Chapter 15

Fifteen

I won. And it feels amazing.

The moment I let my guard down, sound comes rushing at me. Whistles and shouts pierce my eardrums. Some are even chanting my name.

I blink, looking around in shock. I was so far in the zone I blocked out the world around me, and now that I've let it back in the sensory overload is overwhelming. Or maybe I'm just experiencing the effects of the crash after the adrenaline rush.

I don't know, but whatever the reason, I'm disoriented until I find Becks in the crowd. He's standing only a few feet on the other side of the spiked bars.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice elevated to be heard over the crowd behind him.

"Yeah, I'm good," I call back.

He lets out a breath, and the lines of tension on his face soften. "Good," is all he says, but I sense there's something more behind that word.

I'm announced as the winner, and then the game master immediately reminds the crowd that all of the fighters will participate in at least one more fight to determine who the winner is and the competitors who will be eliminated. I'm not happy I'm going to have to fight again, but now that I know I'll be on an even playing field with my opponents, I'm not as stressed.

Someone has to go into the cage to drag Jules out, and then they try to revive her, but I don't stay to watch as I make my way back to the temporary locker rooms. My body starts to feel heavy. I'm definitely experiencing a crash from the adrenaline rush.

"That was some impressive fighting back there," Talon says as he falls into step with me. I guess he stayed to watch the end of my fight when his was over.

His hairline is slicked with sweat and there's a small bruise high on his cheekbone, but he's grinning down at me as if he doesn't have a care in the world. In fact, if anything it looks like the fight invigorated him.

"I've been taking self-defense and kickboxing lessons since I was eight."

He nods. "It shows. Maybe I should stop by your gym, and you can give me some pointers."

I shoot him a look. That sounded like a pick-up line, and despite myself I do what I didn't have the nerve to do before and let my gaze covertly slide down his sweat-slicked chest. My stomach bottoms out and my mouth goes dry. I knew Talon was muscular, but I wasn't prepared for the stack of abs so cut I could wash clothes on them, or how appealing the indents on either side of his hip bones are. I follow those indents with my eyes until they disappear beneath his shorts and then quickly look away, feeling even more blood rush to my already reddened cheeks.

Pull it together, Locklyn. You see shirtless guys at the gym all the time. So he's cut . . . who cares?

I clear my throat, hoping it wasn't overly obvious I just checked him out. "Clearly you don't need any pointers," I say with a pointed glance behind us at his opponent, who still hasn't regained consciousness.

"You can always learn more," he says with a shrug, not seeming to react to my ogling. Thank the Creator for that.

We reach the locker rooms and I turn toward my door.

"Good luck with your next round," Talon says. "But it doesn't look like you're going to need it."

I snort a laugh. "You too," I say, and then push through the door.

My next match I'm paired up against Kiaro, a bald six-foot snake shifter who won't stop staring at my chest and rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip as we stand across from each other, waiting for the fight to begin.

A thread of unease slithers through my body as I size him up. I've sparred against plenty of guys larger than me, but I don't know Kiaro's skill level. I have to just hope he is as untrained as Jules.

The countdown begins and then the buzzer goes off. Kiaro immediately rushes me, reaching out with his arms to do who knows what, but I deftly duck under his reach and bounce to the other side of the cage. The way the dude has been looking at me and how he just tried to pull me into some sort of embrace makes me not want to get within arm's length of him, which is a problem because I'll need to get close to land a punch.

"Oh, I see. You're shy," he says with a lecherous grin.

Barf .

His tongue comes out to lick his bottom lip and it's forked at the end. Not forked like it would be if he'd partially shifted, but forked as if he had his tongue cut that way on purpose.

I don't respond to his taunts, but instead take note of his movements as he comes at me again. This time he doesn't bother trying to pull me in, but swings out with his left fist, which lets me know that's his dominant hand. I easily dodge his second attack and scamper away from him.

The crowd boos, but I block them out. I'm not going to be pressured to attack until I know more about him. Until I'm ready.

We dance around the cage for several more minutes and Kiaro gets increasingly frustrated with me. His movements become more aggressive, and I finally get an opening when he takes a wide swing at me. Rather than ducking away like he expects, I move closer, surprising him, and then deliver a quick jab to his cheek followed by an uppercut to his chin, and then quickly spin away before he has a chance to retaliate.

With murder in his gaze, Kiaro lifts his arm and wipes a trickle of blood away from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Several feet apart, we stand and stare at each other; both of our guards are up.

Kiaro thought this was going to be an easy win for him, but now he knows better. It's about to be a real fight now.

Without warning, Kiaro juts forward, his fist on a collision course with my nose. Even without the use of his magic he's insanely fast, but I manage to shift so that his blow grazes my cheek rather than smashes my nose. It wasn't a solid hit, but my cheek still throbs. That one's going to form a nice bruise.

Over the next several minutes Kiaro and I trade blows. I don't take any serious hits, but unfortunately neither does he. After five more minutes of fighting, we're running out of time and neither one of us has the clear upper hand. I'm covered in a fine layer of sweat, my mind working hard to catalog his weaknesses, but finding it difficult to come up with any. He's proving to be a much more challenging opponent than Jules. He's not wearing out as fast as she did, and on top of that it's clear he knows a little about boxing and hand-to-hand combat. His moves aren't as precise or as polished as mine, but each of his hits has more power and his reach is a lot longer.

If Kiaro has one weakness, it's that he doesn't know how to use his legs in a fight and relies solely on his upper body. As a result, I end up relying heavily on my kicks to keep him at a distance. I don't want his fists anywhere near my face. If he gets in one good shot it will be all over for me.

As the seconds tick by I can feel myself flagging. Kiaro comes at me, and I screw up and don't duck away from him quickly enough, giving him an opening to snatch me from behind, which he immediately takes advantage of, putting me in a chokehold.

His forearm presses down on my windpipe, trying to cut off air, but I don't panic. I know how to get out of a chokehold, I've done it a million times before. I'm about to initiate a movement to break his hold, but I'm thrown when Kiaro bends down and licks the side of my face.

"If I promise to make this quick, will you make it up to me later?" he whispers in my ear.

Revulsion sloshes in my gut and it takes effort to keep the contents of my stomach from making an appearance.

A furious roar comes from the crowd. My gaze flicks up in time to see Becks trying to rush the cage, but he's being held back by four guys. He manages to shake one off, but only makes it a step before he's pulled back again.

Kiaro tightens his grip, and pulling his shoulders back he picks me up.

I curse myself for not breaking free of the chokehold immediately. It's so much harder to escape this position without my feet on the ground.

With effort, I push Becks and everything but Kiaro from my mind. I can't afford these distractions. Curling my legs toward my chest, I kick out and buck, which throws Kiaro off balance enough that he pitches forward, his hold loosening as his body covers mine on the ground. I twist, spinning out of his hold, and immediately straighten and knee him in the chin.

His head snaps back, and before he can recover I slam my foot into his groin. It isn't a sanctioned kickboxing move, but the douche deserved it.

Kiaro keels over, red faced and cupping his crotch. I give him the same double tap I gave Jules, one punch to the temple followed by another to the chin, and he's out for the count.

I stand over him, my breathing ragged as much from the match as it is from the desire to give this guy another kick to the nuts, but I manage to restrain myself.

The crowd is going crazy, and I look up to catch Becks' eye. He's calmed enough that no one is holding him back anymore, but his chest is heaving, and his hair is standing up every which way. There's a wild spark in his eyes that makes him look unfamiliar to me in that moment. He blinks and his eyes go slitted like they are in his dragon form, and then another blink and they're back to normal.

I may be physically okay, but Becks doesn't look like he's doing all that well mentally.

Forcing my gaze away from Becks, I trudge toward the cage door, which opens for me when I near. Some guys who I assume are friends of Kiaro brush past me to grab him and haul him from the cage. I don't linger, and wearily walk back to the locker rooms, realizing that I won't be able to stop fighting until I either win this whole thing or end up like Kiaro or Jules, knocked out cold and lying on the bloodied concrete.

More matches happen over the next hour, and I listen to the roar of the crowd and the winners being announced with detachment, just trying to keep myself in the same headspace. Jules wins her next match, which probably saves her from elimination, but means she doesn't have to fight again because her loss to me took her out of the running for overall winner. I'm a little envious she doesn't have to fight anymore. I'm exhausted.

I get looks from my fellow competitors who are still in the competition, but I can't interpret what they mean. Perhaps they're simply confused why I'm still here. I'm easily the smallest one left.

The next and last round of fights start, and as I wait for my name to be called, the aches and pains and stiffness from the first two rounds start settling in my joints. They're holding only one match at a time now, and slowly the room empties until it's just me and another guy, a white-haired teal-eyed fae named Titus who isn't exactly friendly but hasn't been openly hostile either, so that makes him cool in my book. He has a cut on his forehead from his last match that won't stop weeping blood, but honestly it makes him look intimidating, so the look could work for him.

The game master's voice booms beyond the closed door as he starts to announce the next match. Talon's name is announced, and the crowd starts cheering. I straighten, waiting to hear who he's paired against. There aren't many of us left. My heart jumps to my throat when my name rings out across the warehouse.

I walk woodenly toward the door, each step heavier than the last.

"He's going to favor his left ribs," Titus says, startling me.

I glance over at him with my hand on the doorknob, my gaze catching on part of his tattoo that winds over his shoulder from his back. From the quick look I got at it earlier the image that spans his entire back is of a tree with twisting vines and flowers. It's so large that parts of the design curl over his shoulder and onto the tops of his arms.

"I caught the end of his last match up," he says, drawing my attention back to his bright eyes. "He took a hit pretty hard. Good luck."

"Thanks," I say, and then push through the door to find Talon hanging back, waiting for me, and I catch a faint bruise on his left ribs just where Titus said it would be.

Talon is tall and muscular. Not in the same way Becks is, but something tells me he's just as powerful, with or without magic. A ball of lead settles in my gut. I don't want to fight him, and not just because he'll probably beat me. There are other more nebulous reasons too that I don't have the headspace to examine right now.

"It's me and you, Freckles," he says, and I lift my gaze to catch the grim look on his face. "Any chance I can convince you to fake a knockout, so I don't have to do it for real?"

I purse my lips before saying, "No. But I'd be willing to let you fake one, so I don't have to damage your pretty face."

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest and we start toward the game master, both of us doing our best to ignore the chaos around us.

"I'm impressed," he says. When we reach the cage, the game master is droning on about how the winner of our match will move on to the final battle.

"Impressed that I made it this far because I'm just a small girl?" And magicless , I think but don't say.

He shakes his head, his blue-gray eyes never leaving mine. "No. I'm just impressed."

Unwantedly, warmth sparks in my chest. How is it that out of everyone in my life it's Talon, a relative stranger, who makes me think I don't need magic to be powerful? That I'm enough all on my own.

The cage door swings open and Talon gestures for me to go in before him, his movements almost gentlemanly. When I step into the cage I do what I've done the last two battles—I look for Becks—but when I spot him he isn't looking at me, he's glaring at Talon like he wants to gut him.

Talon takes a moment to scan the crowd as well, and as if feeling the heat from Becks' stare the two lock eyes. Becks' mouth doesn't form any words, but his eyes are telling Talon that if he hurts me he's going to pay. Talon's gaze narrows and his mouth flattens into a thin line, breaking eye contact with my best friend. His gaze lands on me just as the ten second countdown begins, and they soften.

The buzzer sounds and we both drop into defensive positions, but neither one of us moves. After several seconds tick by and nothing happens, boos start from the spectators, who are expecting a bigger show.

I should be watching Talon's body for telltale signs he's about to attack, but instead our eyes are locked.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" the crowd starts to chant, and individual voices filter through the noise as well.

"Take her out!"

"Don't just stand there, do something!"

"You can take him, Locklyn!"

"I didn't come here to watch you two eye screw each other!"

That last comment severs the link between us, and I glance outside the cage, looking for whoever said it. As soon as our gazes disconnect, Talon comes at me, dropping low at the last moment and sweeping my legs out from under me. I hit the hard concrete with a thud but twist out of the way of Talon's follow-up punch. Popping to my feet next to him, I kick out, hitting his hip, and send him staggering back a few feet.

With my hands raised in front of me to defend my face, I bounce on the balls of my feet, a fresh wave of adrenaline surging through me.

Talon takes his time, almost lazily getting back into position. He's not smiling but there's a twinkle in his eye that tells me he wants to.

"Nicely done," he says conversationally.

I narrow my gaze. What's he playing at now?

Talon returns my glare with a look of pure innocence, which from experience means he's anything but.

I don't want to admit it, but the truth is whatever he's doing is working. I get an uncomfortable sense of being off kilter. I need to attack this match differently than the last two. Instinct tells me Talon's stamina is just as good or even better than mine, so trying to wear him out probably won't work, so it's time to change up my M.O.

I attack first, aiming kicks at his knees and ribs so that he's forced to retreat to avoid serious injury. I back Talon up to almost the bars of the cage before he blocks my last kick and then comes at me with a flurry of attacks from both his fists and feet. Some of them connect, but most don't. But the hits that I do take aren't hard. They're like blows I'd expect from a friendly sparring match, not a knockout fight.

Talon's pulling his punches.

But then again, so am I.

We go on like this for several back and forths before the crowd starts to notice neither one of us is really full-out attacking the other. The boos and catcalls start up again, and for the life of me I can't seem to block everything out like I did the last matches.

Getting distracted, I catch Becks' gaze right as Talon comes at me again, sweeping my legs out from underneath me for a second time, but I catch him on my way down and bring him with me, so we end up on the concrete floor grappling with each other.

First he has the upper hand, then I do. Our limbs tangle as we wrestle, and since neither one of us seems to be taking this fight as seriously as we should, the slide of our hands over each other ends up more intimate than aggressive. When wholly uninvited sensations start to trickle through me, I quickly and efficiently slide out of Talon's hold. We both pop to our feet and separate, staring at each other from opposite sides of the spiked cage.

Even though we haven't been going at each other in earnest, we're still slick with sweat from the exertion, and our breaths come out just shy of panting. It gives me a bit of pride to see Talon looking equally winded. But even so, we both know what we're doing isn't battling. It's closer to working out, honing our skills on one another without any intention of inflicting damage.

"Oh, and there's one thing I failed to mention at this part of the trial," the game master says, his rough voice echoing throughout the cavernous space. "From this point forward, if one of the competitors isn't unconscious when the time runs out, then both will be ineligible to win the advantage for the next trial."

A round of cheers raises from the crowd, and Talon flicks an annoyed glance at the game master. We both know he just made that rule up.

Talon and I look at each other with matching looks of resignation, and then as if an opening shot is fired we converge on each other in a flurry of fists and feet. I get a solid jab into his left ribs, which up until now I'd been avoiding, and he clips me on the chin. He knees me in the gut, and I jab him in the side of the head.

It goes on and on between us as the clock ticks down, and even though we're definitely going harder now, we're still not giving it all we've got.

The crowd is a cacophony of sound outside our cage. At one point I think I hear Becks shout, but it's drowned out by all the other noise.

"Thirty seconds remain, and it looks like we might be eliminating two of our most promising fighters of the night," the game master says.

A streak of frustration laced with indecision flashes across Talon's face. Honestly, I don't mind getting eliminated by a draw. At this point neither one of us is going to get eliminated from this Chaos trial. I didn't think I'd get this far, and I'm so worn out that I can't possibly imagine fighting another match after this one anyway. Sitting the rest of the trial out secure in my place as a competitor that's moving on to the next round sounds pretty good to me, but from the look on Talon's face, he doesn't feel the same way. He really wants that advantage.

The crowd starts counting down with twenty seconds left and Talon and I are circling each other. When they get to ten, Talon mouths a curse and with speed he hasn't used on me up until now, he fakes a jab that I dance away from and then somehow he's behind me, one arm wrapped around my chest, rendering my arms useless and securing my body against his.

"I'm sorry about this, Freckles," he says, his breath tickling my ear, and then his free hand slips to the side of my face, almost cradling my head.

I never see the hit or feel the impact, but before I know it my vision goes black.