The first strike hits hard, a sudden crack that shakes the room. A spell rips through the air and scorches the steel plating behind them. Below, patrons scatter, glasses explode, and aged liquor spills across the floor.
The tattooed fighter swings again, landing a blow that cracks through bone. Blood splatters across the railing. The other stumbles, nearly toppling over the edge.
“You son of a bitch!” the larger one howls while blood streaks his teeth. “The bet was clean!”
Dom’s fingers slip from my skin. He doesn’t rush, just raises one hand in boredom and flicks his wrist.
The air shifts, temperature plummeting as something merciless slides into the room. The fight freezes. Both men convulse, gaspingas darkness coils around their throats, a noose spun from silence and cold.
“Gentlemen.” Dom’s voice carries. “You seem confused about whose place you’re wrecking.”
He tightens his fist and their feet lift from the ground. The larger man kicks uselessly, eyes bulging. The tattooed one tries to speak but chokes instead, fingers clawing at invisible restraints.
“Debt disputes don’t happen above the Pit.” The sharp snap of bone splits the air. “You want blood, take it downstairs.”
He releases them with another lazy gesture and they crumple to the floor, gasping. The one with the tattooed forearms scrambles back on elbows slick with sweat.
“Get them out,” Dom commands. “And put the word out. Next time someone disrupts my club’s peace . . .” He lets the threat hang unfinished, but his meaning is clear.
I watch the men being dragged away, their blood leaving dark trails across marble that’s seen too much violence already. My hands tremble, and I curl them into fists.
This isn’t the Dom who used to command a room with rakish charm and razor wit. The boy who once played prince to this kingdom of pleasure. This is someone else entirely. Someone who hurts people because he can. Who smiles while bones snap and magic suffocates.
But what terrifies me more is the whisper inside that says I understand him. That part of me—bruised and starving—sees this version of him and doesn’t run. Maybe the real danger isn’t him losing himself. Maybe it’s that I’m willing to follow him into the dark.
Dom’s fingers wrap around mine, firm but not unkind, guiding me past the blood and broken glass into The Den’s waiting dark. The further we descend into the hallways, the more the neon fizzles out behind us, replaced by crystal sconces embedded in the stone. Each one ignites as we pass, casting long shapes that flicker across the crimson walls.
At a locked threshold, he presses his palm to a scanner. The stone pulses, then parts.
The descent down towards his office feels different tonight. Darker. Warped. Each step pulls at something inside me, as if the walls themselves recognize us—our sins, our secrets—and haven’t decided whether to keep them.
Then I hear a roar, guttural and wild, rising from below as combat magic cracks through the air like a whip. The crowd’s response is instant; a savage cheer that trembles through the stone beneath my heels. Something inside me stirs, hot and hungry. A craving for the edge of violence I’ve been trying to deny since I fled this place.
I yank my hand from Dom’s, surprising us both. He stills, head tilting, eyes narrowing in quiet curiosity. Another crash echoes up the stairwell and I move, drawn by the noise, the violence, and the promise of something feral.
“Fascinating,” he murmurs, stepping closer until I feel his breath against my temple. “You still crave it. The fight. The blood.Us.”
“I don’t—” I start, but the words turn brittle as another roar rises from the Pit. The crowd’s frenzy feeds the ruby at my throat, which flares with traitorous light.
“This will work better.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and I catch the echo of Kian in the cruel curve of his lips. “There’s something you need to see. Something I literally cannot say.” His jaw clenches, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. The playful monster act slips for just a moment, revealing rawness underneath. “Death would be preferable to breaking this particular gag, but I refuse to let my father win that easily.”
The implications sink in slowly. A magical contract. A binding that kills if broken.
“Come on, love.” He extends a hand and I hate that I want to take it. “Let me show you something.”
I stare at the reach of his palm, remembering how those same fingers just crushed a man’s throat with magic. How easily he shifts between tenderness and violence. Between the Dom I love, and thiscreature wearing his face. But beneath his carefully crafted cruelty, I caught that glimpse of fear. Or maybe desperation.
“Fine,” I say, ignoring his hand. “Show me.”
His expression flickers but it’s impossible to read him anymore.
Dom turns toward the stairs, and I follow, pulse rising with every step.
Down into the dark we go.
The metal door groansopen, exhaling a wave of blistered air and the guttural symphony of bloodlust and creature screams. Dom’s hand is unyielding at my lower back, steering me across the threshold.
The Inferno.
