Page 37 of Licence To Howl
Moretti waved an irritated hand. ‘Si, si. You have thirty minutes. Then the next fight will begin.’ He walked away.
‘The way you fought that kid was kind of you,’ Scarlett commented quietly.
He glanced at her. ‘I’m not a bad guy,’ he told her. ‘Not all the time anyway.’
‘I never thought you were, Devereau.’ She held out her hand for the empty bottle and he passed it to her.
‘Thank you.’ He didn’t say it only for the water. ‘Is this your kind of thing, Scarlett? Fighting like this? Is this what vampires do too?’
‘We’re a little more cerebral than your kind.’ She hesitated. ‘There’s something to be said for having an enthusiastic crowd watching your every move though.’
‘Not just an enthusiastic crowd,’ Devereau said grimly, thinking of the motorcyclist who remained unwilling to peel himself away no matter what the circumstances were.
Scarlett nodded. ‘I saw him. He’s still up there. Judging from the way he’s keeping away from the rest of the audience, he probably sneaked in here. Solentino isn’t taking any chances.’
‘He wants the ring.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Don’t we all.’
Devereau could only shrug. ‘Maybe he wants to enjoy the show without others bellowing in his ear. Although I suspect you’d put on a better display than I did. You’re more of an exhibitionist than I am.’
Scarlett grinned. ‘Bullshit. You like to show off as much as I do. You just hide it better.’
‘You like a show?’
‘Devereau,’ she drawled, ‘I love a show.’
Chapter Fifteen
If the onefanged lady loved a show, then he’d give her a show. When it was time for his second fight, Devereau strode out onto the stage flicking his red cloak with enough melodrama to appease the surliest of onlookers. From the watching crowd above, someone screamed out his name. Devereau looked up in the direction the call had come from and blew a kiss to a teenage girl. She shrieked and clutched her heart; Devereau bowed towards her.
‘For the second fight of the evening,’ the announcer said, ‘we present to you Beatrice and Beppe.’
Devereau turned and saw the couple walking hand in hand towards him. Twins, he realised, as he looked from face to face. Well, this would be interesting. They’d elected to come out in their human forms but they wasted no time in shifting in an explosion of flying fabric and fur. Their movements were strangely synchronised and Devereau couldn’t help wondering whether that was by design or because of some inexplicable bond they both as a result of their shared genetic traits. Either way, he didn’t have much time to ponder the matter. The announcer was very keen to get matters underway.
‘Uno,’ she yelled, ‘duo … tre!’
Although the twins were young, it was clear they had considerably more experience at this sort of thing than Arsenio. They took their time, separating initially to circle round Devereau’s standing form. They were aiming to divide his attention – and double their chances. Devereau was well aware that he’d need to be on his guard. Until one of them made a move, he would remain exactly where he was. He had no problem with patience.
He remained still, eyeing the pair as they looped around him, again and again. He knew that they would attack when one of them was at his back. It’s what he would have done in their shoes and, after six whole revolutions, that’s exactly what happened. Beppe lunged at him from the front while Beatrice threw herself at his back. Devereau ducked in the nick of time, crouching down and grabbing hold of Beatrice’s front legs from behind before flipping her over his head to block Beppe’s attack. She howled in pain when her own twin brother’s teeth latched onto her skin. Realising his mistake, Beppe released his jaws and staggered back – just in time to receive a sharp kick in his side from Devereau. As he went down, Beatrice ran at him, rage reflected in her narrowed, lupine eyes. She jumped up, claws outstretched. She was going for his neck. Devereau steeled himself, aware that this could be bad. He could block her but he would be unable to do much else. He spun, his cloak flipping through the air with him. Instead of ripping out his jugular as she’d no doubt intended, Beatrice became entangled with the cloak’s snaky fabric. Devereau ripped it away from his neck as soon as he realised what was happening. Then, as Beatrice stumbled, her front paws caught up in the red fabric, Devereau took the other end of the material and wrapped it round her muzzle with deft speed. She made a good attempt at freeing herself but it wasn’t good enough. In the end, she gave up and flipped onto her back. Beatrice was fierce – but she knew when she was beaten.
Devereau glanced towards her brother. ‘You still want some?’ he asked.
Beppe was too distraught over his inadvertent bite into his own sister’s flesh. She was bleeding profusely from the wound and it was obvious that, twins or not, she was the dominant wolf. He shook his head, his fur rippling in the light Roman breeze which escaped through the many holes in the walls of the Colosseum.
Devereau shrugged. So much for fight two then. It was just as well. His stomach was gurgling again and he knew he’d to find the nearest restroom without further delay.
* * *
His bowels might feelempty but there was no sign yet of the Ring of All Seasons. That wasn’t a bad thing. The longer it stayed stuck in his guts, the longer he could toy with Solentino – and maintain relations with Scarlett. She’d given him an inquiring look when he’d exited the restroom and, pleasingly, hadn’t appeared too disappointed when he’d shaken his head. Laxatives could only go so far; retrieving the ring would be mostly up to Mother Nature herself.
Devereau had half expected that the third fight would follow the same pattern and that this time, he’d be forced to face three attackers. The Lupo werewolves weren’t quite as predictable as that, however. His opponent was a small wiry wolf who more than made up in speed what he lacked in muscle. He gave Devereau the run around, and even landed several small but vexing nips to his arms and legs before Devereau managed to grab hold of his body and sit on top of him until the clock ran out. His fourth fight was with a female who possessed the squat bones of a naturally born werewolf but who was also surprisingly tall. She followed his lead, remaining in her human form almost until the last minute.
‘Shift,’ she hissed at him repeatedly. ‘Show us what you really are, Englishman!’
Devereau had no intention of doing that until he absolutely had to, although when she went for his groin area he was almost forced to. It wasn’t brute strength or skill which won that fight; it was merely that time ran out and he survived to continue on.
‘Were you afraid to fight her because she’s a woman?’ Scarlett inquired, after the fight was done. ‘You looked like you were holding back in the same way you did with the kid at the start. You’re still too human, Devereau Webb. Maybe you’ll never be a real supe.’
