Chapter 23

The man’s a screamer.

The noise is melodic to my ears. Addicting. Better than any drug on the market.

At four foot nine, he’s significantly smaller than the average man. Orange hair sticks out in all directions, matted down in the center with blood. Freckles dot his sinewy face and large nose. In normal circumstances, I would consider him ugly.

But when he screams?

He turns beautiful.

Not as beautiful as my Angel, of course, but nothing compares to her.

“Sean, Sean, Sean.” I shake my head in feigned disapproval. “This will all be over the second you tell me what I want to know.”

Sean had been a part of the guild with me. Plucked off the streets at sixteen years old, he has always been a condescending prick. I don’t understand why Narian chose him. Maybe because he was small and could get into locations the average man could not.

Narian.

Just his name sends anger coursing through me, seeping into my bone marrow. The air around me lights up in a red sheen.

Fucking Narian.

I hate him with an intensity and passion that leaves me breathless. The fucker was the one who gave me a home, a purpose. Trained a ten-year-old boy how to be a lethal killer. He’s also the same man who took that ten-year-old boy’s innocence away.

And yet, he’s the man I’m desperate to find.

“Come on, Sean. I know you still talk to him.” I dig my blade into the werewolf’s neck, and blood sputters out, staining my favorite pair of shoes.

“Go to hell, Damien,” Sean pants before another scream cuts him off. I could use my magic on the simpering fool, but I much prefer getting my hands dirty. Well, bloody.

Twisting the second knife beneath his ribcage, I listen to his satisfying gurgling as more blood erupts from his mouth.

“You’ll set up a meeting with Narian for me, won’t you, Sean?” I pat his bloodied cheek. “I have some questions I need to ask him about a particular job.”

“The Raphael Turner job?” Sean spits, face creasing with pain. “I heard you’re shacking up with the bitch that killed him?—”

Before he can finish whatever vulgar thing he’s going to say, I reach a hand into his chest and grab his still beating heart. His face goes slack, wide, sightless eyes staring at something just above my shoulder.

I really hadn’t meant to kill him.

“Oops,” I murmur, dropping the organ onto the ground. He shouldn’t have referred to Nina as a “bitch,” then. Just hearing that degrading term causes snakes to come to life in my gut, slithering and hissing.

Using my knife, I cut the ropes that are holding Sean up, and he falls to the ground with an audible thump. While he may not be able to physically deliver my message for me, it’ll still be heard. I just killed one of Narian’s men. That’s a call to war if I ever heard one.

And this time, I’ll be ready.

Using magic, I eliminate the blood coating my body and run a hand through my slicked back hair. I shove both my knives into my sleeves before walking briskly down the hall towards the throne room.

While Blade had instructed me to reach out to my old connections in the guild, he has been working tirelessly to get answers out of the batshit crazy Rion, Lionel Green’s old assistant.

What can I say about Lionel Green? Hmmm.

He’s a self-righteous asshole who believes that all species should be segregated, humans should be slaves, and women should be demoted to the kitchen. He’s a shifter, a powerful one, with four forms, a feat that is nearly unheard of. A wolf, a dog, a human, and a hyena.

What role did he play in Raphael’s death? What does that have to do with Nina?

“Oh, hey, buddy!” Rion lifts his head from where it’s lolling against his chest. Both his eyes are swollen shut, and blood coats his dark skin. His hands are raised above his head, held immobile by magical chains. He swings back and forth like a pendulum.

Blade stands in front of him with an indolent, almost tired, expression. Cain and Abel are leaning against the wall, whispering to each other.

That means Bronson is with my Angel.

“Has he talked?” I ask without preamble, stalking forward.

“I’m always talking. All the time. Talk. Talk. Talk. My momma says I have an asshole for a mouth, that I’m always spewing out shit,” Rion says, offering me a deranged laugh.

Crazy fucker.

“In answer to your question, no.” Blade forks his fingers through his thick black hair, looking as if he wishes to be anywhere else. Or with anyone else. Particularly, a certain blind female.

“I told you.” Rion spits some sweaty hair out of his mouth. “I hate Lionel. Yeah, I worked for him. Yeah, I was his little bitch boy for a couple years.” His laughter increases, cutting off abruptly when a pained cough shakes his body. “But I don’t know anything about his feud with Raphael. Did he hate the guy? Hell, yes. But murder him? No fucking idea. Look, I’m only putting up with this shit for my little cuddle buddy. I can easily free myself and kill you all.”

“Please.” I roll my eyes, removing one of my daggers from my sleeve. My hand stumbles across the swath of fabric still wrapped around my wrist—Nina’s dress, from when she bandaged me. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you now.”

“You won’t,” Rion protests with the utmost confidence. “Because you know my snuggle buddy will be sad without her Mr. Scruffles.”

“I want to be Bambi’s snuggle buddy,” Abel whispers to Cain.

Ignoring them, I turn to face Blade. “We have to get going.”

Blade lets out a ragged sigh, stepping back from Rion with a pained expression. The dragon shifter looks tired. Weary. In a span of seconds, he has aged years, maybe centuries. Lines crease his once flawless face.

“Nina still with Bronson?” Blade directs at the twins, and Cain nods once. “Good. She can’t witness this.”

“Ohhh…we’re talking about my snuggle buddy, aren’t we?” Rion rambles. “If you’re going to see her, tell her I miss her boobs. But, like, not in a creepy way. In a cat way. They’re fun to sit on. And tell her that I’m a nice, generous person, willing to share her with all of you assholes. Oh! And tell her about the turtle dove. Wait…don’t tell her that. I repeat: do not tell her that.”

A gag is placed in Rion’s mouth before he can verbally run himself into a brick wall.

“Watch him,” Blade instructs the twins, and Abel’s eyes glint mischievously. It’s a dangerous, scary look.

The guys like to act like I’m the most psychotic here, and though that may be true, the others aren’t far behind me. I’m willing to bet my nut sack that the twins will engage in questionable torture techniques while we’re away.

Without another word, Blade stomps down the hall, waiting only a second for me to catch up. We move quickly through the ever-changing passageways, only having to backtrack once when we make a wrong turn.

The tunnels are vast, but we are as familiar with them as we can be.

Finally, we stumble into an immense gray room surrounded by bleachers, all of which are currently occupied. I can’t remember the last time someone cleaned this place, but it doesn’t bother me. It actually adds something to the animalistic environment. Blood stains the cement floors and walls, and a musty smell barrages me, intermingling with the pungent stench of sweat and copper.

Two men stand in the center of the room, in the makeshift clearing the arena-style bleachers create.

Blade’s face could’ve been carved from stone as he walks forward, stopping directly between them. The raucous cheering cuts off immediately when the prisoners set eyes on their king. For the longest time, I thought you could either be vicious and brutal or respected, never both. Blade has proven me wrong.

“A challenge has been issued!” Blade roars, and the crowd cheers, thirsty for blood. Animals. All of them. They live off the blood and death that occur within these very walls. “Timothy Rojas has challenged Michael Joel to a duel!” The crowd’s noise ratchets up a notch, the energy infectious. I almost want to crack a smile at the bloodlust permeating the air.

We have these dumbass duels once every week in a brutal fight to the death. It’s the way we maintain control of the prison and everyone inside it. Once a challenge has been issued, you can’t refuse. You either fight…or die. And if you decide to be a little bitch and run away, then it’s open hunting season.

Timothy raises his fists into the air, basking in the crowd’s enthusiasm. Michael, on the other hand, looks as if he wants to shrink into his shell and disappear.

I give him a few minutes.

No words are spoken as Blade stares between the two men. A silent conversation is exchanged until the dragon shifter steps back, arms crossed over his chest. I stand just to the side of him, in his shadow.

Always his fucking shadow.

The fight begins.

There’s no declaration. No announcement starting the fight. The second Blade steps back, the men charge at each other, throwing punches and kicks.

For such a scared man, Michael is a surprisingly good fighter. Fast. He easily sidesteps every punch thrown his way.

For the first time since the fights have begun, Blade doesn’t look like he’s enjoying himself. His eyes are shadowed, haunted, and his tattooed hands are clenched into fists.

“She doesn’t have to know about this side of things,” I murmur, easily able to read him.

“This will break her,” he replies, and I can’t help but agree. My Angel doesn’t do well with violence.

The crowd begins to chant when Michael is knocked down to his knees. Blood leaks into his eyes, but he doesn’t let up. Instead, it only makes him fight harder and faster, the need for vengeance and retaliation the driving force. The sight of his own blood makes his attacks feral and unhinged, each movement gradually becoming more and more chaotic. He delivers a punishing blow to his opponent’s ribs, and the larger man falls to the ground, blood splattering everywhere.

Chest heaving, Michael crouches down, grabs Timothy’s neck, and snaps it.

The cheers and roars are nearly deafening.

Blade steps forward, his frosty persona once more in place. Ignoring the blood still coating the other man’s skin, he interlocks their fingers and holds their hands up in the air.

“We have a winner!”

I stare at the faces in the audience, salivating for blood. For death. For pain.

No, my Angel can definitely never learn about this.