“Begin!”

And it began!

At opposite ends of the stage, the two women slowly stalked toward one another. Evie moved with an athletic grace, strides eating up the distance as she raised fists in front of her pretty, smirking, Superskank face.

Sam just walked. What? There was a hundred feet separating them! She wasn’t scared, but she wasn’t exactly going to wind herself by rushing face-first into a swinging fist, either. Besides, without her glasses, while her ability to see supernatural magic or whatever was drastically improved, her normal vision wasn’t quite as good.

Having monocular vision could be a blessing and a curse! Near-sighted in one eye, far-sighted in the other, Sam could actually compensate on a normal day by doing the “Popeye Shuffle,” where she squinted one eye or the other, depending on where she was looking. She just didn’t normally, since her glasses not only gave her more regular vision, but also kept her from being distracted by all the things she saw.

She hadn’t been completely joking when she told Clara she could see dead people. Thankfully, true autonomous spirits were rare, most ghosts were just afterimages left by particularly strong emotional moments at death. Sadly, those were typically violent and/or heart-rending.

Right now, though, she was thankful for her Sight. Active magic had been forbidden by the deal made between her and Evie’s seconds, along with any traditional or untraditional weaponry. It was supposed to be just hand-to-hand, but Sam knew from her talks with her friends that a Sidhe’s natural abilities were far superior than those of a human. Evie could move faster, hit harder, and take more punishment than Sam could.

But, let’s be honest here. Sam didn’t trust the Superskanks, either of them, further than she could throw them. As her second, Bertie would be keeping an eye out for any illicit attacks, there to stop any outside magic from interfering, but the Fae were tricksy fuckers. When they made an oath, they kept to the word of their oaths, but not the spirit, and it was what went unsaid that the Fae found those loopholes that had given them such a deceitful reputation. Well, that and the fact they were all dishonest fuckers capable of weaving illusions so real, they might as well be fact instead of fantasy.

Evie reached the center of the stage first, a cocky grin on her face as she waited for Sam’s approach. As Sam drew nearer, the taller Sidhe woman began to slowly circle around her, forcing Sam to pause and turn to keep pace, to keep an eye out for any incoming attack. This, of course, was when Evie—like any good B-rated villain—began her taunts.

“I’m going to knock those freckles clear off your face,” Evie said in a menacing sneer.

Man, even tired insults did sound so much cooler when said with a preppy British accent! It was so unfair! No wonder Brits got all the good villain roles!

Sam rolled her eyes. “Old.”

“What?” Evie paused, looking confused for a moment as she eyed the shorter woman.

“Old. Old insult, old line, and let’s face it, if you’re a Sidhe, then you’re probably older than my grandmother’s grandmother’s underwear,” Sam said simply with a shrug, her hands raised defensively in front of her as she turned to keep Evie in her profile.

Of course, that’s when the bitch started moving more swiftly, dancing the other direction for a step before she launched forward with a vicious right crosscut that would have hurt, if Sam hadn’t have side-stepped and countered with a short, quick jab to Evie’s kidneys.

The Sidhe’s breath stuttered as she leapt back out of reach, eyes glaring as she briefly touched her ribs where Sam’s fist had landed. The creamy flesh of Evie’s abdomen reddened and darkened, a purple bruise the exact size and shape of Sam’s fist rising up. Sadly, the Fae’s healing was already swiftly compensating, the bruise fading as quickly as it rose.

A cheer rose and fell on Sam’s side of the amphitheater, her group of supporters tiny but vocal, and loud enough to counter the jeers and taunts of the spectators rooting against the mere Mortal.

“Slay her, Evie!”

“Oooh, she’s tiny but mean! Get her, Red!”

“When are they going to tear off each other’s clothes?”

“Yeah! Let’s see some titties!”

Ugh. Men were the same, no matter what species.

Tuning out the crowd, Sam kept her focus on the now wary Sidhe. Sam knew her best bet was to just not get hit. Simpler in theory than in practice, but it was a good idea, regardless.

“So you’ve actually got some skill,” Evie said, narrowed eyes appraising Sam’s stance more seriously.

“Nah, just luck of the Irish, don’t ya know,” Sam retorted with a cheeky, and completely insincere, grin. Adopting a mocking, stereotypical Irish accent, Sam began her portion of the taunting segment of the fight.

“Och, me ancestors would be turnin’ o’er in their graves, they would, iffin’ I didna strike out at ya, ya limey bastard. Och, excuse me, I didna mean to be disrespectin’ yer ladyship, I’m sure your parents were properly wedded ‘ere they beget yer skanky arse.”

Okay, Sam might have been having a little bit too much fun, since she barely managed to not take a roundhouse kick straight upside her head.

Damn, the Sidhe-bitch is fast! Sam thought in reluctant admiration as she was forced to take the kick on her shoulder and it sent her staggering sideways.

Proving just how fast she was, Evie was suddenly at Sam’s back, strong arms wrapping around her upper shoulders, trapping her fists against her own chest, as the Sidhe’s other hand wrapped itself in her braid. With a sharp yank, Sam’s head was pulled back, exposing her throat as Evie put her lips against Sam’s ear.

“See, this is how it’s going to go,” Evie hissed softly into Sam’s ear. “You are going to disappear, fade away like air. I am going to become Lady of Clan Leon, and help guide them to their rightful destiny. There’s no place for a Mortal like you, not even as Rik’s houseslut.”

“SAM!” Rik’s voice was a ragged, angry scream as he struggled uselessly against his bindings.

Sam struggled, trapped in Evie’s strong hold, as she felt Evie’s hand release her hair and slide down to tap fingers against her ribcage. “Just to be on the safe side,” Evie said softly, thoughtfully, “I think it’s best if you left the picture entirely, don’t you?”

Razor sharp nails lightly, ever-so-easily, sliced through the thin fabric of Sam’s tank top and pressed into the flesh of her hip.

“You forgot something,” Sam muttered, just low enough to force Evie to lean in closer to hear her.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Sam slammed her head hard against Evie’s face with enough force it staggered the other woman. A quick shift of her feet, and with her lower center of gravity—and the years of practice in McMAP from her father, Combat Jujitsu, Krav Maga, and Muay Thai practiced by all three of her older brothers, MMA fanatics the lot of them—Sam bodily threw the other woman over her hip and slammed her into the hard-packed ground. Here’s to having over-protective big brothers!

As Evie gaped, the wind exploding from her chest from the concussive force of the blow, Sam pressed her advantage. Her daddy didn’t raise no fool! Well, okay, maybe three of them, but Sam wasn’t one of them! Part of her wanted to seriously pummel the woman’s face into the ground, to destroy the threat, and for a brief, glorious moment, Sam seriously considered it. Overhead, the clouds roiled, thunder rolling in a cacophony underscoring the cries of the watching crowd.

Swiftly, if a tad regretfully, Sam grabbed one of Evie’s wrists, digging her fingers into the tendons to keep the hand immobile as she twisted it while she planted the toe of her boot against the woman’s exposed throat. Sam only distantly noted that there was a strange black mark on the inside of Evie’s wrist, but she didn’t have time to focus on it as she glared down at the gasping woman who had threatened her happy ending. All of her happy endings!

Tossing her head to clear her eyes of the snarls of hair torn free of her ponytail, Sam yanked just hard enough on the arm to drive home her point as she tapped her booted toe against Evie’s jugular. “I’m Irish and we fight fucking dirty. Submit or lose your gods damned arm!”

The wild hatred burning in Evie’s eyes caused them to glint with a feral light. Combined with the dangerously long claws the woman was wielding, claws that gleamed blackly and seemed to be oozing a viscous, luminescent green goo, and the Superskank had gone from pretty and confident to spooky and downright evil in the blink of an eye.

Instead of answering, Evie raked her other hand across Sam’s thigh, clawing at Sam’s leg. Her talons shredded the jeans easily, scoring against Sam’s skin. Reflexively, Sam was about to yank her leg away, to try and get out of the reach of those creepy looking claws, when Bertie’s voice boomed, “Don’t let go! You’ll be fine!”

Gritting her teeth, waiting to feel the hot, slicing pain of her flesh parting like so much butter beneath a lightsaber, Sam pressed her foot down against Evie’s throat, cutting off the Sidhe’s air supply as she twisted the arm she had captured—keeping clear of the flailing fingers and those icky claws on that hand—until she heard a loud POP as she dislocated the woman’s arm.

A piercing screech sounded, tearing free from Evie’s throat as her body spasmed in pain. Sam instinctively released her grip and jerked back, startled—and that probably saved her life.

Sam’s eyes widened as she saw the blackened scorch mark where she had been standing. Part of Evie’s right arm had been entirely obliterated, leaving the woman screaming and writhing in pain as she clutched the cauterized remains of her arm against her chest. A loud crashing sound echoed through the amphitheater, drawing Sam’s attention to where Bertie had landed atop a hysterically cackling Mona.

Even with Bertie’s massive clawed hand wrapped around her lower face, his monstrous body pinning her to the ground, Mona laughed maniacally as the amphitheater erupted into chaos.

Everything happened at once.

Killian was at Evie’s side, a hand resting on her forehead as he pulsed with a deep indigo aura, shoving it into her body as it stabbed deeply into the sickly jade veins streaking her flesh.

Rik was surrounding Sam, pulling her into his arms and holding her tight against his chest as his own brilliant, sunlit aura slammed around them in a metallic, razor sharp barrier. Just outside the glowing barrier, Sam’s father, brothers, Clara, and Rik’s troupe were in a perfect circle, all facing outward and instinctively forming a second ring of protection around her.

Mona’s body melted into a noxious green gas, the echoes of her laughter still ringing as the mist was carried away on the fierce winds of the storm raging overhead.

Lightning battered the Rockies, brilliant flashes in a suddenly midnight dark sky, as Bertie threw his head back and roared in frustration as his prey slipped from his grasp.

And Sam?

She pressed her cheek against Rik’s warm chest. The sound of his heartbeat, loud and fierce as it pounded madly within his strong body, soothed her as much as the feel of his powerful arms around her. Safe. She was safe.

She passed the fuck out.