by Elaina Jadin
A friend.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone I could truly call a friend. I think I’d really like to have that again.
24
Jemma
A bell rings and the crowd screams as the first pair of fighters launch themselves at each other. It’s more brutal than I’ve ever seen on televised fights. And not only because it’s happening live in front of me—the men are tearing into each other as though it’s life and death.
Draven’s words echo in my ears. You’ll be exposed to blood and carnage… the rules of your world don’t exist… challenges are met knowing it will end in death.
But the crowd’s roar is white noise in my ears, the fight a blur of violence as my mind whirls around a singular thought—Kade. He’s going to be in there soon, fighting for his life.
Everything else around me grows distant as I squeeze my eyes shut. Draven was right, this is a world I know nothing about. I don’t know if I’ll be able to watch Kade fight.
A furious roar rises from the crowd, and I’m brought back to full attention. I don’t know how much time has passed, but the first fight is over, blood spattered on the sandy ground of the arena. One fighter is playing to the crowd, fists raised above his head in victory as he strides along the edges of the oval pit. The other fighter is lying motionless.
Unblinking, I stare at his still frame in shock. Is he dead? Or just unconscious?
I finally tear my eyes away, trying to tell myself it isn’t my father lying there, mauled into extinction, his body streaked with blood. But my mind says otherwise, sending a terrible shiver up my back.
The cold winds of my nightmares whip around me, but I fight them back, clutching at the necklace hanging from my neck. It’s not my mother’s pendant, and the unfamiliar shape offers no comfort.
I need to remember where I am. Surrounded by people, not wolves. Sitting in a luxurious balcony, not stuffed inside a wooden playground.
My wrist throbs, my heart beat thumping against the pulse point—exactly where Draven tied the knot of red ribbon tight against my skin. I rub my fingers over the satin threads, tracing the crisscross pattern that snakes up my forearm.
It feels like a lifeline, something strong enough to keep me from the depths of my fear. I focus on it, running my fingertips along the ribbon over and over, ignoring the rest of the world.
The bell rings to signal the beginning of the next fight and I briefly wonder what happened to the man—was he carted away to receive medical treatment before new opponents entered the oval ring, or will the bodies pile up throughout the night as a testament of the victories won? But I refuse to look into the arena to see.
Humming to myself does little to block the noise of the crowd, but it keeps me breathing steadily, and gives my body something to do other than tremble.
The crowd cheers, then breaks into a chant, two groups going back and forth with calls from opposite sides of the stadium. The words are foreign to my ears, but they’re clearly intended to taunt each other and encourage their fighters.
Still, I keep my eyes focused on the ribbon as I press my fingers along its length.
Another roar from the stands, no doubt signaling another victor, and another man down. A quick glance at the arena confirms my suspicions, but this time I draw calming breaths and make myself stare at the crumpled figure of the man until my mind sees it for what it is—the injured, unconscious body of a stranger.
Not my dead father. Not my mother. Not me.
Everything about this evening is so far removed from my normal that it almost feels like I’m visiting an alien planet. Somehow, that comforts me.
This isn’t part of my life. This is just a strange event in a strange place, and soon I’ll be whisked away from this spectacle, back to the Barons’ compound and the safety of my small bedroom. This is temporary. The rest of the world is still sane, or at least as sane as it’s ever been.
Straightening my shoulders, I watch as the limp body of the unconscious man is carted out of the fighting area. I’m out of my depth, but holding it together. A delicate sense of pride grows in my chest, slowly warming me and fighting off the chill of my memories.
Several minutes pass as the arena is prepared for a new round of fighters, and a slight lull settles across the venue.
The volume of the crowd returns to a dull roar of conversation, and I take the opportunity to look around the stadium. Built of thick, pale stone with dark, polished marble accents, it looks like something that’s stood for a thousand years. Were I here for a different occasion, I might even be impressed with the grandness of the architecture and the fine details of craftsmanship.
Beside me, Draven and Bishop rise to their feet and stand against the balcony, and the group of women who were clustered in the back corner come forward, peeking over their shoulders. I know what their sudden interest means, and I shift my gaze back to the arena floor, my heart thumping hard in my chest.
Kade steps into the ring, Nikolai enters from the other side, and my world becomes centered on the barren stretch between them.
The crowd is on their feet, whistling and cheering, but I freeze at the sight of Kade. He’s hardly wearing anything—just a pair of tight shorts that display every curve and line of muscle he has.
His torso is thick and bristling with strength, his chest wide and sculpted. And those tattoos… they travel up his arms, across his shoulders, and onto his back, making my fingers curl with longing to run over them, to trace every line until I know them all by heart.
Nikolai is just as hulking without his suit, his physique nearly an echo of Kade’s as they circle the large oval ring, their shoulders straightened, their muscles tensed. They slowly spiral in toward one another as they rotate through the space, and from the utter focus of their expressions, it’s as though the rest of the world has disappeared, and only the two of them exist, nothing mattering but this moment and the next.
I watch, my lungs burning for air as they draw closer to one another. For a split second, Kade’s gaze lifts as he looks past Nikolai’s shoulder, his eyes locking with mine.
The bell rings, and Kade and Nikolai collide in a whirlwind of attack. Nikolai dominates the center of the ring, his fists arcing through the air, his footing solid as he swings toward Kade’s side like a sledgehammer. I slap my hands over my mouth, horrified.
Except the strike doesn’t land.
Kade is too fast, and he’s already moving, forcing Nikolai to turn his attack into a defense as Kade whips around with a kick, his shin slamming against the back of his opponent’s knee.
It doesn’t take him down, but it throws Nikolai off for a moment, giving Kade time to circle around to the other side. His fist smashes into Nikolai’s ribs, just under his arm, and the crowd roars.
On unsteady feet, I stumble forward to the balcony railing, trying but failing to draw a full breath. Kade doesn’t even look like he’s sweating, and I’m drenched from fear.
Fear for him. For myself. Fear of the world—both this one and the one that awaits me when my time here is done.
My jaw already aches from clenching it and every muscle in my back is screaming with tension, and yet, the fight has only started.
Nikolai lets out a bellow, righting himself from Kade’s latest attack, and I realize they’re both grinning. They’re enjoying this.
They’re fucking crazy.
There’s only a single moment of respite before they charge at each other again. There are no grand displays of bravado, no machismo roars, no mocking gestures to make themselves feel bigger. These are two brutal, hard men who know their worth.
Their fists fly, connecting sometimes, missing others. Nikolai lands a hard punch in Kade’s diaphragm, the sound evident even over the commotion of the crowd. But a second later, Kade spins, catching Nikolai in the eye with his elbow.
Neither of them step back for a breath. There’s no hesitation in the skilled aggression they display, even as they become speckled with each oth
er’s blood. They don’t cry out, but I can feel every single grunt Kade makes and it makes me dizzy.
Their fight is intensely violent, so much so that it teeters me right on the edge of sinking into the barbarity of my memories. But I can’t take my eyes off them.
Some women are drawn to professional fighters. To me, it’s always seemed men who seek out fights have too much testosterone. Too many broken bones and black eyes. Too much hostility. I’ve never understood the appeal of a man who’d willingly engage in such savagery.
Until now.
Seeing Kade outmaneuver the slightly larger and slower Nikolai, slamming the bear of a man to the ground and grappling him, his fists pounding against him, a terrifying blood splattered grin on his face...
I don’t just want him. I need him.
I need him in such an instinctual way that my fingers clench against the balcony railing with absolute conviction that he must win—not just for the honor of the Barons or because I don’t want to watch him die tonight, but because I need to taste that ferocity for myself. I want to climb him like a tree and have him unleash that wildness inside me.
Kade rolls over Nikolai’s shoulder, wrapping his thigh over the man’s neck and stretching his arm out at an angle that looks deeply painful. Nikolai tries to buck him off once, twice, and then suddenly manages to break free.
I realize as Nikolai staggers to his feet, his arm dangling oddly, that he was only able to do so by dislocating his shoulder. On purpose.
A shudder runs through me as the two of them clash again, trading heavy blows as they wrestle to bring the other down. But my attention is pulled away from the sight as a familiar noise reaches my ears.
Above the shrieks of excitement, there’s a sound that strikes terror into my heart like a lightning bolt—wolves howling.
My head spins and a sick dizziness swirls through me. I swallow, grabbing blindly for my water, and gulp down the last few swallows. Anything to steady myself and stave off a descent into madness.
But it’s too late. The pandemonium of the stadium fades away until all I can hear is the sound of blood swishing through my ears and the wolves. They’re so close.
In the arena, Kade is helping Nikolai up, slapping the man on the back. Everywhere in the stands, people are cheering and waving their hands with excitement, but their faces are distorted and featureless, and all the colors of the stadium blur until they’re dots of paint on a canvas.
The howling grows louder. The wolves smell the blood… they smell my fear.
They know where I am and they’re closing in.
I stagger backward, almost tripping over my own feet before I manage to sit down. I hunker in the chair, automatically mumbling the words that held me together that night, desperately trying to keep a grip on my sanity.
Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques…
My vision grows dark, and I can feel the wind brushing over my skin, the warmth of my mother’s hand in my own. The glint of the distant street light reflecting on the cold metal of the merry-go-round. My dad on the other side of me, just out of reach.
A sharp pain throbs on my wrist, and I look down to see red half-moons dug into my skin from my own nails.
The stadium swims back into focus for a moment and I look around, trying to make sense of my surroundings. But nothing seems right, and I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or awake. Draven is shaking hands, accepting the congratulations of unfamiliar men who weren’t standing with us a moment ago. I can’t see Bishop at all. And Kade isn’t in the ring. Even the sand coating the floor of the arena looks undisturbed.
But the wolves… they’re everywhere. They’ve found me.
Dormez-vous…
I can’t breathe. I’m gasping, the adrenaline running through my veins, screaming at me to hide, to flee. The howling is so loud it vibrates through me. I can feel the hot breath on my skin, hear the snap of their jaws.
“Jemma?”
Draven’s voice makes me startle and I yelp, recoiling into a crouch as I stare at him, unable to respond. He leans down, his face is so close I can’t see much else, but he looks distorted, like he’s coming through a fisheye lens.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he demands.
I try to obey, I really do. But I can’t. If I open my mouth, I’m going to scream. A cacophony of excited yips and snarls erupts behind me, and I flinch violently, horrified that the wolves are readying for their attack.
Draven’s hand is an iron grip on my arm as he hauls me upwards, a displeased look on his face. I want to tell him what’s happening, but I’m not even sure what’s real and what’s not. I want to comply, but my knees are weakening. I want to cry, but I can barely breathe.
Dormez-vous…
He pulls me close against him, his firm body fortifying mine. “Jemma, listen to me. See that passageway?”
I blink at him, his words making no sense. He grasps my chin and turns my head toward the back of the balcony.
“That exit, see it?” His voice is practically a growl, but his harsh tone finally makes the words click into place.
I nod slowly as I look at the small archway recessed into the far corner of the balcony. “Yes.”
“That leads to our private suite. Look for the red door. Do you understand?”
Automatically I nod again, but he tightens his grip on my chin. “What color door? Tell me.”
“Red,” I choke out.
“Go there, now. No one will enter that room except myself, Bishop, or Kade.” His voice is hot against my ear, an inferno of controlled fury. I don’t care if he’s mad at me or what punishments await me tomorrow.
Right now, he’s telling me to run and I love him for it.
Draven lets go of me and I obey him the way I couldn’t moments before. I don’t hesitate or look back—my entire focus narrows down to that small passageway. I run through it as fast as my legs will carry me, like I scrambled frantically through the wooden tunnels of the playground.
Sonnez les matines…
Twenty feet becomes fifteen.
Fifteen becomes ten.
Ten becomes five.
I emerge from the narrow corridor into a wide, gently curving hallway that compliments the oval shape of the arena. There, across the hall to my right—a red door with a symbol matching the one hanging from my neck.
My eyes lock on it just as two massive beasts step between myself and the mecca of safety Draven’s promised me.
I press myself against the stone wall of the hallway, cornered like a frightened rabbit. Their golden eyes are nearly glowing as they stare at me in the dim light of the hallway, and I know I’m nothing more than their prey. If I run, I’ll die.
“Jemma, Jemma, Jemma,” a familiar voice coos my name and I wrench my gaze from the wolves to see Bryan walking toward me.
For a moment, hope floods my chest. I’m not alone with the wolves. But the indifference in his eyes turns my stomach. He looks at the beasts then back to me, and my heart skips as I realize they’re here because of him.
“Amazing brutes aren’t they?” he says, drawing closer.
Panic shakes my hands as I press them against the cool stone behind me. There’s nowhere to run. “Leave me alone, Bryan,” I manage to say, but it comes out as barely more than a whisper, my voice quivering with each syllable.
“Ah, don’t be like that, Jemma. I figured you’ve grown to enjoy being around the wolves by now.”
I press my lips together to keep them from trembling. The wolves have blocked any chance of escape through the red door. I dart a glance past Bryan to the passageway I came through. It seems a mile away.
“No?” Bryan continues, studying the terror in my expression. “Not enjoying the company of canines? Well, then I look forward to having you home soon.”
Bile rises in my throat at the idea of returning to the life I had—to Bryan, to dancing, to the endless nights of fear. I’d rather throw myself to the wolves.
“You did me a favor,” I tell him, surpris
ing even myself with the conviction in my voice. My hands are still shaking, but I level my chin and summon as much defiance in my gaze as I can muster.
“Did I?” Bryan raises an eyebrow with a snort of amusement. “You might think you’ve found your golden ticket, but if you stay here, it’s just a one-way pass to hell.”
I glare at him, and for a moment, my fury overcomes my fear. What did I ever see in this man? He’s nothing but an imitation game. His whole existence is a house of cards, each layer another lie, another con, another manipulation to suit his needs.
“Don’t believe me?” Bryan’s eyes narrow at me. “Then maybe you should stick around for the next round of fights, when the wolves come out to play. See the true depravity of the world you’re so eager to be part of. It’ll be familiar, at least—there’s nothing quite like watching a wolf pin a man to the ground, its fangs sinking into fragile flesh as it claims a life, wouldn’t you agree?”
Anger drains from my body as my mind melds the images of the fights tonight with the cruel violence that haunts me from long ago. The man lying motionless on the ground. My mom being torn off me. The screams of the crowd. The cries of agony carried on the wind.
A whimper is caught in my throat as my eyes dart from the wolves to Bryan and back.
Sonnez les matines…
“Tell Kade congratulations on his win for me,” Bryan says, slowly backing away. “And I’ll see you soon, Jemma.”
He steps away, snapping his fingers at the two creatures, and they finally tear their gaze off me, following Bryan down the curving hallway.
The moment the wolves are out of sight, I lunge across the hallway to the red door, wrenching it open and slamming it closed behind me as quickly.
With shaking hands, I turn the lock then run through the room, barely taking in the surroundings as I make a beeline for the large couch angled against the far corner. I kick off my heels and clamber over the back of the couch, tugging my long dress up, not caring if my haste tears the delicate fabric.
Wedging into the space behind the couch, I sink against the wall, a shivering mess as I sob into my knees. I’m hidden from view, but my wounds are slashed wide open and I’m bleeding from the inside out.