Killing Time (20 page)

His gaze sharpening, Koda murmured, “What about them?”

I shrugged as if it were of no consequence. “They are free to use whatever methods they choose.”

He visibly swallowed, but mirrored my casual tone. “They fight to the death, you fight to the defeat. Should be an…interesting match.”

I narrowed my eyes a fraction at his stumble.

Consummate manipulators and political animals, fae understood the value of allies, which was undoubtedly why Cian hadn’t questioned Koda’s presence. But even so, if he stepped in, interfered, or in any way expressed concern, he’d be implying that I was weak and needed his support. Like a school of piranha, fae and those they’d trained—including, dammit, my own people—had a keen eye for weakness. For fear. Like gasoline on a fire, both only fed their inherent addiction to orgiastic violence.

Which reminded me…

Turning to Cian, I said, “I have one condition for combat.”

“And it is?”

“We name the combatants. I want to know who I’m fighting.”

Snorting his impatience, he waved irritably. “The male is called Onas, the female, Târre.”

“With me, Sephti, being the third fighter.”

“Yes! You, Onas and Târre!”

“Specified and agreed to,” I trumpeted quickly, before he could say anything else.

Cian’s face went white with sudden rage. “You clever little bitch…”

Koda frowned. “What’s he talking about?”

Before I could answer, the fae snapped, “She just ensured that I cannot interfere or participate.”

“And you can’t drag him,” I pointed at Koda with my chin, unwilling to use his name in front of Cian, “into this.”

Koda nodded slowly, his gaze locked on mine. “I see. Although I regret not having the opportunity to fight. It might have been entertaining.” His eyes glittered with arctic ice at my protecting him. But if Cian or the bitterns had threatened Koda to force my surrender—which, in this case, would be a guaranteed death sentence for me—I wouldn’t have resisted.

Turning my back to Cian, I let Koda see in my face that this was my gift to him. My showing that I valued his life above my own.

The ice in Koda’s eyes thawed, replaced by a confusing mix of anger and frustration and maybe even—

“A moment.” Cian’s voice broke my train of thought and its impossible conclusion. Swinging back around, I glared at him.

“The bitterns must prepare.” He snapped his fingers. Heads bowed, the male and female went to one knee before him.

Koda gestured to me and I followed him a short distance away. “What are they doing?” he asked.

Relieved that this was the topic rather than what I might have seen in his face, I blew out a breath. “They’re newly created. He’s revving them up for the fight.”

“How can you tell they’re new?”

“Lack of facial expression. They weren’t even following the conversation.”

Koda looked at me, a world of worry in his dark gaze. “Do I want to know what their names mean?”

“Onas is First, Târre is Third.”

“Rank is achieved through combat?”

I nodded. “Both through field operations and killing their superiors, yeah.” I grimaced, thinking of all the useless deaths. “Not all of us rose through the ranks by simply outlasting everybody else.”

Koda went pale. “So they’re evenly matched, with you being Second.”

I shrugged off his concern, although of course the thought had crossed my mind. “Cian said most of the stable was killed in the attack. As new as these two are, they wouldn’t have had a chance to rise through the ranks.”

“Or they were already skilled enough that they’d achieved their ranks
and
survived an attack that slaughtered almost everyone else.”

“Listen to you,” I mused, trying to ease the fear etching his handsome face. “Mr. Doom and Gloom.”

Refusing to be diverted, Koda asked, “Târre will be motivated to win so that she can move up to Second?”

“Probably.”

“Onas will want to ensure he maintains First?”

“Same answer.” I blew out another breath. “Do you have a point here, Koda?”

He looked at me for a long moment, once again dropping his guard and letting me see a wealth of emotion flooding his eyes—including terrible fear. For me.

Instinct resented what it saw as extreme doubt that I was up to the fight, but a growing part of me warmed that I mattered to him.

He gave me a lopsided smile, the awareness in his gaze proving he saw my dual reaction. “Kick their asses, Sephti.”

I flashed a wicked grin. Rolling my shoulders, I walked back to face my opponents as they rose to meet me. Looking into their silver eyes—the same eyes I saw every time I looked in a mirror—I wondered if they were capable of seeing as I did. How the angles of our cheekbones, our faces’ shape, the way our black hair absorbed the campfire’s golden glow, even the graceful, lethal way we moved gave testament to our shared genes. The same blood flowed through our veins, powered by the same hearts.

Where we differed was that the bitterns had achieved their frenzies and their faces were no longer devoid of emotion. Raw, mindless rage churned in those quicksilver eyes. Hectic red flooded their cheeks—did I get all blotchy like that, too? I wondered distractedly. Their teeth were bared and breath was all but hissing from their throats. For anyone else, such a sight would have been terrifying, especially when each drew a dagger—twins to my own—and moved forward in a rush.

All I felt was pity for my kinsmen and the unyielding determination to beat them senseless. With this in mind, I resolutely left my weapons sheathed.

Narrowing my focus to the here and now, I hurtled toward my opponents, not giving them time to try and flank me. Snapping a vicious kick into Târre’s face—the lesser threat, given her rank—I kneed Onas in the groin with the considerable momentum of my attack. Even in a frenzy, busting someone’s balls has a profound effect and Onas was no different. Letting out a pained grunt, he folded at the waist, right into my rising elbow. He staggered back, cradling his violated crotch and choking on the blood flowing from his shattered nose.

Letting him go, I spun on the already recovering Târre, barely dodging her blade as it whistled for my throat. Immediately charging into her backswing, I hammered her across the left ear, grunting from the effort and dancing away before she could nail me with her dagger. When she tried to press her attack, blood trickling from her ruptured ear drum, I somersaulted over her and pounded my fist into the right side of her head. She shrieked, dropping her weapon to cup both ears, rage and pain burning feverishly in her silver eyes.

Onas had made it back to his knees but before he got to his feet, I grabbed him in a headlock and rammed my knee repeatedly into his ruined face. He grunted from the blows, then got an arm around my supporting leg, knocking it out from under me before I could twist loose.

The nanosecond my back hit the ground, I rolled free, just avoiding the blade he tried to impale me with. Whipping to my feet, I spun a kick into his face and shaded just in time to keep Târre’s dagger from severing my spine. Even having dropped her weapon a second ago, the female was wicked-fast and beginning to piss me off.

Onas was on his hands and knees, blood pouring from his face, so I solidified my form and went after Târre like a wild woman. Using every part of my body, I pounded and kicked and head-butted and bit her, shrieking now with the effort. I wasn’t the only one dishing out savage abuse, though—both bitterns had nailed me repeatedly and I was vaguely aware that blood flowed from a staggering number of wounds. But in an uneven fight like this, I didn’t dare allow myself to register when they connected or managed to hurt me. The bitterns were too damn good and distractions of any kind would prove fatal.

Roaring with animalistic fury, Onas got to his feet and waded in. Back and forth, all over the campground, the three of us fought viciously. Dodging blades, fists and feet and taking advantage of every opening—even creating a few—I studied my opponents for any signs of weakness or injury, exploiting each with brutal abandon. Both were strong, skilled fighters, and lost to their frenzies, they kept pressing me, attacking with relentless savagery.

It was Târre who committed the first mistake and overreached in an unbalanced lunge at my throat, her instincts driving her to annihilate me and attain my higher rank. Easily blocking the female, I shattered her windpipe with a fist to her throat, all my weight and strength behind the blow. Pitilessly, I followed her to the ground, kicking her in the temple to ensure she stayed down. Better that than kill her, but she’d have a helluva headache when she regained consciousness.

In my own resolve to take Târre out of the fight, however, I’d left my flank open to Onas. Pinning my shoulder, he caught my left arm and snapped it above the elbow, snarling at the sound of breaking bone. I swallowed the scream and the pain, twisting to head-butt him full-on. His eyes glazed as his vision went out of focus, but he didn’t let go of my useless arm. Panting from the effort of repressing the agony, I got my right hand around to his crotch and twisted brutally. A scream tore from his throat and his spine went rigid. I head-butted him again, and this time he released my arm. Staggering out of my grip, his face wore a rictus of wretched pain.

No one achieved First by giving up, which Onas proved when he lunged, bellowing, his knife reaching for my belly. I blocked the blow, saving myself from evisceration. But it had been delivered with the force of his much greater weight and driven by the frenzy’s strength, pushing me off balance. Before I could dodge free of his backswing, he dragged his dagger across my right thigh. Severed muscle gave way and I collapsed to one knee, breath heaving in and out of me as I fought down a scream.

I’d been doing well against my own instincts’ demand that I give in to the frenzy, but the extreme effort required to block the agony of my brutalized body was becoming too much. Baring my teeth, I snarled like the cornered animal my bittern nature insisted I’d become and for a second, my vision began to tint red.

Worse than the torture slamming past my mental shields and shrieking through my ravaged senses, was the fact that I had fallen in front of a hated enemy. I’d be damned if I allowed the frenzy to take me over. Never mind that it would violate the conditions of combat and give Cian license to kill me. I bloody well would not lose control in front of the malignant sonuvabitch.

Fury drove me swaying to my feet. I made it almost all the way vertical, the burning drive to rise was almost enough, but gravity and shredded physiology were too much to overcome. Bisected muscle couldn’t take my weight and my leg collapsed beneath me. Sinking to the ground again, I stubbornly refused to go lower than my knee—ironically, the same one I’d injured in Chicago.

Wrestling the frenzy under control took all my will, which left precious little of my waning energy to block the agony scorching through me. Through narrow eyes, I watched Onas pick up Târre’s fallen dagger, and now armed with two blades, start toward me. There was a finality to his step that spoke volumes: my opponent was setting up for the killing stroke.

“Sephti.” Koda’s voice was rich and deep. I lifted my head to look at him, the first time I’d let myself do so since the fight began. He stood a few yards away, his arms crossed over his chest like he was waiting for me to hurry up and deal with Onas. While Koda’s body language showed easy confidence, his eyes were frantic.

A fire-cast, flickering shadow fell over me. I didn’t bother to look up at Onas drawing his daggers back, preparatory to plunging them into my heart. Keeping my gaze on Koda’s, I let my shoulders round, my spine slump—the very picture of abject defeat. He froze, not even breathing and I saw him gathering himself to save me.

That my ruse had deceived even him gave me hope this might actually work.

Shrieking my defiance, I flung myself sideways, blocking Onas’s dual blows and sacrificing my useless leg to sweep his feet from beneath him. The air slammed from his lungs from our combined weight as he landed flat on his back. Then I was on him, drawing my long-bladed daggers for the first time and driving them brutally into both of his shoulders.

Even pinned flat to the earth and covered in blood—not to mention the damage to his nether regions—Onas’s frenzy was still on him. Flailing mindlessly in his continued effort to kill me, he snapped his teeth and thrashed, howling like a rabid animal. Knowing he was incapable of surrender, I clubbed him across the temple. The first blow didn’t knock the tough jackass out, but the second one sure did.

Wanting only to collapse flat on the ground, and with luck pass out myself, I didn’t dare do either in Cian’s presence. In contests for rank, it was common for the combatants to so badly injure one another that he finished them off himself as they lay wounded. Even now, I could sense him moving in on me.

Koda got to me first. Subtly putting himself between Cian and me, he blocked the bastard’s view as I struggled to my feet, cradling my broken arm.

In a slow drawl, Koda said, “I hear the vampires in Chicago put up more of a fight. Perhaps Cian needs to revisit his training methods?”

Koda had timed his comment perfectly, drowning out my barely contained gasp at the scorching agony as I forced my mangled leg straight. Breathing through clenched teeth, I nodded my thanks, managing to stay upright through sheer willpower alone.

I could see behind his bland expression the self-control that kept him still, kept him from taking me in his arms and helping support my weight. So only I would hear, he whispered, “Hang on, Sephti.”

Cian came to stand in front of me, his hostile eyes taking in Koda’s position by my shoulder—close enough to intercede, given half a reason. I had no doubt, sensing the malice vibrating from Cian, that he would have gladly killed me then but for Koda’s presence. But while the threat of his terrifying brother’s retribution against anyone who lifted a hand to Cian had always kept him safe, the jackass wasn’t stupid. There was little satisfaction to be gained from knowing a kinsman avenged your murder, since you’d be dead. Besides, the stablemaster was far too careful with his own precious hide. He wouldn’t risk it with someone as powerful as Koda.