Zeth slid in at my side, leaning on the bar like he’d been here all along.
“These two?” He flicked his fingers at the pit, where a vampire clutched at his guts to keep them from falling out while a werewolf bled from the throat like a broken hydrant. “Worthless.”
“Not every fight’s about the prize,” Hime said, his voice loud enough for the pit to hear. “Throw the rabble in with the talent, and everybody gets sharper.” He waved at the ref. “Call it. Win goes to the wolf.”
Blowing the whistle, the ref scrambled over to the tournament board and erased the vampire’s name. The guy limped his way over, begging for another shot, but was shooed away. Behind him, hungry eyes shifted, salivating at the chance to step in and show what they got.
“Don’t dismiss the rabble yet,” I said. “The desperate ones always bite hardest, and those princesses look like they’re ready to get eaten.” I pointed to the few fighters off to the side that were laughing and pointing at some of the others. The tone of their bulked-up bodies screamed that they were professionals, but their eyes were filled with more dollar signs than instinct.
Hime folded his arms, lips twitching in that stubborn way that said we weren’t on the same page. He wanted proof of what a fighter already was. I wanted proof of what they could be. I liked the gamble, the thought of the diamond in the rough. It was part of the Desmond DNA inside of me I could never shake.
“Come on! This isn't just-for-TV fighting.” And there was another shot at my project.
When I came up with this televised cage match idea, some of the captains of the Rossey clan were skeptical. My dad, Ax, ran a tight ship. Real clean fights were held in Vegas in front of astadium of people, while the bloody side of things was kept to the underground that only supes could see.
I had a different vision. I wanted to make a channel that not only made recurring business but also showed the world how vicious and brutal supe fights could be. It would also announce to the world how powerful the Syndicate was. That had made Ezra almost giddy when I told her.
“You think one of these strays could take down arealfighter?” he asked, sweeping his hand across the crowd before his eyes lit with mischief.
“Fine, Boss Rossey. You pick your hungry dog. I’ll pick one of my killers. Let them tear each other apart. Winner makes their point.”
“And the loser?” I asked.
He scratched his jaw, searching for a prize both of us would be good with, but rewards didn’t mean much to people like us. Punishment, nowthatstuck with a person.
“Loser calls Tata Ternin and begs for a good-ol’-days story,” I said.
Zeth jerked his head in our direction so fast he nearly dropped his sunglasses. “No. No, no, no. Don’t take that bet, Hime.” His eyes went wide, and he shook his head like he could somehow ward off the challenge.
Seven hours. That was how long Tata had held him hostage last time, talking about his first kill, finding his mate and winning her hand, then a good long rant about how he didn’t see his daughter or grandchildren enough. That night, Zeth walked away a hollow man.
Hime’s eyes flicked between Zeth and me, weighing whether to take the bait. I shoved my hand out, a smug smirk curving my lips.
“It’s fine if you don’t take the bet. I know how much you hate losing.”
That lit the fuse.
His eyes narrowed, Zeth groaned under his breath, and Hime’s grip closed around my hand, hot and unyielding, pulling me a step further into his space. His mate Jasmine’s honeysuckle scent clung to him, but I caught the sharp edge of his own hunger bleeding through.
“I wouldn’t be running your mouth,princessa.This is my pit. My rules. I know who’ll stand and who’ll crawl out of here, so yeah, I’ll take your bet. I won't lose.”
I squeezed back, my smirk sharpening. “We’ll see, Hime. We’ll see.”
He let go first, growling his frustration straight into the dirt before snapping at the fighters, “Tournament’s on pause! The great Nova Rossey has decided to join us. Line up. Five rows of ten. Now!”
His face softened when he turned back, drill sergeant air replaced with an almost theatrical sweep of his arm. “I’m still a gentleman. Ladies first.”
“Don’t lie. You're a gentleman because Jasmine would kill you otherwise.” I knew who wore the pants in that relationship. His mate had a firm grasp on those huevos.
He had the decency to rub the back of his neck and look away as I laughed. “You don’t need to bring my mate into this. She’ll skin me alive if she hears I’m betting again.”
I dipped my chin in agreement before scanning the crowd, cataloging my choices. Suddenly, my gaze locked onto molten gold eyes, and the world… shifted.
Heat curled low in my belly, and my pulse thrummed in my veins. Heart pounding so hard it was about to break out, skin prickling, I couldn’t look away. It wasn’t just eye contact. There was some kind of invisible tether tugging at me. My wolf stirred uneasily, half-curious, half-ready to bare her teeth. Both of us were confused as to why we were feeling this way.
I forced myself to keep moving, dragging my eyes across the other fighters like he hadn’t just stolen every ounce of air out of my lungs. I held him in my periphery, though, like my body refused to let him go.
“Nova?”
