry for violence. Fiadh gets jostled more than once, her face pinched in annoyance as someone stumbles against her again. I catch the glint of her boot coming down hard on an offending foot, and there’s a satisfying yelp.
Her violence is such a fucking turn-on.
“Back off,” I growl, baring my fangs. Dezi does the same, his vampiric visage sending an obvious message. The immediate area around us opens up, giving Fiadh room to breathe.
“Thanks,” she says tersely, though her eyes carry a silent gratitude.
The announcer’s voice booms through the space, and the crowd erupts as a Minotaur stomps into the ring, muscles coiled and ready for carnage. The beast’s presence sends an electric charge through the spectators, their cheers so loud it feels like the ground itself might shake.
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Fiadh grumbles, crossing her arms as she watches the new contender circle its prey. “Have I mentioned how much I hate those assholes?”
“Keep your eyes open,” I remind them, watching as the mage and demon unleash torrents of fire and shadow, the smell of charred flesh cutting through the dank air.
But it’s the armored Fae that keeps snagging my attention.
There’s something about them—something I can’t quite put my finger on.
It nags at me, an itch beneath the skin that I can’t scratch.
My instincts whisper that this is important, that there’s a piece of the puzzle hidden beneath that dark armor.
“Something’s off,” I murmur, more to myself than to Fiadh or Dezi.
My basilisk is antsy again, and that’s saved my ass more than once in the past.
“Focus, Khol,” Dezi replies, his own senses tuned to the surrounding chaos. “We need information, not distractions.”
“Right,” I agree, forcing my thoughts back to the task at hand. But even as I do, my gaze is drawn back to the Fae, to the mystery they represent in this pit of blood and magic.
We weave through the crowd, the stench of sweat and blood a thick veil in the air. As we near the VIP section, Dezi glances at us with a sharp nod before he melts into the sea of well-dressed onlookers, his own attire allowing him to blend in seamlessly.
“His magic is waning,” Fiadh observes, her eyes narrowing as she watches the mage on the brink of collapse. “He won’t last another minute against that brute or the others without a refill.”
Her prediction comes to pass quicker than I expect.
With a roar that shakes the very foundations of the underground arena, the Minotaur charges, and the mage’s defenses crumble like sandcastles before a wave.
The crowd erupts, their cheer morbidly appreciative, as the mage falls, his lifeblood painting the dirt floor.
Nice… very Mortal Kombat, so I can dig it.
“Goddess above,” Fiadh mutters under her breath, “this is savage—worse than our clubs back home.”
I can’t help but let out a fanged grin. The violence stirs the beast within me. “You’ve never seen the actual fights, love. The Salazar Cubi host spectacles that would make this look like child’s play.” The Night District has always harbored darkness beyond mortal comprehension.
“Have you fought in them?” Her tone is accusatory, her gaze sharp.
I know if I don’t tell her the truth, she’ll come for me, but I also don’t want her to worry.
My response is a knowing smirk, the answer lingering unsaid between us.
She opens her mouth, likely to tear into me, but Dezi returns before she can unleash her wrath, slipping back to my side with a troubled look etched onto his usually composed face.
“Bankers, council members, some fat cats from town—they’re all in on it,” he hisses quietly, his voice barely audible over the ensuing chaos. “They keep this hellhole running smoothly.”
Just fucking fabulous. What the hell shady shit aren’t the people who run this town doing?
Fiadh’s face contorts with fury, but before she can vent her anger, a new combatant is hauled into the ring—a monstrous aberration that silences the rowdy throng. Its skull-like head swivels, an exposed heart pulsating grotesquely amidst matted fur, each movement promising death.
“What the fuck is that?” Fiadh whispers, her voice tinged with a fear that mirrors the crowd’s sudden stillness.
My eyes coast over it, not recognizing the creature but knowing with every fiber of my being that we need to get far away from it. It exudes malevolence like we breathe air and Fiadh shouldn’t be in the same fucking zip code as this damn thing.
Who the fuck brought it and what it is?
“Evil,” Dezi says, his pallor ghostly. “An abomination. That... thing shouldn’t exist here—or anywhere. It’s forbidden.”
Fiadh frowns. “What’s forbidden? Is that… created, not born?”
Dezi shakes his head, unwilling to say more in our current location. If it spooks the ancient vampire, its presence is not okay. This bullshit fight club is bigger than we thought—its tied to something darker and more powerful. Whatever it’s hiding, it’s sinister and dangerous.
“Time to go,” I say, urgency lacing my words. I pull out my phone, snapping a quick photo of the creature for evidence. Then, with a firm grip, I take Fiadh’s arm, and we turn to leave. We need answers, and Dezi’s about to give us a masterclass in forbidden lore or I’ll strangle him myself.
Not that doing would kill the bloodsucker, but it might annoy him enough to loosen his tongue.
Whatever game we’ve stumbled upon, it’s clear we’re playing with fire—and it’s time to figure out who’s stoking the flames.