“Shecan do anything she fucking wants. Get out of my face.” My enforcer levels the shifter with a glare.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Modeus mocks.
The rider who would have followed us narrows his eyes at me, so I send him a single finger salute right before Egan lands so close to the shifter he has to pull back his ride or chance it getting crushed.
My fallen is slow to tuck in his wings while he stares over the crowd waiting for admittance. I can only see his back, but I would bet his black eyes are memorizing every face gathered at the gates.
After a long pause, he turns his back to the entire group, which is not a wise thing to do for most when you’re in the middle of a potential threat, but he doesn’t have anything to worry about, and he just showed them that truth too.
When he reaches our small group, he lifts into the air, hovering just over us as we resume riding toward the house.
The front lawns are filled with bikes and even some tents. Heads turn as we ride all the way up to the front steps of the house. Even the larger clusters of my club members are drawn to appraise us.
“Somehow, I don’t think we’ll be able to walk among the crowd unnoticed.”
“Did you think that would be a possibility?” Modeus chuckles as he gets off his bike.
“Yeah, that was pretty foolish,” I admit easily. I wasn’t expecting this spectacle, especially with such short notice. “Let’s see about finding Deekhil. I want to know how many people are here to challenge me, and how many are here to watch.”
Before I even have a chance to look for my secretary, I spot Rolk, the club treasurer. He’s lording over a huge group of picnic tables filled with creatures of all sorts, who are all eating. “Fucking hell, he turned this into a festival,” I mumble. The goblin is efficient, if nothing else, and this will probably grow my coffers substantially.
“Were they charging admission at the gate?” I turn to Cyrus and Modeus to see if they noticed.
“We’re sold out, mistress,” Rolk comments, then turns to face me. “I could double our profit if you permit use of the house.” His green ears are quivering with excitement.
“No, absolutely fucking not,” I state emphatically.
“I suspected as much,” he concedes. “Would you care to see the contestant list?” He pulls a plum piece of paper from his inner pocket and offers it to me. “I took the liberty of arranging the matches myself after I was offered a bribe for the last bout. Can’t believe I didn’t think of that myself,” he mutters.
“Half a million dollars?” I glance at the top number and the other amounts beneath it. “We’re giving away prize money?”
“No!” Rolk gasps. “That’s what we’re charging for the fight order. Everyone thinks the later bouts will be easier because you’ll be tired.” He rolls his huge eyes.
“And this?” I point to the huge group of names all clustered together.
“Well, that’s the elimination round. No need to waste your time killing them all, and it adds a little sport to it too, I think,” Rolk crows proudly.
The grin that covers Cyrus’ face is slow to start, but even his beard can’t hide his wide smile after a few seconds.
“I’ve already noted several areas where I could improve on the model, should we host such events again,” Rolk adds conversationally.
Cyrus’ smile drops flat. “We’re not doing this again.”
“Not for the president’s seat, of course, but I do believe we’ve touched on an untapped well. The possibilities are endless.”
“When do the elimination rounds begin?” Modeus asks, looking over my shoulder at the paper still in my hand. I’ve scanned the paper for Adder’s name, but I don’t see it.
“Midnight. The garden has been cleared to create an arena just as you asked,” Rolk answers, but I can tell we’ve lost his interest since we’re not talking about money.
I hand the paper to Modeus over my shoulder and leave Rolk without as much as a farewell.
“The elimination round is a good idea,” I admit, looking over at Egan. “I was banking on sheer terror to purge several of them when they realized they had to face you first anyway. This will narrow the field even more. However, there’s a name missing from the list.”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” Modeus hands the paper over to Cyrus’ waiting fingers.
“He could have registered under a false name or even a tag. I don’t think someone named their kid Skid Mark.” Cyrus points to a name on the paper.
“I suppose. Let’s take a walk through the camp and see if we can find him on our own,” I propose, since everyone is already staring at us anyway.
