Page 76 of Song of the Shadow Prince
“Thank you,” she purred, her eyes locked on his with genuine appreciation. “You’ve been incredibly helpful.”
As we turned to leave, I caught the werewolf watching us go, his gaze fixed on Cat and her curves. Heated jealousy flared within me, unexpected and fierce. “Keep it together,” I muttered under my breath, not entirely sure if I was more annoyed at Cat for flirting or at me for caring so much.
“Wasn't that fun?” Cat teased, glancing back at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
“Just remember why we're here,” I snapped. My voice was sharper than intended, my nerves frayed by the scene I had just witnessed. We walked in silence past another row of stalls, her hand clenched firmly in mine. “You really played him with that charm back there.” My voice pitched low, I tried to shake off the annoyance that had clung to me since our encounter at the werewolf's stall.
Cat, holding the token tightly in her hand, flashed a mischievous smile. “Jealous?”
“No,” I grunted, the irritant tightening further. Her casual demeanor in the face of danger grated on me more than I cared to admit.
She was silent for a moment before softly conceding, “Okay, Damien. But you can't deny it worked.”
As we headed toward the blacksmith’s forge where the underground fights were supposedly located, I couldn’t shakethe feeling that this night was pulling us deeper into the shadows of the Underclaw Market than I originally planned. The narrow alley swallowed us with its looming darkness and the clamor of the Underclaw Market faded into a distant murmur, replaced by our echoing footsteps on the damp cobblestones. The air grew heavier, tinged with the tang of rust and something bitter—fear, perhaps, or anticipation.
We reached the end of the alley where the faint glow from a forge painted shadows on the walls. The door, as described, was guarded by two towering figures that looked more like stone gargoyles than men. As we approached, the thudding of my heart matched the rhythmic pounding of the blacksmith’s hammer somewhere behind us.
Cat confidently stepped forward, the small metal token glinting in her hand under the weak lantern light held by one of the guards. She handed it over with a steadiness that belied the pulse I noticed jumping at her throat.
The guard examined the token with an unreadable expression before nodding stiffly and stepping aside. The door groaned open and revealed a steep, narrow staircase that descended into darkness. Moldy earth and stale sweat wafted up, along with a faint, underlying smell of blood—a sharp reminder of what lay below.
I recaptured Cat’s hand and took the lead. She tightened her grip and I peered over my shoulder at her curiously.
“You said to stay close,” she murmured.
I nodded and turned back around, thankful she decided to listen.
We descended the stairs, each step echoing hollowly around the stone walls. The sounds from below grew louder with each step—a roaring crowd, the thud of flesh against flesh, and sharp cries of pain or victory. It was like walking into the belly of some horrid beast, the atmosphere growing denser, the air heavier.
At the bottom, the underground fighting pit opened up before us, a crude arena lit by torches that tossed harsh shadows onto the eager faces of the crowd. The pit was a circle of trampled earth with ropes marking its boundaries, the earth stained dark from the blood of countless previous bouts.
The spectators, a mix of supernaturals from across Elaria, were a hidden throng with faces concealed behind garish masks that did little to hide their bloodthirsty anticipation. The smell of sweat and blood was overpowering, and the noise was an almost physical thing—a cacophony of cheers, jeers, and gambling stakes being shouted over one another.
“Holy shit,” Cat murmured, her voice barely audible over the crowd. “This is insanity!”
Cat clung slightly to my arm as we found a spot along the edge of the crowd. The fights were brutal, a visceral display of strength and savagery that left nothing to the imagination. Two combatants, their bodies marked by scars and fresh wounds, fought with a desperation that was as compelling as it was horrifying.
“Do you see anything?” I said to her above the noise. I knew we seemed out of place compared to the crowd of ravenous, bloodthirsty gamblers.
“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Look up there.” She pointed up at the top of the arena.
Mounted against the far wall was a painting that was completely incongruous in an illicit gambling den, but which could be easily missed if I hadn’t been searching for it.
“That’s one of Arya’s,” she said. “I can almost guarantee it.”
“How can you be so sure?” I narrowed my gaze to get a better look at the painting in such dim lighting.
“I got a look at her work today. I don’t know much about art, but it looks like her style,” she said. “Now the million-dollar question is why the hell would they hang it up here?”
“Dollar?” I questioned with raised brows. “What is that?”
She waved me off. “Ignore me. That’s what we call money in my world. But seriously, what the heck is her artwork doing in an underground fight? I thought it was being sold off?”
“It must be for something else; thewhatis what we don’t know,” I mumbled as I continued to scan the area.
The fight was coming to a gruesome end, with both fighters slowing down. When the winner was announced and money was exchanged, it would turn into chaos. I had to make sure I didn’t lose Cat.
Casually, I slipped my hand in hers and gripped it tightly. She peered over at me. “The fight’s about to end,” I murmured. “I can’t have you getting lost.”
