Page 21 of The Enemy to the Living
They understand something, even if it’s just spotting my hesitation. No one’s shouting for me. I’m too new, too unknown. Bryn shows all his teeth when he smiles, and I don’t let myself shiver.
I run at him this time, bringing us both crashing down to the mats. His claws rake my side the second before I get a punch in, weakening the blow. Fuck. He’s not gone deep, but fire licks my skin all the same. Bryn twists beneath me and I follow his movement, keeping him pinned. I punch him again, harder this time, but when I try to do it a third time, he catches my fist and squeezes, claws digging in.
My muscles go weak. He’s far stronger than I am, and I don’t know if that’s because of his wolf or my own. Or just luck of the draw, maybe. I roll away, and thankfully, he lets go. When I stand, blood drips from my hand onto the mats.
The crowd is louder than I’ve ever heard it. There’s often this much blood between fae, but not wolves, not that we often fight each other. I fancy I canfeelSorrel’s and Celyn’s attention from the corner, and I don’t like that at all.
I risk a glance to the side, unable to help myself, and see something I like even less.
Asher.
He’s standing in the crowd, entirely unmoving, but the expression on his face—
He’sfurious. At me? My stomach twists and I spot Bryn’s movement out of the corner of my eye, but not fast enough to move out of the way. He shoves me up against the wall of the cage, punches me twice—and he’s pulling them but fuck, theyhurt—and then throws me aside.
I try to get up again but can’t. Oh, I’ll manage it eventually. Just not in time to continue this fight. Sure enough, the fae call it, and our audience erupts in cheers. Bryn’s eyes spark with concern when I drop my head back to the mats, but he raises his arms in triumph all the same.
Two trolls drag me out of the cage and deposit me, with no grace at all, in the back room. I haul myself up onto the bench, ignoring the knowing smirks of the fae waiting to fight. Fuck them. They’ve all got to go up against Bryn yet, and they don’t stand a chance.
My head spins, and I close my eyes. An hour or so and I’ll be well enough to walk myself out of here.
An hour or so and no doubt I’ll run into Asher again.
Chapter Nine
Asher
IleaveMischief&Mayhemabout ten minutes after Quinn’s fight. Fury roils inside me, more intense than I have felt in decades, but I cannot move too abruptly, not if I do not want to draw the twins’ attention.
The wolf in the cage is a good fighter, no doubt. I could still kill him. Easily.
And that is why I have to leave. My duty is to protect humans against the fae, not kill wolves because they dared put their hands on—
Standing across the road from the pub, I shake my head, clenching and unclenching my fists. On what? A wolf I hardly know? I do not know why my temper has the better of me, but it needs to stop.
After all, the only reason Quinn got hurt is because he saw me. I know that. He saw me, and I broke his focus, and the other wolf got the upper hand. I wasn’t wrong when that wolf first entered the cage; Quinn would have won. I’m certain of it.
I stand straighter when a large, huddled shape steps out of the alley. Quinn says something to the gancanagh still standing watch—something that makes them smile—and then heads in the direction of home, shoulders hunched. I’ve managed to corral my blessing well enough to hide myself in shadows, so I keep them around me now as I follow Quinn down the street.
He’s going home, I suppose, though he’s still clearly in pain. I can’t see any blood, but it was stark on his skin where the other wolf’s claws dug in. Would I be able to smell it, up close? My stomach turns. I don’t want to.
Quinn stops at the corner and frowns, looking back. The frown fades into an exasperated expression, and he shakes his head.
“Asher.”
His voice is a dangerous rumble, and my blessing eagerly steps aside, shadows falling away, leaving me standing there, exposed. I frown. It is not supposed to do that.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“I came to see you fight.”
“How did you find it?”
I stare at him for too long and he makes a distressed sound in the back of his throat before he starts walking again. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath when I catch up. “I’m fucked.”
“What? Why?”
He gives me a sideways look but doesn’t answer. I know we’re far from his pack house, and he seems to have no intention of taking a bus. It will be an hour or more before he gets home.
