“Warm and fuzzy as always.”
Throat clearing.
“I want to be clear, since you left so fast last night. While I get I have to pretend to be yours, what you said isn’t going to happen. Yeah, for realism some things…yeah. But ummm…not like you said. You and I aren’t there.”
Pause.
“Just want to be clear.”
Click.
He had to bring the motorcycle.
All sleek chrome and purring engine, and there Esh sat, the king of his world. His legs were splayed to keep the bike steady, the tight jeans a nice showcase for what lay underneath, highlighting both muscles and length. Over his T-shirt? A worn leather jacket that was near enough a second skin, buttery soft and inviting. The urge to stroke it – stroke him – was as sharp as ever.
“I don’t like motorcycles anymore. Death traps, you know.” Her resistance was token, but she couldn’t climb behind him without the attempt.
“Get on,” he replied. The problem was she’d never had any older women in her life to advise her as she was growing up. Older women would give out good advice, like never tell a man who wanted to get into your pants that motorcycles and black leather made your thighs tremble, and your biggest fantasy was sex on top of one.
After hearing things like that, men tended to use that sort of information against you.
She could do this. One leg over, scoot back as far as possible, hold onto Esh with only her hands. Simple.
Except the moment her butt hit the seat Esh reached behind him and curled his hands under her thighs, pulling her forward until she was flush against him, breasts and belly against his broad back, her thighs spread wide to cradle his hips.
The gasp couldn’t be stopped any more than breathing could be stopped, her arms reaching around him, and then the motor gunned. She held tight as the bike took off.
The wind made conversation impossible. In jagged bits her body began to relax, to settle into both Esh and the bike. The vibrations of the bike rumbled through her skin. Esh’s back protected her from the worst of the whipping wind, and she burrowed into him, pressing closer to move with the bike, relaxing into the turns and absorbing the bumps in the road.
The sun was warm as it beat down on them, a nice complement to the bite of the wind. There was nothing like the freedom of a bike, pushed close behind your man. He wasn’t her man, not anymore, but a moment, just a moment, she could disappear into memory and enjoy.
After almost an hour of travel, he pulled onto a side road that led deep into a wooded area. “I think serial killer movies start this way,” Nalah said, loud enough to be heard over the engine.
“Yeah, but I’m around. You should be more scared for them.”
Stupid comeback, but the smile curled her lips anyway, and she ducked her head and placed it against his back as if there was a chance he could see it.
They came to a large clearing filled with mostly motorcycles and beat up trucks. The spacing was haphazard, leaving Esh to park in a loose circle of racing bikes.
Nalah pushed off, and as soon as both feet hit ground her trembling thigh muscles refused to support her weight and her legs buckled. Only Esh’s quick reflexes stopped her from falling against the motorcycle.
“It’s been awhile,” she said as warmth bloomed in her face and she avoided his eyes. Nice thing being darker-skinned was blushes were a lot harder to see, but Esh was close enough that if he was observant, he’d notice it – and Esh was nothing if not observant.
“I’m not going to complain knowing that,” he said, voice low and tone possessive, the same one he’d used when he’d told Jac they were leaving and she wouldn’t be back until morning. Her stupid brother had only smirked and said to have fun.
Thoughts of her brother brought her into the present, dissipated the blush and made sure the only reason her thighs trembled was because of the reality of riding the bike and nothing to do with the man in front of her. She met his eyes now, and whatever he saw had his mouth thinning, had him giving a small nod and grabbing her elbow for support only as they walked a small path through more trees to what she assumed was the fighters gathering area.
Steps one, two and three, they were enveloped by trees, but with step four a large gathering area opened up. A rough guess would place the number of people before them at about a hundred or so. So far all of them were human and the vast majority were men. They moved forward and joined the group.
Esh’s palm was a brand where it lay on the small of her back. Men only had to glance at it and then at Esh before they averted their eyes from her and became interested in other sights.
Women took it more as a challenge. More than one looked at the hand, looked at her, and then smirked before they gazed at Esh with half-lidded eyes and pouty lips. And any fantasy she had about ripping off those fake lips? It had nothing to do with Esh. It was because they were being rude.
After the third such display, Esh’s fingers tightened on her skin. “No fighting before the tournament, right, Nalah?”
The unconcealed humor in his tone focused her ill-defined anger from the bottle-blonde to him. “I don’t know what you mean by that statement.” To further make her point she stepped away from his touch.
The crowd was loud and getting louder, the people here not used to patience and not enjoying it. The paper Esh had received after he’d agreed to participate in the Tour had only coordinates along with a date and time. No other information was given, and it looked like people weren’t happy about that fact.
There were a few faint magical signatures, suggesting items such as magically enhanced brass knuckles or other weapons, but they weren’t impressive. As for the quality of the fighters – something was wrong. Yeah, there was always the one or two who didn’t look like they could take you apart until they exploded in the ring, but there was usually a something – in the way their eyes always scanned the surroundings, how their bodies always had a faint edge of tension, on lookout for the next attack, an inner spark – a something that drew eyes to them, that set off warning lights inside and said, This person. Watch this person.
Moving amongst this group? Nothing lit up inside her. They were ordinary people, not the caliber one would expect from people entering something as legendary as the Tour, none who would last more than a minute with Esh in the cage.
“So you feel it too.” Esh had come beside her as she studied the crowd.
They were alone enough that as long as she kept her voice pitched lower she was comfortable speaking her thoughts, so she said, “It can’t be this easy.”
“It’s not.” Esh’s eyes flicked back and forth, stopping a couple of times to study something in more detail. “There are two other true fighters here.”
“So what’s going on?”
“Multiple entry points and times. They don’t want us to know our opponents before we meet wherever we’re going. Also keeps us from fighting now.”
“And the rest of the people?”
“Some old ladies,” he said, squeezing her side. “Some friends. Some support staff. Some told they were going to the Tour but aren’t.”
Before she could respond a magically projected voice boomed around them. “Fighters! Welcome to the Underground Tour! The winner will receive everything in this life he wishes. To everyone else – there is no second place.”
Chapter Six
‡
Magical transportation. Sure, it was quick, but as Nalah oriented herself to her new surroundings and suffered the two seconds of vague panic that zinged through her until she focused on Esh, Nalah decided she’d rather take the motorcycle everywhere.
One moment they were in the clearing, the next she and Esh and half of the crowd were standing before the gated entrance of a small town. The gate opened and everyone moved forward.
It took only a dozen steps for Nalah to realize, yes, this was a blackout zone. The Guild’s intelligence was right about that. It was…dull. Flat. No bursts of iridescent color combining in th
e corner of her eye, no almost musical twisting and twining wound tight around her skin.
“What’s wrong?” And only with Esh’s words did it register her feet had stopped and her body was stationary, while people flowed around them.
As attention was the last thing she needed, she got her feet moving again. “Sorry. I was taking it in.”
His face creased lightly in disbelief, but he didn’t call her on it, and they continued forward as they were directed.
The set-up was impressive, especially when you added in most if not all of it had been built without magical help. In rather hilly land, a large tract of forest had been cleared to build a little town. The structures on the edges were shoddily built, their quick construction evident with a glance, but the further in you got the nicer, bigger, brighter everything became.
Esh must have seen something in her face give away her thoughts, because he said, “Outside houses are for staff, the rank-and-file security.”
“Where will the fighters be housed?”
“Close to the middle. Easier for the guards to keep an eye on us.”
As if his words conjured them, the guards became more noticeable. The prevailing theme was big and mean-looking, and armed with bladed weapons. No bows or staffs – no, all of them had knives and swords in easy reach.
They traveled through the town, the buildings in the middle looking less like barracks and more like condos. From here the houses built up into the hills were noticeable, and Esh said, “The guests. The ones who are watching the fights.”
“Beylor?”
“My guess? His house is whichever one looks like the most money went into it.”
That would be the one right in the middle, and it was a monstrous celebration of excess without thought to good taste. Somewhere in there, her mother’s ring was waiting, and a sharp pain lanced through her chest, for a moment the loss of something so precious to someone like that unbearable.
On the opposite end of town from where they entered was a huge building, built abutting the forest. The closest she could compare it to was a coliseum, except this had a roof. “The fights will be held here?” she asked.
Esh nodded, nothing much more to be added to that observation.
“Fighters.” This voice had no magical enhancement, instead relying on an antiquated speaker system. It took moments to locate the source, a man who was standing on a scaffold on the outside of the coliseum. His long, pointed nose and lack of a chin had Nalah thinking cheese and mouse traps. “Fighters! Welcome to the Underground Tour. Congratulations. Only the finest are offered a spot here. You are all to be commended to have made it this far. I am Beylor.”
A natural public speaker he wasn’t. His voice wasn’t squeaky – surprise, that – but he did have the faintest lisp that made any authority he tried to project into his voice a lost cause. Still, the large amount of jewelry, the finery of his clothes, and the fact that he was surrounded by scary looking goons made sure everyone gave him their attention.
“There will be three days of fighting. At the end of the first day, we will have our final sixteen. At the end of the second, eight fighters will be left standing. And on the third day, the King of the Tour shall be crowned.”
The crowd responded to this, loud cheers following suit. Beylor held his hands up for quiet. “You are allowed no weapons, but apart from that, there are no rules. You will fight until one of you can fight no more, and the one left standing is the winner. Are you ready?”
More catcalls, more yelling with now the stomping of feet added. “Between the fights you are welcome to whatever you wish, wherever you wish to go, with again only one rule – there will be no fighting outside of the Tour. Is that understood?”
All around them the guards raised the various weapons, and the cheering was more subdued from minutes ago. Beylor retreated back into the building, and women came forward to start leading the fighters to their rooms.
Well, that and to get harassed. Several fighters were brushing against the women, speaking to them. Nalah couldn’t hear the words, but the pinched look on the women’s faces said everything. She crowded closer to Esh. Esh, who had noticed as well and was taking it in without a sound, only wrapped his arm around her shoulder and waited until a woman came forward for them.
They were shown to their apartment, located in the smallest of the cluster of buildings that seemed to be the fighters housing. The rooms were well appointed and spacious and a far cry from what she had been expecting. Nalah started searching room to room, holding her finger to her mouth when he would have said something. Shrugging, he lay on the bed, hands beneath his head as he watched her work.
Finally she nodded, and he spoke. “What was that?”
“Remember I said most people put seven different security spells on a building but wouldn’t bolt their door? Well, this was the opposite. There’s no magic here, so I was looking for old-fashioned methods to listen or spy on us.”
“Any?”
“None, which is kind of shocking. Paranoia is Beylor’s defining characteristic. I can’t understand why he wouldn’t be keeping an eye on the fighters. I put up some countermeasures in case he gets the idea in the future, but right now, zilch.”
“I’m not surprised. There are several other ways Beylor keeps an eye on us, and someone finding a bug in their room wouldn’t be good for his business. That’s a line most of us wouldn’t accept being crossed, especially for those who bring their women. Speaking of,” he added, patting the bed beside him.
He was intent on her, focused on her in a way he was nowhere else, not even within the ring. His words from that night pounded in her brain, the beat upping her heart rate and bringing warmth to her skin. She couldn’t let him get the upper hand, not so quickly, but inside her still lived the ten-year-old who looked up to him like he was a rock star and the seventeen-year-old who loved him as only a teenager was capable of, and they were both demanding she snuggle with him on that bed.
Straightening her spine, she did the only thing that came to mind – stall and hope it worked. “I’d like to get cleaned up, look around a bit, check out the fighters.”
“Later,” Esh said, and his face was settling into lines that promised a battle should she fight him on this.
So much for that plan. Nalah took off her shoes, debating a moment. If she tried to stay on the opposite side of the bed he’d come after her. There was nothing to do except cuddle into him, so she did, positioning herself so her face lay on his shoulder and her arm rested over his upper waist.
He snorted, but didn’t say anything, instead tightening his arm so she was comfortably crushed to him.
His fingers moved in lazy circles over her upper arms, sensitizing every square inch of skin and leading her mind to latch on one question – Where will he touch next?
And the small disappointment when it became obvious the answer was nowhere else, that he was content holding her in his arms and stroking the skin of her arm? It was because there were better things she should be doing right this moment.
Yeah, right, said the seventeen-year-old. Not wanting to examine her thoughts or motives all that closely, she closed her eyes and let her mind drift.
The first time she was in his arms in a romantic sense was right after their first kiss. It was her first kiss ever, though Esh couldn’t claim the same – not that she ever pressed him on that.
The kiss was so soft. Of all the words that described Esh, soft never once entered her mind before that night, but that was the only word that fit. His lip was split, but he didn’t hesitate to press them to hers when she lifted her face, the faintest aftertaste of blood lingering. His fight swollen hands roamed feather-light over her skin of her shoulders and arms, going only a moment to the stretch of skin over her tummy her too-short shirt revealed, before tugging the material down and returning to the neutral areas.
He laid her on top of him that night, not making any allowances for the various bruises the fight left, but he pushed her no f
urther – soft kisses and soft strokes were all that were given that night, until she fell asleep in his arms.
“Why do you want to check out the other fighters?
“Hmm?” It took a moment to be brought out of her hazy lassitude. “Oh, I want to see if any of them are innate.”
“Innate?” he asked, voice curious but still calm.
“Yeah, I should be able to feel if any of them have powers by magical means.” She glanced up to see him studying her, his face calm confusion.
“Didn’t we just go over how this place isn’t magical?”
She straightened, sat up on the bed to look down at him. “Magic is…weird.” Wow, that was a lame way to start. He smiled but didn’t say anything. “I know, I know, really helpful. I’m trying to think how to explain.”
“Start by speaking. I’ll ask questions along the way.”
And there was Esh, pragmatic and straight ahead. “There is no one way magic behaves. There is no one truth. It makes dealing with magic difficult.” He still looked confused. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “All right, say someone casts a spell to light a fire. The magic is in the spell. The fire, though, the fire isn’t magic, even though it started that way. Right now we’re in an area that doesn’t allow magic, so if someone cast a spell to light a fire, it wouldn’t work. But if someone cast a spell to light a fire outside of this dampening area, and then brought the torch with the fire here, the fire wouldn’t extinguish the moment they crossed into the zone. But even though the fire isn’t magic, if I looked at it, I’d be able to tell the fire was started by a spell instead of a match. It would still carry its beginnings.”
Esh face was open, questioning. “So what do you mean innate?”
“When we call someone innate, it’s because they have powers that are magic, but are not subject to the same rules as straight magic. Their powers can’t be dispelled – at least, usually they can’t – and they could still use them even in a magically dead area.”
“Such as?”
“Such as a werewolf’s ability to shift. It doesn’t matter if that ability came into being because of magic or not, it’s now part of them. Same as a gargoyle’s ability to fly, or a shadow stealer’s ability to blend into shadow, or in theory a dragon’s ability to breathe fire.”
The Cage King Page 4