“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’sinternet 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 Ihatethose 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.” TheNight 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.
