Page 77 of The Enemy to the Living
“Oh, will we?”
I’m anticipating the next kiss, and I grip the back of Quinn’s neck and swallow his groan. Whatever is going to happen tonight, Quinn seems pleased about it. Excited. Maybe he’ll have fulfilled whatever end of the bargain the twins gave him. Maybe it’s all over.
Cheeks flushed, lips swollen, Quinn pulls back, breathing hard. “Tonight,” he says, and I grin back at him.
“Tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Quinn
I’mfloatingonacloud as I make my way to Mischief & Mayhem a few hours later. Asher lent me some clothes of his to wear, and I almost asked him to come join me in the shower, but I wasn’t quite brave enough for that.
It doesn’t matter. I’m almost free. The text Sorrel sent me asked me to be at the pub at five, which is earlier than it opens, but only by a little. If I’m going to be in the first round of fights,it makes sense to be so early. Besides, I’m obligated to show up tonight, then that’s it.
This will mark my tenth time in the cage. Ten fights, like they asked.
I linger at the end of the alley for a moment. No fae waits outside, but the shadows are still heavy, and I slip through them with only a moment’s trepidation.
The pub is empty too, but the lights are all on, and the chairs are resting next to the tables instead of on top. I shrug when I don’t see any of the fae who work the bar and then cross through into the side room where we fight, and the back room after that.
One of the trolls who watches over Celyn and Sorrel is waiting inside. He’s sitting on the bench reading a newspaper when I walk in, but when I stop, he looks up and takes me in with a glance. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wearing a glamour; he’s big and broad, with the grey-ish tint to his skin that this type of fae seems to have in common.
“The twins want to see you,” he says. He folds up his newspaper and stands, then tucks it under his arm. “This way.”
I leave the room ahead of him, stomach twisting. I haven’t done anything to break our bargain. I haven’t told Asher or anyone else in the Hunt a damn thing about what’s going on here. I’ve been here for every fight they’ve requested.
He leads me back into the office from the other night, and when I set my eyes upon the spot where Bryn knelt, guilt and grief threaten to choke me. Bryn’s dead now. I swallow them down, then frown when I realise.
The room’s empty.
I whirl back around. The troll is standing in the doorway, newspaper still tucked under one arm.
“Are they…”
“No,” he says and pulls the door shut.
I hear the click of the lock and for a second, I stand there, frowning. He’s locked me in? Are they coming here?
Too late, it dawns on me what he’s just done. I try the door, but no matter how I pull or hurl myself against it, it stands strong.
Panic claws at my throat. I pull my phone out of my pocket, but I have no signal. The fire dances merrily in the hearth, and I yell and pound the door, but no one comes.
No one comes at all. I don’t hear the guests who must be in the pub by now or the sounds of fighting. I pace the room, hands curling into fists and then uncurling again.
It might have taken me a few minutes to work out that they trapped me in here, but I know what they’re doing. Fuck. They’ve played me for a fucking fool. I never should have made a bargain in the first place—just like with Bryn, they knew we’d end up here.
Time ticks by slowly as my despair only grows. I really thought I’d be done tonight. Especially after they called me in so early; I thought I’d go a few rounds, and my bargain would be done, and I could finally,finallyexplore things with Asher. Patch things up with Drew. Work out what to do next.
I sink into one of the chairs by the fire but barely feel the heat of it. Drew and the others… They won’t know what happened to me. If the twins drop me outside our pack house, will Asher tell them what he has to have guessed? I swallow a sob and blink rapidly as I tip my head back to stare up at the dark ceiling. I hope so. I know the Hunt are planning to move on this place soon. I hope they do it before any other wolves get hurt.
I don’t jump when the door opens, hours and hours later. The pub closes just before sunrise every day, and the twins won’t have changed that just to toy with me.
Celyn crosses into view first. He lowers himself elegantly in the armchair opposite me and crosses one leg over the other. Hisnails—blood-red, like his hair—tap a tune against the wood of the armchair.
“You missed your fight, little wolf,” he says. None of the gleeful pleasure I’m expecting to hear is present in his tone. His voice is flat, even, like he’s just stating a fact. I suppose he is.
“You tricked me,” I reply.
