Page 78 of The Demons in the Deep: Extended Edition
At the sound of the horn, the Sky-born swept his wings downward in a great pulse of wind and power, and he leaped aloft. He swirled overhead, then dove, streaking toward Rake and sweeping past him.
Rake lashed out and felt the tips of his claws skim through stiff, strong feathers. Again the Sky-born rose high above him, and again he dove, not attacking, but skimming past Rake.
Three more times he did it—but Rake knew this strategy. Knew it, because Acrid had done it too, shooting past him over and over before darting in to inflict the real pain.
When the attack finally came, he was ready.
Or he thought he was. He expected the Sky-born to catch him by the throat and lift him, or to aim for his gut—but instead the Sky-born barrelled into him bodily, knocking him off his feet. The winged man was surprisingly lightweight, but he’d aimed his body precisely at Rake’s center of gravity—a perfectly targeted onslaught.
A crunching blow followed, straight to the buckle of Rake’s golden belt. A ripping of taloned fingers, and the broken belt fell away, along with Rake’s scrap of clothing.
The change happened instantly. Every particle of Rake’s lower body separated from the others, gathered, and reformed into his thick tail, coated with gleaming golden scales. He couldn’t stand—he crashed sidelong and lay there, his wide blue fin flicking helplessly.
The crowd roared with the voice of a hurricane, a gale-force assault on his sensitive ears. His opponent flew upward again, in front of the sun this time. Rake hadn’t been allowed goggles for the fight, and he nearly screamed from the blinding pain of the rays in his eyes as he tried to see where his attacker was.
Half-blind and deafened by the shrieking humans, Rake choked as his gills flared open. He clapped both hands over them, forcing himself to breathe through his mouth.
This was his nightmare. It was every fear he’d endured about not fitting in on land, coalesced into a horrible, humiliating reality. He was the half-fish, lying on the ground, flopping about. How he ached to be in the cool embrace of the ocean now, instead of twitching and writhing under the gaze of thousands of human eyes.
Worst of all was the thought of Mai watching his humiliation, and possibly his death.
But Rake had no more time for self-pity, because with a rush of black-and-violet wings, the Sky-born was back, gripping Rake under the arms, trying to lift him, to carry him up and drop him from some dizzy height—but Rake’s tail weighed him down, and the winged man screeched with frustration and flew off, landing several paces away.
Rake lunged to a sitting position, propping himself on his arms. Through the sensory overwhelm, one thought pierced his mind.
His tail was heavy, yes, but it was heavy with muscle, rippling with latent power.
He had not practiced using it on land, or in a fight—but if he had a choice between dying like a brainless fish or dying like a champion, he would choose the latter.
The Sky-born was pacing toward him, wings folded back, determination in every step.
And as he neared, Rake braced his arms, contracted his torso, and whipped out his tail, a mighty slap that knocked the Sky-born across the arena in a tangle of limbs and wings. Again Rake was startled at the light weight of the other fighter. A weakness he could exploit.
The Sky-born leaped up, the golden tan of his face deepening with a flush of anger. He stalked Rake more cautiously this time, but when he darted in, Rake spun on his hands and lashed his tail again, striking the Sky-born’s side with the force of a battering ram.
The snap of a rib, and the Sky-born screamed, crashing onto his back, his wings fluttering against the sand.
Before he could recover, Rake bucked and flipped on top of him. The heavy tail pinned the Sky-born’s legs, and Rake’s chest crushed against the other male’s torso, ribs grinding against ribs. The Sky-born cried out again, a birdlike scream of pain, a wordless cry for help.
But Rake’s kind ate birds, and he felt no pity.
The Sky-born tore into his back with sharp talons, but Rake’s mind was a blaze of ravenous hunger, and he barely felt it.
His head jerked aside instinctively, and his jaws stretched wide, teeth emerging for the kill.
“Please.” The word hissed through the Sky-born’s bloodied teeth. “Sea-Spawn, son of the Mother Ocean—by the song of the Great Deep, the one your ancestors sang to mine, I beg you to spare me.”
“My kind do not sing.” Rake’s voice slurred through his fangs.
“They used to,” gasped the Sky-born. “They used to.”
Rake’s body shook with the desire for the blood he could smell on the winged man’s breath. He wanted to sink his teeth in, bite deep, and tear loose the fragile life of this creature.
The arena around him had fallen utterly silent, every pair of eyes trained on the two of them. Mai would be looking, too. Watching him.
His pearl, waiting to see what he would do.
Rake swallowed and managed to retract his teeth. “Do you yield?”
