A surge of electric anticipation raced through Sasha’s veins. It tightened her stomach and caused her heart to pick up its pace with every step she took toward the arena. Ani led the way, winding a path through the shoulder-to-shoulder packed crowd so they could get a front-row view of the action. The L.A. club scene—supernatural clubs included—was tame in comparison to the world they’d just immersed themselves in.
The very atmosphere was charged with violence. Heavy with it. Magic thickened the air to the point that it pressed in on Sasha’s lungs, making it difficult to breathe. A diverse variety of supernatural creatures were present, but Sasha was certain she was the only vampire in the building. Curious eyes followed her, some brazen in their admiration, others narrowed with suspicion or outright aggression. Sasha didn’t cower from their open stares. Instead, she met them look for look, her head held high, her demeanor proud. She invited their lust, their hatred, and even their fear. She enjoyed the attention almost as much as she enjoyed the thrill of this new and dangerous place.
Ani turned back to look at Sasha and grinned. “Well, whaddya think?”
“I’m definitely not bored.” They’d barely walked through the door, and already Sasha knew she’d be back.
“Hell yeah, you’re not.” Ani grabbed Sasha’s hand and pulled her close as they reached the webbed silver fence that formed the cage of the battle arena. “Buckle up, Buttercup. Because shit’s about to get real.”
A new match was about to begin. The crowd cheered, agitated and eager for violence. The scent of blood from the previous fight reached Sasha’s nostrils and she inhaled deeply as her own thirst was awakened. She welcomed the dry burn at the back of her throat and the gentle throb of her fangs in her gums. The discomfort kept her on edge and some small masochistic part of her personality liked it.
Self-destructive? Maybe. But Sasha no longer possessed the depth of emotion necessary to care.
A willowy female with waist-length, blush pink hair wandered through the crowd, a tray balanced perfectly on her palm. It was laden with champagne flutes filled nearly to the rim with a seemingly thick liquid that swirled like molten gold. Ani plucked two flutes from the tray and handed one to Sasha.
“Faery wine,” she remarked. Her full lips spread into an indulgent smile. “It’s illegal to serve to even supernaturals. It can be highly addictive if you drink too much. But it gives you one hell of a buzz.”
“Nice.” One of Sasha’s biggest complaints with drinking alcohol was the fact that it had no effect on her. For once, she wouldn’t have to drink blood to experience a pleasant high. She brought the glass to her lips. The faery wine smelled like flower nectar. Sweet. Floral. Heady. She took a tentative sip and her eyes drifted shut for an indulgent moment.
“It’s the tits, right?” Ani said with a grin.
Sasha took another drink, deeper this time, before letting out a soft chuckle. The wine slid smoothly down her throat to settle as a warm glow in the pit of her stomach. Its effects were almost instantaneous as a giddy lightheadedness settled over her. Sasha swayed on her feet and her friend leaned in to steady her. Laughter bubbled up Sasha’s throat and refused to stop.
“It’s totally the tits!” Sasha’s hand came up to cover her mouth. “Oops! Am I shouting?” Her voice boomed in her ears and she took another deep drink from her flute before crumbling into another round of silly laughter.
“Okaaaaay. I’m thinking no more than one of these for you tonight.” Ani brought her own glass to her lips and sipped. The faery liquor didn’t seem to have the same effect on her and Sasha wrinkled her nose.
Gods, Sasha was a little embarrassed she was such a lightweight!
“Only one? Come on, I have to build up a tolerance!” Was she still shouting? Were her words slurred? She really couldn’t tell. Another round of giddy laughter threatened, and Sasha swallowed it down. She didn’t want to come off as an innocent newb. She was a badass vampire, damn it! She had to at least pretend she had her shit together.
“Take it easy, Tiger.” Ani wrapped her arms around Sasha’s waist to keep her upright. “One’s enough, trust me. You’re going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.”
Sasha responded with spluttering laughter. “I’m a vampire! I won’t be up in the morning!”
Ani rolled her eyes. “Morning, evening, whatever. When you wake up, you’re going to feel like you’ve been hit by a truck.”
Sasha had never had a hangover before. Cool. “Bring it on! I’m ready to be hung over!” She pumped her fist in celebration.
Ani chuckled. “Uh-huh. We’ll see how you feel about it tomorrow.”
The crowd broke out into rowdy cheers, signaling the start of a new match. Sasha’s gaze was drawn to the caged arena and her breath stalled in her chest as she waited for the competitors to enter. Anticipation danced up her spine, a sensation unlike anything she’d ever felt. A side effect of the faery wine? Or something more?
A tall, muscular fae entered the arena first. Most of faery kind wore their hair long, but this male had his clipped his short. The style accentuated his otherworldly features, elongating the square line of his jaw and making his cheekbones appear sharper, as though they protruded from his face. Sasha took him in from the fine points of his ears, past his broad shoulders and too-narrow torso, to his sturdy thighs and bare feet that were planted firmly on the concrete floor. If she had to judge by appearance alone, she would consider the fae quite formidable. Whoever faced him in the arena certainly had his or her work cut out for them.
The second competitor entered the arena and in unison, the crowd went deathly silent. Still considerably buzzed, Sasha was slow to react, taking her time before she pulled her attention from the fae to the competitor that had caused such a dramatic stir. A delicious scent hit Sasha’s nostrils, awakening each one of her senses, and sobering her in an instant. Dry heat ignited in her throat, the thirst so intense that it rivaled what she felt upon her turning. Her secondary fangs punched down from her gums, throbbing almost painfully.
Dear gods. If she didn’t find the source of that delicious smell, she’d go out of her mind.
“Sasha? Are you okay?”
Ani’s words barely registered. Sasha’s eyes went wide as a second male entered the arena. Tall, broad, impossibly thick with muscle. He’d yet to fight but sweat already glistened on his bare chest and shoulders that were lightly dusted with freckles. Her gaze wandered past the ridges of his abs to where a pair of loose workout pants hung from his hips. He stood rooted firmly to the floor, his feet bare as well. His toes flexed against the concrete floor and even that simple act exhibited more strength than Sasha thought possible. She dragged her eyes back up the length of his body to settle on his face. Hard. Rugged. His square jaw was rough with light auburn stubble, the exact same shade as the mop of hair on his head. His expression was cut from stone. Serious. Deadly. Void of any hint of emotion. Her eyes met his, and his golden brown irises went dark as night, causing Sasha’s breath to stall in her chest as an inexplicable force slammed into her.
“Sasha?” Ani gave her a rough shake. “What’s going on? Talk to me!”
Sasha drew in a gasping breath as her soul was returned, filling her body close to bursting. She clutched at her chest as though to banish the sensation. How was this possible? Her soul had been returned to her! By the terrifying male who’d stepped into the arena.
“Sasha, come on! You’re scaring me.”
She gave a violent shake of her head as though somehow she could wake herself from this nightmare. Words formed and died on her tongue. How could this have happened? How was it even possible? His scent … so inviting and delicious. It shouldn’t have been so. He should have smelled like death, and rot, and …
Sasha took a deep breath to calm the tremor in her voice. “I … I’m okay.” She couldn’t tell Ani what had just happened. She couldn’t tell anyone. She gave a nervous laugh that she hoped didn’t sound too fake. “That wine hit me a little hard, that’s all.”
Ani’s brow furrowed as she gave Sasha a look. “Are you sure that’s all? You looked pretty damned shaken up.”
Sasha offered up a weak smile in response. “I’m fine.” Truth be told, she couldn’t be further from fine. She’d left fine about ten miles back and had entered into holy-shit-I’m-so-fucked territory. A low murmur spread through the crowd and by slow degrees elevated to an excited roar. Sasha’s gaze slid back to the dangerous male and she swallowed against the insistent burn of thirst in her throat.
She’d been tethered.
By a berserker.
* * *
Ewan stretched his head from side to side and his neck cracked. He brought his arms high above his head and swung them down. Out in front of him, and behind. His muscles were warm, his body loose. The anticipation of the coming fight vibrated through him but no longer caused him to tense. Instead, he relaxed into a fighting stance and let out a slow, even breath. Completely unflappable.
The crowd had gone silent upon his entrance into the arena. He was used to it. The supernatural community feared his kind and rightfully so. They were hardened killers, each and every one. Genetically designed for battle, predisposed to violence. He felt more at home in this arena than he’d felt anywhere in a long damned time.
Including the company of his own brethren.
A female’s voice caught his attention and Ewan scanned the crowd. At the far end of the arena at the edge of the silver cage that kept them contained within its confines, he spotted her. His gut knotted as a strange thrill chased through him. She wobbled on her feet and another female helped to steady her. Who was she? And why did he suddenly feel as though he were about to be tossed ass over teakettle?
Without warning, the battle master’s voice rang out to signal the start of the fight. “Choose your weapons!”
He opened a large case that contained two of each weapon: daggers, machetes, short swords, knives, silver cords, and iron maces. The fae stepped forward, his moss-green gaze hard as he chose two delicate daggers. Light and easy to wield with razor sharp blades and pointed tips guaranteed to do a little damage. Ewan grinned as the fae spun the daggers artfully in his grip, giving the crowd something to cheer about. The battle master turned to him and offered up the case for Ewan to choose a weapon. He simply stared back and shook his head.
The crowd quieted for a moment as the realization spread that he’d refused any weapon with which to kill or defend himself with. The quiet was short-lived as everyone present hollered and shouted their approval. Ewan had just guaranteed them all a grand finale to tonight’s fights. Their entertainment meant more money in his pockets. He was happy to oblige. Besides, choosing a weapon would only give him more of an advantage in an already unfair fight.
The battle master closed the case and stepped out of the arena. Anticipation thickened the air and Ewan’s attention wandered back to the female who watched the goings-on with wide eyes. Her dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, polished mahogany against the pale backdrop of her bare skin. He couldn’t bring himself to look away. He wanted her.
Ewan’s opponent capitalized on his momentary distraction and went after him, landing a solid blow to Ewan’s jaw. He reeled backward and the fae advanced, spinning as his leg came around in a roundhouse kick that connected with Ewan’s chest.
Motherfucker. He blew out a forceful breath to clear the cobwebs from his head. The bastard had gotten lucky, but Ewan wouldn’t be caught off guard again. He put the female to the back of his mind. She was inconsequential, a distraction he couldn’t afford. There was too much at stake—his reputation for starters—and he wasn’t about to lose face. Ewan was here for one reason and one reason only: money. And he wasn’t going to earn a penny if he didn’t keep his head in the gods-damned game.
The fae came at him once again, but this time Ewan was ready. Anger and aggression turned to power. It flooded his limbs, his muscles, and centered his focus. Nothing mattered but the fight. The female who’d drawn his attention faded to the back of his mind as well as the bloodthirsty crowd that cheered them on. His surroundings blurred until nothing remained but him and his opponent. His vision shifted from full-color to shades of black, white, and gray. His senses sharpened. Every minute motion made by the fae translated into sound, allowing Ewan to anticipate his movements at the exact moment he executed them. It made Ewan’s reaction time instantaneous as though he knew what his opponent would do before he did it.
Ewan blocked a wide sweep of the fae’s arm, knocking the dagger from his grip, and countered with a jab to the male’s face. The fae took several stumbling steps back but recovered quickly and retrieved the discarded dagger in a graceful blur of speed as he rushed at Ewan once again. He was certainly formidable. Strong, quick, surefooted. Ewan still couldn’t determine what faction of fae the male happen to be, but it didn’t really matter. Whether he was elemental or one of the powerful bean sidhe, he’d beat the bastard either way.
The fae’s lip curled into a sneer. “I’m going to do the world a favor by making sure there’s one less berserker in the world.”
Big talk. Ewan expected nothing less. What the fae didn’t realize was that Ewan couldn’t be fazed. It was impossible to get into a berserker’s head. Ewan grinned as he easily swept aside another attempted blow aimed at his throat with his right hand and followed up with a sharp left uppercut. His fist connected with the male’s chin, whose head whipped back. The fae recovered quickly, showcasing his quick reflexes, and swiped at the blood that trickled from his nose.
Big mistake, you fastidious bastard.
His opponent’s vanity worked to Ewan’s advantage. Usually, he liked to drag out a fight. Give the crowd a good show and encourage money to change hands. For some reason though, Ewan felt the urge to end this quickly. As though his time tonight would be better spent elsewhere. He knew of nothing a berserker enjoyed more than fighting. His curiosity burned, only adding to his impatience.
“Going to do the world a favor, are you?” He didn’t usually engage with his opponents. Tonight had him all kinds of thrown off. “Well then, you’d better get the fuck on with it.”
Ewan’s taunting words were enough to spur the fae to action. He’d been playing coy before, holding back, prolonging the fight, perhaps for the same reasons Ewan did. Now though, the fae unleashed his fury on Ewan in a blur of movement that required every ounce of his concentration and skill to defend against. The male was a warrior. A fighter worthy of Ewan. Finally.
It was almost a shame he had to kill him.
Another surge of power shot through Ewan, this one more intense than the first. The prospect of an evenly matched fight ignited his bloodlust and triggered the battle rage that stirred fear in the hearts of immortals and fueled the legends of humankind. His body moved as though on autopilot, no longer in his control. Ewan gave himself over to instinct and shut his mind down completely. The crowd outside of the silver cage went wild and he knew how he looked to them. Eyes black as night, with inky tendrils bleeding out onto his cheeks. Muscles bulging, veins engorged and standing out on his flesh, pulled tight over his frame. His lips pulled back into a snarl to reveal his teeth as he let out a roar that vibrated his vocal cords. The fight would be over soon. The fae would be dead. And Ewan would have virtually no memory as to how any of it happened.
He entered another state of awareness. One where he merely existed, shrouded in shadow. His body moved, his arms and legs swept out, to kick, parry, and jab. His breath left his chest as he took a blow, and then another. He felt nothing. Yet, he fought. He raged. And he decimated his opponent.
Ewan dragged in a sharp breath as he came back into himself. He stood over the broken and bleeding body of the fae, the daggers still clutched in his fists. A supernatural creature was hard to kill. With nothing more than his fists, he’d beaten the fae bloody and ripped his head from his spine. Perhaps it was a blessing that he had no recollection of what he’d done.
The crowd went deathly silent once again before breaking out into wild shouts and cheers. Some cursed his very existence and that of every berserker on the planet, while others celebrated his victory as cash exchanged hands. Ewan’s breath sawed in and out of his chest. His shoulders dropped as his fist relaxed at his sides. The sensation of his skin tightening on his frame abated with every exhaled breath and color bled into his vision to banish the shades of gray.
The battle master approached. The male’s fear burned Ewan’s nostrils and he let out a rueful snort. The world was afraid him, and rightly so. He was a fucking monster. “The victor!” The battle master reached out with a tentative hand and gently took Ewan’s wrist before raising his arm in the air. Just as quickly, he released his hold and took several cautious steps back. Ewan paid it no mind. He was used to fear. He’d been on the receiving end of it his entire life.
His gaze scanned the crowd before he even realized what he was looking for. His eyes found her, and Ewan went still. Her dark, haunting beauty called to him and he was helpless not to answer. The web of silver that constructed the dome began to slowly rise from the battle arena. Brave supernaturals flooded the concrete floor, eager to congratulate him and perhaps gain a powerful ally. He paid them no mind, pushing his way past the bodies that stood between him and the female. Her gaze locked with his and her full lips parted to reveal the razor sharp points of her fangs.
Vampire.
Ewan nearly tripped on his own feet. By all rights, he was required to kill her on sight. Gregor would accept nothing less. To let her live would be the ultimate betrayal, one that would cost Ewan his life. But with every step he took to close the distance between them, Ewan knew that he wouldn’t kill her. Couldn’t.
Why?
Within seconds he stood before her. Close enough to touch. He breathed in deeply of her sweet cinnamon scent and held it in his lungs before letting it out in a slow, measured breath that did nothing to temper the white hot lust that overtook him.
“Your name, vampire.” He barked out the demand without an ounce of pleasantry. He stood face to face with a mortal enemy and all he could think of doing was running his nose along the creamy flesh of her throat in order to savor her delicious scent.
The vampire bucked her chin defiantly as she squared her shoulders and further closed the gap between them. Brave. Fierce. Seductive. “Sasha Ivanov. And your name … berserker…?” She let the question hang but Ewan didn’t miss the challenge in her tone. One delicate brow arched over her eye and he fought the urge to smile.
It appeared as though he would have one more secret to keep from their leader. Because he’d be damned if he raised so much as a finger against her. She fascinated him. And he was no longer interested in playing by Gregor’s rules.