Chapter 26
Edwina
People are packed inside the two-story warehouse off Jefferson Highway like it’s a fire sale during the holidays. The large crowd, unfortunately, intensifies the heat around me. Loud music overhead adds to the throbbing atmosphere. No one would have convinced me that this many humans and supernaturals cared enough about underground fight clubs.
The eager faces trouble me. It’s an indicator that if the PFC is presented correctly, it would easily be accepted. Thrill seekers would lap up the fights and venues without hesitation. From the outside, the dwelling looks like any nondescript warehouse in any random office park. Thanks to backers with deep pockets, the interior is a display of lavishness. A high-end restaurant and bar grace the lobby. Elegant, state-of-the-art restrooms are scattered throughout the building. Patrons can place bets and watch from either the ringside bleachers or one of the VIP suites overlooking the two octagonal rings.
On the way to the site, Morgan and her mother, Deianira, filled me in on the plan cooked up by Ace and Hank. Although Hank won’t be taking Tyson’s place in the ring, I’m still not satisfied. Relying on witchcraft to guarantee a victory for Tyson is asinine. What if their spells aren’t strong enough? Hank will be ready to rip someone apart if anything happens to his little brother. I do admit Hank’s zealous desire to protect his loved ones is an endearing quality. He’s such a strong, caring being.
The worst part is Hank’s plan to confront Elijah. I realize he wants to make sure the old panther can’t threaten him again, but does Hank have to fight Elijah to do so? And if Hank must fight, shouldn’t I be with him instead of sitting in a rank-smelling arena with people and beings I abhor?
“Will you calm the fuck down?” Morgan says. “Your thoughts are giving me a headache.”
“Then stop listening!” My fangs descend. This is not the time to test my resolve or show this little girl who she’s dealing with. And I don’t care that her mother sits beside me.
The timeless sorceress is the epitome of elegance and woefully out of place at this event. Her swanlike neck, tapered and manicured red nails, and dark hair tucked into a bun would fit in at the opera or some other high-brow affair. Who the hell wears a black suit and sky-high stilettos to a fight?
The statuesque sorceress focuses her sapphire-colored eyes on me and leans in with a thin smile on her unlined face. “I will only say this one time, so pay attention. I will not tolerate obnoxious behavior from either of you. Morgan, I advise you to watch your language around me. And Edwina… Threaten my daughter again, and you’ll find yourself staked and in my basement until the next century.”
I blink owlishly at the mind-reading witch. There are times I really hate this bitch.
Disapproval gleams in Deianira’s eyes. “The feeling is mutual, my dear.”
Enough of this. I stand but her hand wraps around my wrist. Through clenched teeth, she says, “Sit your ass down.”
My free hand balls.
“Stop testing me, vamp. My magic is much stronger than yours,” she warns.
Slowly, I retake my seat. “I don’t like to be bossed around.”
Deianira faces me. “That is not my concern. As long as my husband and your former leader run this town, you will be bossed, and you won’t complain where I can hear it.”
With great difficulty, I swallow the retort dangling on my tongue.
“Good decision, my dear.” Deianira removes her hand. “You and your so-called mate brought this problem to our town. You will work with us and solve it to our satisfaction.”
Morgan sports a cocky smile. “Thank you, Mother.”
“Don’t gloat, Morgan. It doesn’t become you.” Deianira turns back to the ring where a couple of fighters are being introduced. “Edwina, if you wish to leave, you may go.”
Dismissed like a fucking kid. Standing, I get a grip on my anger and leave the bleachers. It’s time to find Hank. Halfway down the stairs, however, my path is blocked by Kragen. My head jerks back, and I shout over the noise, “What are ya doing here?”
“Apparently saving ya ass. Come with me,” he instructs and rushes down the steps toward the exit.
“Let me get this straight,” I begin while pacing in the night air. “Sheila and Damien Duchamp are an item and the kitten is his?”
“Correct,” Kragen says tightly.
I run a hand through my hair. This can’t be happening. How the hell did Hank get mixed up with such a trifling female?
Did you take a good look at Sheila? She could convince Ashmedai that it’s not hot in Hell.
“And now Damien’s pissed off because of Sheila’s behavior with the dragon?”
Kragen nods.
A deep, gratifying sigh comes out of me when I think about how I set her up. “That’s her own damned fault.”
The ancient vampire leans on a walking stick. It’s not something he requires, though. Kragen, a former musician in another life, moves better than any being half his age. The tip of the cane, sporting a pewter Gothic bat spreading its wings while holding up a red crystal, conceals a poisoned dagger made from Damascus steel. It’s rare for Kragen to use the antiquated weapon. In all honesty, he has no real need for it, but the item does provide some level of security.
“My dear, I have warned ya repeatedly about ya temper. Ya got the information ya needed from the jaguar. Why was it necessary to torment her?”
Pushing my shoulders back, I say, “She laid the trap for Hank. I also discovered her cousin was the cat Hank killed years ago. The bitch has been helping her uncle. All of this has been a fucking game to her. She needed to know I don’t play games.”
Kragen bares his fangs. “Be it as it may, ya didn’t have the right to set her up.”
My jaw drops, and I stop pacing. Is he siding with the tramp?
“I am not siding with anyone,” he barks. “Edwina, I will take care of ya little transgression, but I want no more of this.”
I cross my arms and tap my foot on the asphalt. “Anything else ya want to jump on my back about?”
“Morgan and Deianira. I overheard what happened inside. We need the three of ya ta work together. This female version of a pissing contest ends now.”
Pissing contest indeed! Females don’t do that sort of thing. “I’ll stop when—”
Kragen holds up his weapon, effectively cutting off my train of thought. “I’m not above using this on ya.”
“Fine. I’ll check my tongue.” The poison in his dagger won’t kill a vampire. It will, however, hurt like a burning arrow flung at the chest. I’ve seen how it has incapacitated other vampires. Once brought to his or her knees, the vampire is easily staked and buried. Not something I want to experience.
“Glad we had this talk,” Kragen says and offers me his arm. “Now, be a good girl and let me escort ya back inside. We need ta be sure this were-lion loses the fight.”