Chapter Seven
Morgan
I’m whisked to the side, only catching a glimpse of Hildi’s hair as she goes to her own corner. The Morrigan whimpers deep in my chest, clawing at her irrational jealousy and need for bloodshed. If I didn’t know better I’d think Clinton set this entire thing up as a test. Who will win for control in a duel to the death, me or the Morrigan?
Two handlers wait for me, tugging at my hair, twisting it into a knot. “What are you doing?” I ask, slapping at their hands.
“First time in the ring?” the woman asks. She has a gold tooth and a glitter swirled over her eyes.
“Yes.”
“You’ll want your hair back. Close. Otherwise she’ll rip it right off.”
“I thought the ring was enchanted?”
She smiles, the cap glinting back. “You won’t die in there but you can still come out snatched bald.”
I touch my curls and nod, giving her permission to fasten it close.
The other handler checks my shoes, running his hands over the edge. “Looking for something?”
“Blades. Spikes. You can’t have weapons in the ring.”
“But what about the others? The snakes. Diamond Dave had those blades on his hands…”
“Magical,” he says. “Those are part of him. Just you and your abilities go in the ring. Nothing else.”
I eye Hildi across the ring. She’s removed her jacket and beneath the tattoos covering her arms I see the lean, hard muscle. She reaches above her head and stretches. My female handler notices my interest. “She’s good. Fast and strong.”
“What do Valkyries do…mythologically speaking?”
“They choose which warriors will live or die in battle. The ones that die will go on to Valhalla.”
I stiffen. “So wait, she can determine if I’m going to die?”
“Not today. That will be up to you and your skills.”
The buzzer sounds and the lights flash.
I’m up.
It’s then that I notice how big the crowd is around the ring. The lights are bright as I climb onto the canvas mat. I can’t see the spectators—I only hear them—roaring like a giant beast. I look over at my opponent and note the surprise on her face. She didn’t realize I’d be here.
“Since when do they allow little girls in the ring?” she asks the Shaman.
“She’ll prove her worth,” he says, then shrugs. “Or not.”
The strange thing about this moment is that I’m not afraid. Not of Hildi. Not of the possibility of enchanted death. I take deep breaths, attempting to calm the beast rising under my skin. She wants out. She wants to play.
Most of all, she wants to feed.
I use all of my concentration to keep her at bay. I’m going to beat her. Morgan, not the Raven Queen.
Me.
The second buzzer goes off and the Shaman vanishes. It’s just the two of us and it doesn’t take Hildi long to make a move, springing from her spot.
My training has prepared me for this moment. The hours Clinton pushed me to my limit. I dodge her fists, her feet, her sharp elbows, and manage to land one of my own in her kidneys. She bends and I take a breath, glancing up at the seats. A shadow moves and all I feel is pain, sharp and excruciating as her fist slams against my chin.
“Dammit,” I curse, feeling my teeth wiggle. I kick her in the knee and then the stomach. I duck, avoiding another punch and then I take the offensive, lunging at her waist and knocking her off her feet.
We stumble and I scramble fast, pinning her to the mat. To my surprise she doesn’t fight back, instead staring at me with wide eyes. “Stronger than you look,” she says, her voice sounding far away. I drag my eyes from hers but they’re magnetic. I can’t look away.
“You have no idea,” I say, but I blink and when I open my eyes I’m on the mat alone—Hildi gone. The crowd roars, amplifying my confusion. I glance behind me and feel her fist before anything else.
I fly backwards, held in the ring only by the barriers. My feet wobble but I steady myself. I’m ready when she comes at me again. I grab her by the neck, getting her in a messy headlock. “You tricked me.”
“Did I?” She laughs. “Show me what you can do—he wouldn’t let you in here if you didn’t have the receipts.”
But that’s the thing. I don’t know what I can do. I can fight—hold her off. I can release the Morrigan and kill everyone in here. But what can I do? What magic do I really possess?
I flip Hildi over and again I’m in a position of dominance. I avoid her eyes and I think of the last time I was like this in a fight. What would I do if she were Clinton or Dylan or one of the others? How would I over power her?
The answer comes in a wave of hungry emotion.
I lift her by the shirt, focusing on her mouth not her eyes. She cries at my strength.
Yes, the Morrigan begs.
No, I shout back. Fucking no. I fight the desire. The want and hunger, but I succumb, pulling her face close to mine.
One kiss. Just one. Kill this bitch who came on to your man. Who talked about his body. Spoke of what and who belongs to you.
I look into her eyes hoping Hildi will do whatever it is she did before, but all I see is blatant desire in return.
Fuck.
The shimmer of sliver catches my eye just to my left and I can taste her breath she’s so close, so very close, but the glimmer flashes, the reflection blinding me and I blink.
“Do it.” Hildi breathes into my ear but I’m looking at the mat and the object that suddenly appeared. “Do it.”
I don’t know what she want me to do; kiss her or kill her when both are the same. And isn’t that what I’m supposed to do anyway? This is a game to the death.
But I push her back and reach for the shiny sword. The one that fits perfectly in my hand. The crowd gasps, wondering where it came from. How did it appear? And I have the very same questions but Hildi has picked herself up off the ground and charges at me full force.
I swing the blade, slicing it across her arm.
I flip it over, smashing her along the jaw with the hilt.
She falls, knees first, and the auditorium grows silent. I stand over her and step on her hand with one foot and her stomach with another.
“Remember this day,” I tell her. I look up into the crowd. “The Raven Queen did not do this.” I stab Hildi through the heart, her blue eyes shocked until the blue drains to a pale gray. “I did.”
I leave her body on the mat and walk back to where I’d entered. The handlers are there, eyes wide and faces pale. The sword is heavy in my hand and in a quick motion I slash the ropes off the ring and they fall quickly to the floor. I step down, searching the crowd, the faces, finally feeling relief when I see his face.
“I fought her,” I tell Clinton when he’s pushed through the crowd.
“I know.” He takes the sword from me and catches me when my feet falter. “You did good, Morgan.”
His words warm my heart and my head spins. His gray eyes are the last thing I see before the world turns black.