Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

ASH

Ash watched Rattler spit on the platform at Piper’s feet. His pulse beat in his ears, a measured tempo counting down.

Piper slouched against the corner post, and Rattler slid under the lowest rope to drop to the floor. His eyes were black, his face tight with humiliation, and his scent full of rage. He stalked toward the doorway where Ash and Lyre had been observing Piper’s fights.

The daemon’s attention was on the fighters waiting farther down the hall—the regulars, the guys he knew. The ones who would be equally pissed off that some haemon girl was fucking things up for them in their arena.

Rattler averted his eyes from Ash as he entered the hall, avoiding a challenge. Ash waited as the daemon passed him—then he seized the daemon by the back of the neck and smashed his face against the wall.

A garbled cry escaped Rattler, drowned out by the boisterous crowd. Ash grabbed the daemon’s injured shoulder and spun him around, ramming his back into the wall.

Blood streamed from Rattler’s shattered nose. “What the f?—”

“Looks like you had a rough night,” Ash growled, tightening his grip on Rattler’s wounded shoulder. “You should leave.”

Whites showed all the way around Rattler’s black irises. The fury was gone from his scent, and he stank of fear.

“But,” he began haltingly, “I need the healer?—”

“If you stay”—Ash dug his fingers into the sword puncture Piper had given the daemon—“you’ll need a gravedigger.”

Rattler’s face went white. Blood dribbled from the wound as Ash ground his fingers in deeper. “All right. I’ll leave.”

Ash released him. “Good choice.”

Rattler rushed down the hall, passing his fellow fighters and disappearing from view.

Leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, Lyre arched an eyebrow. “Was that necessary?”

Probably not, but letting that slimy serpent walk past him unharmed had been beyond Ash’s restraint. He would’ve preferred to break the daemon’s neck.

Ash flicked his hand, shaking Rattler’s blood off his fingers. His pulse still thudded in his ears, tension winding his body tight. He was on edge, and he wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t wanted the apprentice in the ring because her getting injured—or worse—would complicate everything. He’d lived in violence his entire life: violence against him, against others; violence he witnessed; violence he committed. He was far beyond caring.

So why did he want to rip out Rattler’s throat?

A clamor rose from the crowd. Piper’s next challenger had been drawn. Ash hadn’t heard their name be called, but the daemon was already striding down the hall toward him. Thoth. An experienced fighter. Not a former champion, but far beyond Piper’s strength or skill.

Their stares locked as Thoth drew level with Ash. The last time they’d met had been in the ring. Thoth had been the challenger then as well, and Ash had thrashed him in a humiliating defeat.

Ash bared his teeth, the instinct to crush the other daemon rising in him. Thoth broke eye contact as he passed. If he hadn’t, Ash would’ve attacked him—but these were the games daemons played. Hunters vying for dominance, always walking the line of defiance and submission.

Thoth continued toward the ring. As he reached the platform, he glanced back. Again, he met Ash’s gaze—and he grinned with savage anticipation.

Ash lunged forward, but Lyre grabbed his shirt collar.

“Remember why we’re here,” the incubus said sharply. “This is her last real match. Don’t screw things up.”

Ash sucked in a deep breath, but it did little to calm him. Thoth was in the ring now, facing Piper. Ash couldn’t see the game show wheel, but he heard the telltale sound of the arrow spinning.

“ Brawl match, brawl match, brawl match! ”

“Another fist match,” the announcer bellowed.

Ash gritted his teeth.

The bell rang.

Thoth landed his first blow almost instantly, doubling Piper over. A few seconds later, he threw her onto the platform with bruising force—then kicked her while she was down.

Ash choked on a snarl.

When Thoth threw her again, Lyre hooked his arm around Ash’s neck to hold him back.

“Calm down, Ash.” Hypnotizing power thrummed in Lyre’s voice. “He won’t kill her. We just have to wait.”

Thoth, that bastard. He could have ended the fight with his first attack, but he was dragging it out on purpose. He’d seen Ash go after Rattler. Thoth was beating on Piper as petty revenge against Ash.

Piper dragged herself up by the ropes and faced Thoth again.

Ash’s eyes narrowed. Her stance had changed.

She unleashed a flurry of fast, sloppy punches that Thoth blocked easily—but she didn’t seem to be trying to land a solid hit. She was trying to set up a particular move.

What single move could save her when she was so outmatched?

He got his answer when Thoth tried to grab her for another throw, and she caught his elbow. The crack of breaking bone was audible even over the shouts of the spectators. Lyre’s soothing croon stuttered.

Thoth recoiled, but Piper didn’t give him a chance to recover. She grabbed his hand and twisted it—and Ash knew, because he’d used the same move many times, that Thoth’s ligaments had torn.

A sharp cry of pain escaped Thoth. He lashed out, his fist catching Piper’s jaw. She reeled back.

Ash didn’t realize he’d taken a step until Lyre wrenched him backward again.

“Keep it together, Ash. You’re getting in the ring with her next, and you can’t go in already lusting for blood.”

Ash snarled under his breath.

Pressing her advantage, Piper took Thoth down with a brutal hit to his knee, then locked him in an excruciating hold. If she kept bending his leg like that, she would break the Styx’s rule about maiming. Thoth held out for one second—two—three—then he slammed his fist into the platform.

“Thoth yields,” the announcer cried. “Minx wins!”

The crowd exploded with renewed fervor. Ash exhaled harshly through his nose. He hadn’t thought Piper could do it. She was exhausted and injured against a superior fighter with greater strength and speed—but like Ash, Thoth had underestimated her.

The daemon ducked under the ropes and dropped to the floor beside the platform. He glanced at Ash, then turned and limped away, choosing to navigate through the spectators rather than walk past Ash.

A wise decision.

“They’ll draw your name next.” Lyre thumped his palm against Ash’s chest before sliding his arm away. “Once you’re in that ring, you have to stay in control. Keep your bloodlust under wraps.”

Ash let out another rough exhalation and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the tension.

“Who will Minx’s next challenger be?” the announcer was saying. “Can she pull off another miraculous victory?”

Not this time.

The crowd rumbled with impatience. Ash couldn’t see the stage from where he stood, but he wasn’t ready to step closer to the ring.

“Our next challenger…” A dramatic pause. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been over a year since he last set foot in the ring. The most ruthless champion in Styx history, with forty-nine wins and one loss, he’s the reason daemons in all three realms can’t sleep at night, he’s legendary, he’s— The Draconian! ”

Every voice erupted in a roar that made the walls shake and Ash’s ears throb unpleasantly. The volume hit an all-new high to match the crowd’s rising excitement.

“That’s your cue,” Lyre shouted to him. “Put on a good show.”

Ash strode into the pit. The spectators were on their feet, and a new wave of cheering and shouts vibrated the floor. He ignored them as he swung under the ropes and onto the platform.

Leaning against the post opposite him, Piper opened her eyes. Blood and bruises marred her skin, and her legs trembled. She gave him a wan smile.

“ Spin the wheel, spin the wheel! ”

Obeying the fervent chant, the announcer spun the arrow.

“ Brawl match, brawl match, brawl match! ”

The arrow whirled across the colored sections. It came around full circle, dropped toward the bottom of the wheel, then swung upward as its momentum dissipated. The chant grew louder and louder.

The arrow stopped, its point aimed straight up into the black section filled with a skull and crossbones.

Rabid, ecstatic cheering thundered to the ceiling. Piper’s face had paled, her lips pressed together.

“A brawl match! Minx will face The Draconian in a brawl match! Weapons and magic are fair game!”

A woman appeared with the three weapons, and Piper once again selected the katana, leaving the spear and dagger for Ash. A cold smile pulled at his lips, and he waved a dismissive hand at the weapons. The crowd screamed and cheered over his refusal, but Piper frowned deeply.

“Fighters, ready!”

Piper raised her sword, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

The bell clanged.

She lurched forward, hesitation marring her steps. Was she worried about hurting him?

He prowled forward to meet her. She swung the sword, but he was already twisting sideways. The blade’s tip swept past his chest, so close it snagged on the fabric of his shirt—but it didn’t touch his skin. Left with her guard wide open, Piper couldn’t do a thing to stop him as he grabbed her around the middle and tossed her across the ring.

She thudded down on the platform with a gasp. Rolling to her feet, she scowled at him. What was the glower for? He was supposed to defeat her.

She approached again and feinted to one side. He smacked her blade away, grabbed her wrist, and kicked her in the stomach as gently as he could without making it obvious he was pulling his hits. She went down again.

Instead of clambering up, she kicked his ankle, jolting his foot out from under him. He caught his balance, his calf throbbing. She wasn’t pulling her hits. Not that it mattered, but?—

Her second kick hit the nerve in his inner thigh, and sharp agony lanced up the muscle. His leg buckled.

He hit the platform on his back, and Piper jumped on him, blade flashing in her hand. He caught her wrist. She sat on his chest and punched with her other hand. He caught that wrist too.

She strained against his hold, teeth bared, then hooked her leg on his elbow, trying to wrench his arm down to free her wrist. Before she hurt herself fighting his strength, he threw her off and rolled on top of her. She heaved up, pushing him off using the same move. They tumbled across the floor, and in the middle of the tangle, he yanked the katana out of her grip and sent it sliding across the platform. It fell out of the ring with a clang.

He let Piper break free. Springing up, she went on the attack, throwing kicks and jabs that he blocked and dodged with ease. He let several openings go by before taking one. His fist connected with her uninjured shoulder, and she flailed backward in a spin. As she fell, she tried to kick him, but he caught her ankle.

If this had been a real fight, he could have broken her leg. He could have thrown her right out of the ring. He could have ended it in a dozen different ways—all of which would have seriously hurt her.

So he did nothing, and she slammed her other boot into his knee, forcing him to drop her. He backed away a step, jaw clenched. This wasn’t working. With the sword out of the picture, he couldn’t feign caution anymore, and Piper had already proved herself too tough to go down from a few punches. And no one would believe that “The Draconian” would go easy on her, not when his previous runs in the ring had ended with ten badly beaten combatants.

He waited for Piper to regain her footing, then sprang at her. She did her best to defend against him, but she was too inexperienced. He’d been killing daemon warriors before she’d even begun serious martial arts training. He landed a restrained blow to her gut, and she dropped to her knees. She got up, and he hit her again.

This was infuriating. Unnecessary. It was Lilith manipulating them for her own gain. Piper would have bruises from his fists. He didn’t want to hit her—and each time he did, he got angrier.

As she went down yet again, clutching her diaphragm, he choked back a snarl. He wanted to purge the violence inside him, and she was the only target—a weak, gasping, trembling target.

She needed to stay down. She needed to back slowly away before he lost the battle against his predatory instincts—instincts that were rapidly drowning out reason.

Instead, she threw herself into his middle. He lurched back, and she fell, clutching his shirt. A seam tore. He pulled away from her, needing space, needing to get his instincts under control. Peeling off his ruined shirt, he threw it out of the ring. He needed time to cool off.

Piper got to her feet again. She met his eyes with a blazing stare.

Savagery surged through him at the blatant challenge.

“Come on, Draconian ,” she called mockingly over the roaring crowd. “Afraid to get up close and personal with a girl?”

That fool of a consul apprentice was deliberately taunting him. Logic was fading from his mind, replaced with a vicious need to dominate or destroy.

“Come and get me!” she yelled, spreading her arms.

The last thread of his self-control snapped.