“Nowthisis living.” Riot beams as he drops the gate to a pen, locking himself in with Rhett.
Nothing like training in a cage to fish out the feral. Because when a Hunter feels trapped, look the fuck out. I’m just glad our magic heals cuts and bruises with a little rest; otherwise, this wouldn’t be our wisest pastime before battle.
“You’re not winning,” Riot informs Rhett.
Rhett scoffs, muscles quivering as he strips his shirt. “I’ve got a hundred coins on my own neck. You’re going down, you beast.”
Grace crosses her arms over her chest, assessing the fighters. “Just get after it already. I want my money.”
Riot points at her. “You’re next, pretty girl.”
“Big talk from the boy who could never outrun me.”
Riot rakes his hands over his enormous, chiseled physique. “Don’t need stamina.”
Grace shakes her head at him, and I bask in the absurdity of my gods-blessed life.
“Riot,” Grace whispers. “Seriously, don’t lose. The savings for the summer home is on the line.”
Riot blanches, and my focus swivels down to my wife.
“You didn’t—” I say.
She shrugs. “Brink of war and all that. Does it even matter?”
Kind of.We’ve been saving up for years.
And no. I’d give every coin I have to the men in this cavern.
I grin at her and dart a serious expression back at a pale Riot. “Don’t lose.”
Riot shakes out his tree-trunk arms and sets up at the far end of the metal cage, staring down Rhett fifteen feet away on the other side.
“Ready yourselves,” I cue and grip a cage bar, my magic fizzing along my skin and into the metal. It vibrates and pulses beneath my touch, glowing and burning to a bright moltenorange, and the cage door disappears as the metal molds together into a seamless prison. This is the only external use we have of our magic, sealing and manipulating cages—which is highly valuable, considering a vampire is powerless against a cage locked with our magic. Vampires can still reach through it, summon things between the bars, but they can’t open it. Serving a single purpose for us:to trap them.
The Hunters’ forms hone, eyes piercing with intensity, and muscles contract, hands flexing and skin rippling, magic sensing their surroundings.
The pens aren’t intended for weapons training—brute strength and fighting talent only, to test survival, to test what you have when no weapons remain, no help is coming, and all that is left is you.
“Begin,” I command.
The Hunters collide in a demonstration of precision and strength that makes my blood sing, and the captain within sparks with pride. I don’t give a shit who wins—the show is worth the price I’ll pay if Riot loses.
“Come on, Riot!” Grace screams.
Riot lands a punch to Rhett’s jaw, and a tooth flies into the metal bars, disintegrating on impact.
Riot is going to win this one. He’s five moves out.
“Come on, Riot. Please gods,” Grace whispers next to me.
I glance down at my wife. “If you lose us the summer house, you owe me a new blade for not asking me first.”
She glares up at me. “It’sourmoney.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Right. So it should have beenourdecision to bet it on Riot’s big ass.”
She huffs and bolts her hands to her hips, attention pinned on the match again.
