Page 62 of Butterfly Assassin
“Can you make out what they’re saying?” He was having trouble making himself heard over the shouts from the people around him, so he didn’t expect a favourable answer. When Harry shook his head, it was still disappointing though.
They’d just have to hope they had better luck after the fight, when people started to leave.
“How long do his fights usually last?”
“Not long. Two, three rounds tops.” Harry grinned. “That’s why they call him the Assassin.”
“Ahh.” Made sense.
Now when he looked at Aaron, that nickname didn’t sound funny at all. He was all grace and fluid movement, light on his feet as if he was almost flying. But the edge of danger he held sent a shiver down Michael’s spine.
Butterfly Assassin was the perfect name for him.
The announcer yelled for the fight to start, and the crowd erupted into shouts for whoever they’d bet on.
As the two fighters advanced on each other, Michael finally took notice of the other guy,Mac Martin. And Jesus Christ, he was massive. Maybe six foot four, six five, built like a tank. “Is he like you?” he whispered to Harry because the guy looked too big to be human.
“No,” Harry whispered back. “Just fucking huge.”
His fists were huge too. Michael winced as he took a well-aimed swing at Aaron, then sighed in relief when Aaron danced out of the way. He darted in, trying to get under Martin’s guard, but Martin was too quick.
They traded jabs, each evading the other until Aaron landed a punch to Martin’s kidney with enough force to make him double over for a moment before righting himself.
Michael heard Harry’s muttered, “Careful,” and tried not to worry. Aaron had been in plenty of fights. He could keep his strength in check.
Another punch caught Martin on the jaw and he staggered back a step. Aaron shot a quick glance over to the corner where Blake was, a slight scowl on his face, then seemed to slow down. Harry caught it too, frowning as Martin then landed two consecutive hits.
Someone yelled the end of the round and the fighters stalked off to opposite sides.
Aaron bent to get a bottle of water, drinking heavily before setting it down again. He flinched when he stood back up like he actually hurt. And shit, he couldn’t heal when he fought.Of coursehe couldn’t or people would see. Michael had listened when Aaron had told him that, but apparently, it hadn’t really sunk in what that meant. Yes, Aaron could heal later, after the fact, but while he was fighting? He’d be in just as much pain as the other guy.
The second round went much like the first. Aaron landed a good couple of blows, but Martin caught him on the jaw, splitting his lip. Blood trickled down his chin, and Aaron wiped it away with his taped hand.
It was easy to see how Aaron’s blood got on Crossford’s tape.
“This is where he usually ends it,” Harry said, smiling.
Michael tensed, waiting for Aaron to land the final blow, but it never came.
He hit Martin in the side again, but not enough to knock him down. In fact, Martin barely looked winded. When he darted forward—surprisingly fast for such a big guy—Michael expected Aaron to dodge and then counter-attack, but Martin’s fist smashed into Aaron’s ribs, knocking him to the floor.
Harry flinched beside him. Clearly, this wasn’t what usually happened.
Aaron glanced over to the corner again as he got to his feet, a little shaken.
The round ended without either of them making significant contact again, thank God, because Aaron was definitely favouring his left side now.
Back at the edge of the ring, Aaron poured water over his face this time, shaking the excess off and splattering a few people nearby. Michael stared at him, willing him to turn their way. He wanted to get a look at Aaron’s eyes, make sure he wasn’t in any kind of trouble. But Aaron stared straight ahead, appearing to see nothing.
Another two rounds passed. During the last one, Harry had taken to clenching and unclenching his hands, flinching every time Martin’s fist connected with any part of Aaron.
After four rounds of trading punches, both fighters looked worse for wear. Cuts and red marks covered their bodies and faces, tape-covered hands smeared with blood.
“I thought you said three rounds max?” Michael muttered, marvelling at the control Aaron had over his body. None of his injuries showed any sign of healing.
Before meeting Aaron, Michael hadn’t known that was possible. As far as he was concerned, shifters got hurt and they healed.
Harry tore his gaze away from Aaron, his worry clear. “That’s the longest he usually lets them go, and he doesn’t normally take this many hits.”
