Page 34 of Taste of Blood
The bouncer at the door seems to recognize Miro and bends over to give him a rundown on the upcoming fights. I take the opportunity to look around.
The room is about the size of a large nightclub, with bare concrete floors and walls, harsh overhead lighting, and a huge cage that reaches nearly to the ceiling in the center. What looks like several hundred rabid spectators from all walks of life are pressed around it, all shouting and pumping their fists at whatever is going on in the cage.
The bloodlust is palpable and impossible to ignore, even for me, but I swallow it back and concentrate on maintaining control.
As we push our way into the crowd, Miro leans over to me to shout above them, “The next fight should be a good one.”
“How do you know?”
“They’re both champions. Come on, let’s place our bets.”
He leads me toward a short, dark-haired man in a ratty suit who’s clutching a small pad of paper in one hand and a fistful of cash in the other.
“Charlie!” Miro calls.
The man turns to us and smiles. “Miro. You want in on the next one?”
“You know it. My friend here does, too.”
He pushes me forward as Charlie pulls out a pen. “What’ll it be?”
“Dunlo.”
“Odds are in your favor,” he says as he flips to a new page of the pad and scribbles something. Miro pulls out five one hundred dollar bills and hands them to the man before he turns to me.
“Same bet?”
“Uh, sure.” I pull out my wallet and peel off the money, handing it over. I have no idea how this man knows who bet on who or how much they wagered, but Miro doesn’t seem particularly concerned about it, so I let it go.
“Good luck, gentlemen,” Charlie nods before diving back into the fray.
Miro grabs my arm and pushes us forward. Apparently the current fight is coming to a head, judging by the level of frenzy in the crowd. A spray of blood flies out over the heads of those near the cage as a collective groan goes up from some while the others are cheering. The bell rings, ending the match.
Almost immediately I see Charlie swamped by betters who I’m guessing are cashing out. A spot near the cage opens up and Miro points toward it and motions for me to follow him. After seeing the blood flying, I’m not sure I want to be this close to the action.
An attendant is helping what I assume is the loser up off the floor and out of the cage. His face is badly bludgeoned and one arm hangs loosely at his side. I know vampires are tough and almost impossible to kill, but he’s still got to be in pain.
As if sensing my concerns, Miro pats my arm reassuringly and points toward a bank of lockers and benches against the wall outside the cage. “They provide donors for the fighters.”
I watch as a thin young man in dirty clothing is led over to the loser of the fight. The attendant hands the fighter a knife and he cuts the man’s neck and begins to feed. Ordinarily the sight would be arousing, but something about the donor’s body language leads me to suspect he is unaware of what’s actually happening to him. I suppose, since the fights are sanctioned by the Crimson Guild, that it’s all above board, but it just seems a little seedy. Does Cord feed like that after a fight?
After a few minutes the crowd starts to filter back toward the cage as the attendant dumps a bucket of water on the floor inside to wash away the worst of the blood in preparation for the next fight. The excitement starts to build and people edge in, vying for a spot as close to the action as possible.
A cheer goes up as one of the combatants enters the cage and goes to the far corner. He’s a huge brute of a man, tall with thickly-packed muscles and a wild shock of dark hair that almost obscures his beady eyes. He pounds one fist against his open palm and snarls as his opponent steps inside.
This one is shorter by half a head, but built like a brick wall. His hands could easily cover my entire head, and I shudder to think what he could do with them in a fight. He goes to the opposite corner and glares at the other man. I get the feeling these two have met in the ring before.
The anticipation in the crowd builds until I can feel it vibrating against my skin. The attendant announces the twocombatants then steps outside the cage and locks the gate. A moment later the bell rings and all hell breaks loose.
These two make what Cord did to Smyth look like a lover’s spat. In no time both men are covered in blood as they kick, punch, gouge, and bite each other relentlessly. The crowd around me surges forward with every blow, their hunger for blood and violence transforming them into a rabid pack.
After about three minutes of this I’m ready to escape. I glance at Miro and see his eyes are glazed over with the same lust as the rest of the crowd. Apparently my own appreciation of violence extends only to Cord, because personally speaking, all this spectacle is doing is disgusting me.
Five minutes seems like an eternity. When the bell rings I suck in a ragged breath and try to collect myself in anticipation of the second round. The last thing I want is to endure another five minutes of this brutality, but I’m stuck so I might as well make the best of it. I look around the crowd across the cage from me to see if anyone else is having a similar identity crisis, but all I see is fanatical anticipation. Maybe I’m just an anomaly among vampires.
The second half of the fight isn’t any easier to watch than the first. If anything, it’s even more brutal, with both men exacting severe trauma on each other’s bodies. By the time it’s over, I couldn’t tell you who won. Neither looks victorious to me.
“That was fantastic!” Miro gushes, his eyes bright with lust. “Let’s go find Charlie.”
