Page 8 of Wicked Curses
Plus, most disagreements, such as this, were over petty things like cheating at gambling or because someone was in a pissy mood. His fights hadn’t been either of those things.
When he arrived, some didn’t like him, and others thought taking down a dark fae prince would be great fun. Those idiots never left the pit again, and no one else in this realm shared any of their grand plans, as no one bothered him again after that first week.
Other immortals would have kept coming at him if he’d allowed any of his enemies to survive. He’d put a quick and effective end to that.
The crowd cheered as the lycan punched the vamp in the face, spilling blood. And if there was anything immortals loved, it was blood.
The vampire dodged the lycan’s next few blows, ducked under his arm, and leapt onto his back. He wrapped his arms around the lycan’s shoulders and chest as he sank his fangs into the immortal’s throat.
“Why doesn’t he teleport?” Sahira muttered.
“Not possible in this realm,” Orin said.
Her head lifted, and she blinked at him before her mouth pursed. Orin suspected she was trying to teleport and failing.
“How is that possible?” she breathed after a minute.
“That is the constant question of this realm.”
“It would take so much power….”
Her attention shifted back to the fight. He felt she wasn’t watching the fighters but trying to piece this place together. He hoped she had better luck at it than him, as he didn’t have a clue what was happening here.
The lycan shifted into his wolf form and threw the vampire free with a violent shake of his thick coat. When the vamp hit the ground, the lycan pounced, clamped down on his head, lifted him off the ground, and flung him into the wall.
The distinctive sound of the vamp’s back cracking radiated outward; he howled and hit the ground. The wolf prowled over, planted his paw on the man’s chest, and lowered his muzzle until it was only an inch from the vamp’s face.
“Mercy!” the vamp yelped as he slapped a hand off the sandy ground.
“How disappointing,” Orin murmured.
He ignored the disapproving look Sahira shot him. It was disappointing; he’d been looking forward to a bit of death, and it was already over.
The lycan didn’t move as he debated granting this mercy or not. Then he slapped the vamp’s chest with his paw before prowling away from the broken man.
Cheers and groans erupted around the crowd. Those who bet on the lycan received slaps on the back and the extra pieces of food or drink they’d won.
There was no money here; everyone had to work for what they had, and their payment was the things they required to survive. It was almost a utopian society, except they were all trapped here, their friends and families weren’t here, it was boring, they battled in a pit, and—
“So, what is The Reaping?” Sahira asked.
CHAPTERSIX
“That,my friend, is a soon-to-unfold horror story,” Zeth said.
Sahira stared into the pit as the lycan crept up the steps and out. The vamp remained on the ground with his arms spread at his sides. When no one went to help him, she assumed his broken back and inability to walk were part of his added humiliation for losing this fight.
As if he were reading her mind, Orin confirmed this. “He’ll stay there until he can get himself out. It’s what he deserves.”
“And why is that?” she demanded.
“No one should ever reward a loser, Sahira. Not ever.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t respond. Of course he would think that. He was one of the most brutal and unrelenting men she’d ever encountered.
And Orin didn’t lose. It was something she was keenly aware of now that she was stuck here with him and the object of a new game he planned to play.
“And what if the sun comes up before his back heals?” she asked.
