Chapter 9

Eve

I stared at the two men, aghast. They were insane.

Officially insane.

But if this was what it took to clear my name, then by all means, they should be allowed to beat the shit out of each other. Weirdos.

Damian smiled and stood. "Shall we?"

Lachlan rose, and I followed suit. "Where to?" he asked.

"That basement, I think." Damian skirted around the table and led the way through the crowded bar.

Was the basement an extra-exclusive club? Members only?

The crowd parted to let us pass, and we reached a dark door in the corner. It was unguarded but locked. Within seconds, the same bartender who had arranged for our meeting appeared. He unlocked the door, and we climbed down the metal stairs. Bare lightbulbs illuminated the way, and when we reached the bottom, Damian flicked on several lights.

Yeah, this definitely wasn't an exclusive, members-only club.

It was just a basement. There was a ratty old ring in the corner, some of the side ropes stripped of the padding that normally protected them.

"You two are serious about this?" I couldn't help but ask.

Neither answered, so I found a rusty folding chair to sit in. The two men strode toward the ring, taking their shirts off as they walked. Both were magnificently formed, and I hated the way my eyes strayed toward Lachlan. Damian was gorgeous, no question about it, but I couldn't look away from the raw intensity in Lachlan's eyes. It took my breath.

I could see the wolf inside him, desperate to come out. His eyes flared a more brilliant green, and he clenched his fists.

Damian grinned, then climbed into the ring.

Lachlan followed.

There was no one to call the start of the match, but they didn't need it. Damian struck first, so fast and hard that I was shocked Lachlan managed to dodge.

He did, however, and landed a glancing blow to Damian's side. The fallen angel was quick and managed to avoid most of the hit, returning one of his own.

Immediately, I understood why Damian had wanted the fight. Lachlan was surely one of the few who could give him a fair match. The memory of Lachlan fighting four men back at Pandemonium came to mind.

Who the hell was going to win this one?

The hits came harder and faster as the match progressed. I flinched each time one of them made contact with the other's face, but neither ever seemed like they wanted to quit. Rather, it seemed like they enjoyed it. Not just landing the hits, but taking them.

I knew what demons Lachlan was trying to exorcise—his dead brother, at the very least—but what about Damian?

As the fight progressed, it didn't take long for me to start rooting for Lachlan. I couldn't help it. He was a bastard, a cruel one who'd made my life miserable, but as he took hit after hit—and delivered just as many of his own—I felt my fists clenching and my heart racing.

Come on, just knock him out.

I wanted this to be over with, for fates' sake. Blood was dripping from a cut on the right side of Lachlan's brow, and his sides would be brilliant with bruises in a few hours. Damian didn't look any better. The fallen angel would have at least one black eye tomorrow—maybe two.

But they just kept going.

It got to the point where I hated seeing Lachlan take a hit. Something clenched inside me every time Damian landed a punch.

Eventually, they began to slow. Lachlan favored his right side, and it seemed like something might be wrong with Damian's hand.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and surged to my feet. "Enough!"

They ignored me, continuing to hurl blows at each other. It was almost as if they'd entered some kind of meditative trance, and maybe they had. Hell, this hadn't been a hardship at all for Lachlan. He was enjoying it.

I wasn't, though. There was too much blood from split lips and split brows. Too many bruises waiting to form. If Lachlan was laid out for too long, we wouldn't be able to find the Apothecary.

Enough was enough.

I climbed into the ring, wriggling between the ropes, and got right up next to them to shout, "Stop!"

They both jerked, then turned to me, blinking. Surprised to see me.

"Get out," Lachlan growled, his eyes brilliant green with his wolf.

"No. You're going to stop now. You need to be fit enough to help me find Alia, and this isn't going to help."

He drew in a shuddering breath and stepped back, eying Damian. He jerked his head to the side, indicating that Damian should step away from me. "Get out of the ring, Eve. We'll stop, but it's dangerous to charge in here."

"Yeah, yeah." But I could see the worry in his eyes.

It's not like they were going to snap now that I'd pulled them out of their trance, but he had a point. One of them could have thrown the other onto me, and that would have sucked.

Quickly, I climbed out of the ring.

A few moments later, the two men followed. Both looked like hell, but I ignored it. I also ignored the fact that I was worried about Lachlan. It was stupid.

I glanced at Damian. "Well, where is the Apothecary?"

He looked from Lachlan to me, finally seeming to settle on the idea that it was over. With a sigh, he grabbed his discarded T-shirt from the ground and mopped the blood off his face. He looked more like a fallen angel than ever, with his swollen lips and dark eyes. "You can find her here, in the Midway Dens. At the top of the old bottling building. But I suggest you wait until early morning. Her guards should be less alert then. It's the quiet hour."

"Guards?" I asked, watching Lachlan out of the corner of my eye. He'd bent to pick up his shirt, and he was moving gingerly.

"She takes security seriously," Damian said. He looked at Lachlan, sizing him up. "You only want answers, correct? You won't hurt her?"

Lachlan nodded. "I give you my word."

"I could try to call her and tell her you're coming, but I don't want her knowing it was me who sent you. So keep that to yourself."

"Will do," Lachlan said.

"Good. And one last thing—I'd suggest approaching from the alley. You can expect three, maybe four, demons."

"Thank you." Lachlan pulled his shirt on over his head and looked at me. "Ready?"

I nodded my thanks to Damian, then followed Lachlan from the basement, up the stairs, through the heaving crowd, and out into the cold night air.

"Where to until morning?" I asked, eying his injuries worriedly. "You need to get cleaned up. Maybe take a healing potion. I have one."

"No potions," he growled.

"Sure, whatever, Cujo."

"Cujo?"

"You know, the killer dog from Steven King."

The edge of his lips quirked up in a reluctant smile, and he winced. "We'll find a hotel to spend the next few hours. I heal fast, so I should be mostly good by dawn."

"Suit yourself." Why he was so against potions, I had no idea.

We found a seedy motel a few streets down. There wasn't much else in this part of town, and it would do for our purposes. Lachlan looked too rough to be let into any of the nicer places, anyway.

The motel was one of those two-story establishments with doors that exited onto the outdoor walkway. Very 1960s America. Lachlan insisted that we share a room. A plaque on the wall advertised that Elvis had once stayed in the very same suite.

"Last time it was updated, too, I bet," I muttered.

Fortunately, there were two beds. I flopped onto one while Lachlan headed toward the bathroom. "I'll be in the shower."

I heard the water go on, creaking as the pipes filled. A few minutes later, I heard a pained groan and had to assume he'd climbed in.

I thunked my head back against the old headboard. What the hell was I doing, thinking about him in the shower? That was all kinds of bad news.

I should be knackered, but I wasn't. Even though it was after three a.m. here, I was still on London time.

A few moments later, Lachlan emerged from the bathroom. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, revealing a broad expanse of damp, bare chest. My heartrate picked up, and I swallowed hard, looking away. "You didn't want to put on trousers, at least?"

"Too stiff."

"I should have my own room."

"I'm not letting you out of my sight in this town, collar or no collar."

He had a point. In Guild City, there were people with the skill to remove the collar, but no one would dare, since he'd put it on me. That wouldn't be the case in Magic Side.

He turned to the sink. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him flinch.

Concern pierced me, and I slid off of the bed. "Are you sure you don't want a healing potion?"

"I'm sure." His voice was rough. "I'll heal quickly."

"Well, you're still bleeding from that cut on your brow." I went to the bathroom and knelt down to fish around in the cupboard for a first aid kit, hoping we'd get lucky.

Lachlan made a low noise in his throat, and I looked up, realizing that he stood right over me. He hadn't moved, either. I'd been the one to kneel here—which now seemed like an insane idea. He looked like a mountain towering above.

Tension tightened the air between us, making every inch of my skin prickle as heat flushed through me. Fortunately, I spotted an old first aid kit and grabbed it, then hopped to my feet. I waved it in the air like a ninny and said, "Found it."

He frowned. "A plaster?"

"And antiseptic. With any luck, there will be paracetamol in here as well."

His gaze lingered too long on me, so I popped open the plastic container and fished out the alcohol wipe and wrapped plaster. Before I could stop myself—or before he could stop me—I tore open the wipe and smoothed it over his cut brow.

Up close, he was even more beautiful. Terrifying, too, with the way his eyes flared bright green.

His wolf.

I swallowed hard, my skin igniting as heat flushed through me.

He was so much bigger than me. So much stronger. But somehow, I knew he'd never hurt me. Not physically, at least. He'd hurt me plenty when we were children, and he'd have no problem locking me up if he thought I was the killer. But right now, with the way he looked down at me…

"What is it about you?" he murmured. He lifted a hand, holding it near my temple. Close, but no contact. His full lips parted, and his eyes flashed with desire.

He wants me.

I knew it like I knew my own name. It was written all over his face. It made my breath catch in my throat and my mind go blank.

It was crazy, but I wanted to sway forward. To close the distance between us.

"I don't know what you mean." Shivers raced over my skin. All of my previous hatred, my anger…it was hard to recall them right now, when we stood so close. It was insane. But something drew me to him, pulling at my soul.

The mate bond?

No. I didn't feel it. I couldn't, not as long as I wore the necklace that made me fae.

Yet still, I wanted him. I was a terrible, shallow person to want the man who'd been so cruel to me.

"There's something about you." He leaned close and inhaled, sniffing me.

I stiffened. A wolf's ability to smell was one of their primary gifts. Could he recognize me this way?

No.

Changing my species with potions had changed that as well. I'd covered all my bases.

He withdrew his head and met my gaze, his eyes dark, the pupils dilated. His gaze moved to my pointed fae ears, then back to my eyes. "I feel like you're someone you're not. And what I'm thinking isn't even possible."

A chill chased away the heat that had surged through me. "You've had a real knock to the head." I stepped back. "A little rest will put you to rights."

He stared after me, his brow creased, and I walked to the far bed, then curled up and faced away from him. "I'm going to sleep."

He made a noncommittal noise, and I heard him climb onto the bed next to mine. As I stared blindly at the wall, I couldn't help but be aware of every one of his movements. Of his gaze, burning into my back.

I still wanted him.

I'd walked away from him, but damn it, my entire body still buzzed. It was crazy.

He was growing more suspicious, there was no question. My disguise was good—only a few people in the world even knew that it was possible to do what I'd done—but every minute in his company was a step closer to him learning the truth.