Page 28 of The Demon's Fire
The big mutherfuckers circled each other, ignoring the din arising from the crowd. Sweat rolled down their bodies as each waited for the other to make a move, to make a mistake.
Dermott crouched on massive legs, preparing to strike. Kole figured this male to win the tournament. Though he had a slight height and muscle advantage, it was his eyes that spoke of victory. They were cold, deadly, merciless.
Azamat charged, his long blade slicing into Dermott’s flesh, but his short blade was deflected by the shield. He stepped back, bringing his weapons into position again.
Dermott snarled, swinging his axe overhead, chopping downward. When his opponent ducked to the side, his weapon missed by inches.
They danced around each other once more. Azamat lunged, thrusting his knife forward.
When he fell short of his target, Kole knew it was the mistake Dermott waited for. Taking advantage of Azamat being off balance, he swung his axe, burying it blade deep in the pride demon’s chest, barely missing his heart.
Azamat pawed at the slippery handle, struggling to pull it out while blood flowed from the wound, puddling on the white floor. His legs folded.
Dermott fisted his weapon handle, ripping it from the male’s flesh, resting a foot on his downed opponent until Horach thumb-upped him. He sought another combatant.
The defeated Azamat jerked, his breath a series of gurgles, his chest barely heaving.
When blood sullied much of the tiled floor, only one fighter remained—Dermott. He strode forward, stepping over the bodies of his fallen comrades.
Though most of the audience cheered his triumph, others booed, dissatisfied with the outcome. Skyler’s shoulders stiffened, her back straight.
Kole sniffed the air, redolent with a coppery scent. The violence aroused the spectators, their demon beasts flickering, eager to be set free, to revel in the savagery, to dip their hands in blood. Even he had to inhale-exhale to cage his monster.
Skyler twisted around to glance at Kole, who waited for a crack to appear in her armor. It didn’t. With the battle ceremony at an end, he squeezed her shoulder, trying to warn her to stay calm. She knit her eyebrows together while she searched his eyes. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly. She faced forward again, white-knuckling the arms of her chair.
Dermott took a slow, swaggering stroll around the arena to the cheers and catcalls from the crowd. He waved his axe high in the air, blood dripping down his arm while he absorbed the glory of his victory. When he approached the pride demon section, he paused, daring a challenge from one of Azamat’s tribe. None came, though they hurled boos and insults. He lumbered on to stand in front of his fellow envy demons. They rushed from their seats to hoist him onto their shoulders, marching him once more through the rotunda.
Kole rubbed the back of his neck, clenching his jaw so tight, he felt bones shift. He spread his legs apart, his biceps flinching as he prepared for trouble.
Horach tapped Skyler’s arm, smiling with obvious pleasure at the bloody event. “Forgive our display of bravado, Chief Maxwell. It has been so long since we practiced this ritual. You have given us a glimpse into our heritage. We are heady with it.” A hearty laugh arose from his barrel chest.
The envy demons set Dermott on his feet when they reached Skyler. He passed off his shield, pounding a fist against his blood-splattered chest. “My services are yours, Chief Maxwell.” He glanced around, bouncing his axe in the air, getting new cheers from the crowd.
Horach unfolded from his stone-carved seat, his hand held high. “A worthy victor awaits you. We have readied the Genesis Chamber with a hot bath, luxury oils, food, and drink. Dermott will feed you there. He is yours until daybreak or until he satisfies your hunger.”
When he addressed Kole, his voice was cold. “You may collect Chief Maxwell in the morning. We have prepared quarters for you in another wing.”
ChapterEight
Celenewas on a tirade, having summoned the guard again today. As usual, he stared at her with dead eyes.
“Suit yourself, asshat. We’re implementing our plan. Let this be your notice. The humans are on strike.” To make her point, she stomped to the refrigerator, flung open the door, and started tossing food onto the floor. A tub of butter. A bowl of leftovers.
Jace, who had been leaning against the wall, observing, hurried to the cabinets where she launched plates, saucers, and canned goods.
A slow smile traveled across the guard’s face. “I’ll force feed you myself, bitches.”
“Good luck with that. I bet you can’t cram enough into us to keep us healthy. I’m also guessing your boss won’t be happy. Someone seems to want us alive.” Celene poured milk onto the floor, where it spread out in a slippery sheet of white.
Jace whipped her strawberry-blonde hair around, grabbed a plate, and lobbed it at the guard’s head, forcing him to duck. She smiled when he growled.
The asshat crossed the room, snatching Celene by the back of her neck. He forced her to her knees, soaking her pants in milk. “Now lick up this shit.”
“Make me, dickhead.” She winced when he squeezed hard, but she made no attempt to kowtow to his order.
He pushed her face into the spilled liquid.
Jace attacked from behind with a forceful kick between his legs.
