by Jen Colly
They skirted around the men, until Tarmon decided to lean against a protruding partial wall. He lit a cigarette, then left it pinched between his lips as he spoke, “Lean back and enjoy the show.”
“When did they move the fights up here?”
Tarmon just smiled, at least as much as he could without losing his cigarette.
Rollin scowled at his non-answer. “I’m not fighting.”
“Killjoy,” he said, the cigarette bobbing in his mouth.
Maybe he was, but getting the snot knocked out of him was not his idea of a good time, or clearing his head. He understood why it appealed to some men, but it wasn’t for him.
Rollin snapped to his feet when he recognized his mentor’s commanding stride, but Tarmon didn’t move a muscle, unconcerned by Soren’s presence.
“At ease,” Soren said, taking up a spot alongside Rollin. “I’m not here to bust up the fun.”
“Well, if it isn’t our good captain,” Tarmon said with a half bow. “Never thought I’d see you here.”
“Why not?” Soren crossed his arms tight over his chest, the gun holster wrapped around him shifting. “I trained most of these men. It’s good to see them honing their skills. They thought they’d have a war by now. They’ve trained hard for something that will probably never happen. This outlet is needed.”
Rollin asked over the ruckus, “Do you ever fight?”
“No, not since…” Soren’s words trailed off as he suddenly realized what he’d been about to say, but true to who he was, Soren gritted his teeth and pushed on. “The last time I sparred was with your father.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. He’d never known what to do with someone else’s pain over his parents. It was easy to forget others cared for them too.
“No, it’s good.” Soren nodded. “The memories are good.”
Graydon caught his attention, sent him a short nod, then started toward him. The arena Guardian was nearly as wide as Rollin, but shorter. More compact. When he reached the small group, he and Rollin gripped forearms briefly in greeting.
“Have you seen Jovan?” Rollin asked. “I thought he’d be here.”
“Nah, he didn’t show,” Graydon said in that lazy way he had of speaking. “Signed you up, though.”
Rollin shot him a hard look. “I’m not fighting anyone.”
“Nope, not anyone.” Graydon flashed him a false smile. “Titus.”
“Damn,” Tarmon said at his side, scrubbing his fingers over a sideburn. “I’m an ass, and even I wouldn’t put you in with the Brute.”
“Not interested,” Rollin said.
“You’re up next,” Graydon countered.
Rollin crossed his arms over his chest, staring down Graydon. “Absolutely not.”
“He’s drunk,” Graydon said. “That’ll help.”
“Help who?” Rollin asked, then quickly shook his head. “I told you, I’m not doing this.”
Graydon leaned close, his voice low, “Titus is above ground, and he plans on staying here until the sun comes up.”
“Because of Meg? He’s taking it that hard?”
Tarmon snorted unsympathetically. “So much for love.”
“Nah, the love is there. It’s why he’s hurting so bad,” Graydon said, then smacked Rollin on the chest twice. Hard. “Knock him out for me, will ya?”
“Why can’t you do it?”
Graydon shrugged. “I have to live with him.”
This was insanity. How had he found himself in the very position Jovan had apparently been in: hurting a friend to save him from himself?
A sharp burst of approving shouts rose from the men. The fight was over, the next soon to start. Titus sprang to his feet, twitchy, unfocused. He marched into the center, where the grass fell away to the narrow, gravel walkway.
Guardians saved lives, and Rollin would do everything in his power to save Titus. Drawing in a heavy breath, Rollin crossed the ring of men and stepped into the circle. Cheers rose around him, money changed hands.
This was unfamiliar territory for him. Rollin didn’t spar with anyone. He’d learned at a young age to check his raw strength, to pull in his fists and fight using his forearms and elbows. Rollin blocked, he dodged, but striking another vampire had always been out of the question for him, until now.
Titus circled him, his chin tipped up, all swagger and show. But then, that was the man’s personality. Titus was one of the few men in the city with Rollin’s height, though nowhere near his bulk. They were well matched, at least from all appearances on the surface.
Rollin didn’t have to wait long to see what Titus had in store for him. The first punch flew at his face, and Rollin easily blocked it, but he hadn’t been ready for the left. Titus hammered his ribs in rapid succession. Damn. He wasn’t that drunk. Rollin had witnessed why others called Titus ‘The Brute,’ but he’d never experienced it before.
Rollin drove his fist into Titus’s shoulder, the force throwing him back far enough for Rollin to bring his elbow up and crack him across the jaw. Titus stumbled shaking off the hit, and he was ready to go again.
He needed to slow his thought process, control his strength. Test how much Titus could take. One to the ribs. It only irritated him enough to lash out. He had a hard time deciding if Titus was stronger than he’d thought, or if he wasn’t feeling much because of the drinking and heartache.
Rollin took a couple hits, letting Titus burn some energy, but then he was right back in, blocking, catching him in the upper ribs with an elbow. Titus doubled over at the unexpected contact, but caught Rollin on his way up. Twice. Stomach. Chin.
“Stop!” a man yelled, the word barely registering over the roar of the men and the ringing in his ears.
Rollin didn’t recognize the voice, and wasn’t exactly in a position to respond while trying to keep Titus’s fists from connecting with his face again. He grunted as he took a left to the ribs.
They parted slightly, once again attempting to gauge the other’s next move.
Pain shot through Rollin’s right knee and it buckled under his weight, the kick coming from behind him. Then someone grabbed onto his right shoulder, dropped their weight, and pulled back hard, throwing his balance completely. On his way down, Rollin took an elbow to the face.
What the hell? Back flat on the ground, he watched as Ivan, his face contorted with rage, stepped over him and went after Titus.
Ivan vaulted off the ground, and in one fluid motion, struck Titus over the ear with an open palm and curled his fingers around the back of his head, pulling him down. When Ivan’s feet touched the ground, he leaped right back up, hitting Titus with a flying knee. He buckled to the ground not far from Rollin.
The crowd went quiet as Ivan circled them, that rosary he always wore swaying as he moved. His keen gaze marked each movement they made, and though Ivan had taken them both down, the brunt of his angry glare was reserved for Rollin.
“You let it go,” Ivan said with venom in his voice as he pointed at him.
Rollin stood, the shock of being taken down from behind now gone as he faced Ivan, keeping a watchful eye on him as he continued to circle them. He’d known this would get out, but Rollin didn’t think he would have to defend his decisions this soon. “I did, and with no regrets.”
The combination of the alcohol and the surprise hit from Ivan had left Titus dazed, and as he stood, he shook his head, possibly trying to see straight. He held a single finger up to Ivan as if he were scolding him. “Okay, first… Unfair. I didn’t sign up to fight a pissed off ninja. And second? Ouch. In the face? Really?”
Ivan ignored Titus and zeroed in on Rollin. “Are you a sympathizer? Is it you? Are you letting them in?”
“Letting them in?” Titus asked, his drink-addled mind suddenly interested in the conversation. “Let who in?”
“Demons,” Rollin answe
red, level and calm. The men who were close enough to overhear them started talking, their murmured words spreading to the others. “Ivan is accusing me of allowing demons to enter Balinese.”
Titus glanced back and forth between them, then took a slight step back, his drunken mind having difficulty understanding. “No one would… They’re just…here. Someone is letting them in?”
“It’s a theory,” Rollin admitted, though his gaze never left Ivan. “One that has never been proven. I released a demon tonight because it was no threat to our people. I chose to show mercy.”
Ivan, still seething with anger, said, “You had no right to make that decision.”
“No, no, no,” Titus said as he stepped in again, one hand held up to each man, trying to keep up as well as keep the peace. “I mean, yes. All that happened. But I was in the room, and Navarre gave him the right to decide the demon’s fate.”
“And Navarre allowed the decision to stand.” Ivan shook his head, his eyes narrowing, homing in on Rollin. “You of all people should want those red-eyed devils cut down for what they did to your family. Its blood should be wetting the sands!”
“We are Balinese!” Rollin roared, a cry fit for heading into battle. Ivan had nothing but anger in his heart and would never be swayed, but these men surrounding them, hanging on every word, needed a reminder. “We forgive sins, we give fresh starts, and our reputation for mercy is well known throughout Europe. You and I? We are Guardians. We protect people first, the city second. We are not butchers, Ivan. If you crave the blood of innocents on your sword, then you are no Guardian of Balinese. You want to kill on a whim? Then return to your Stalkers.”
Ivan lunged for Rollin, but before he could strike, Titus clipped him across the jaw, the force causing him to spin away. When Ivan didn’t fall, Titus reached back to hit him again.
Rollin only had time to react. His hand closed over Titus’s fist as he threw his weight forward, preventing him from connecting with Ivan’s face a second time. He was eye-to-eye with Titus, suspended, with no give on either side.
“No,” Rollin said to Titus as he held him in check. “He will not be silenced for voicing his opinion.”
“I will find the man responsible for bringing those creatures into the city, even if I have to walk the chateau grounds whenever I’m off shift,” Ivan said, his words slightly slurred from being bashed in the jaw.
“Do that, because until you find proof, this is over,” Rollin said through the strain of holding Titus back.
His hand still locked over Titus’s fist, the tension never once eased. The Brute seemed to have a single-minded goal of hitting Ivan again, and it was getting harder to hold him back.
Suddenly, Rollin felt the oddest thing. Heat radiated from Titus’s fist, not the elevated heat that came from overexertion, but a higher body temperature. A demon’s inner heat. Impossible. Titus was a demon?
Their eyes met, and when they did, a flash of fear crossed Titus’s face. His secret had just been discovered, and panic set in. “Rollin, I…”
For once, Rollin didn’t check his strength, didn’t worry about hurting someone with the power he’d been born with, and when he struck Titus, the Brute flew backward, landing hard in the dirt and grass. Unconscious.
Rollin turned his attention back to Ivan. Taking out Titus must have given him pause because Ivan wisely chose not to open his mouth again.
“Graydon,” Rollin called over his shoulder, but Graydon wasn’t the only man to approach. Tarmon and Soren joined him.
Soren stepped up to Ivan, smacked him in the chest twice, and steered him away from a situation that everyone but him saw as concluded.
Graydon appeared beside Rollin, thumbs hooked in his pockets. “I owe you one.”
“Yeah, you do.” Rollin looked down at the man he’d knocked out. A demon inside his city. An arena Guardian. A man nursing an aching heart. His friend. Demon or not, he trusted Titus with his life. “Take him home.”
Graydon hefted his friend over his shoulder and walked off, seemingly unhindered by the extra weight. Did Graydon know Titus was demon? Probably not. Demon heat was difficult to discern without skin-to-skin contact for more than a few seconds, and Titus would have been cautious.
Tarmon slapped Rollin on the back. “That went well. We should do it again.”
“We?”
“By we, I mean you,” Tarmon said. “That was good, the whole ‘we are Balinese’ speech. You mean any of it?”
He had. Every word. Even more after he’d discovered Titus was demon. Ivan would turn on him without question. Navarre would be forgiving, but to what extent? Would Soren’s image of the man he’d trained change? Would Graydon turn on his closest friend?
Rollin didn’t have the answers and didn’t trust them not to turn on one of their own, didn’t trust the people he’d looked up to with Titus’s life. The prejudice in this city ran too deep.
“We’ve lost our way,” Rollin said, to himself, to the night.
“No, man,” Tarmon gave him another hearty slap on the back. “Not all of us.”
Chapter 22
Balinese
Bette lay on Rollin’s bed in her pajamas, hugging the pillow that still smelled like him, her knees tucked up. She missed him. He’d been gone a long time, and she was getting worried, not only for his well-being, but for the fragile state of their relationship.
Things had been left unsettled between them. She’d made such a mess of things. Nothing could be explained quickly, and not knowing which should be said first, there had been little clarification. Now that he’d discovered she’d lied to him, it was unlikely he would want to hear anything she’d have to say, and she couldn’t blame him.
She could have been more honest, given him the truth about certain things, but she’d thought it would only cloud his view of her.
The door opened in the other room and Bette threw her legs over the edge of the bed and stood. The door had been locked, and only Rollin had the key. When she heard him shut the door and lock it behind him, her shoulders sagged in relief. Whatever his intentions, he wasn’t as angry as he’d been before. Maybe he wouldn’t throw her out without speaking with her first.
Rollin appeared in the bedroom doorway, but didn’t come any farther inside, and when she got a good look at him, she covered her mouth as she gasped in shock.
With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, she could see the bruises that had formed over his forearms. Blood dried on his lip. He’d been perfectly fine when he’d left her in the elevator. What in the world had happened since then?
“Sit down,” he said.
She dropped back onto the edge of the bed, but his curt demeanor didn’t prevent her from asking, “Are you hurt?”
His gaze hadn’t left hers since he walked in here, and just when she thought he wouldn’t answer, he said, “A little banged up.”
“What can I do?” she asked softly. “What do you need?”
“You.” A flicker of surprise crossed his face, as if he’d surprised himself by his answer.
Her big, strong Guardian needed her? Then there was nothing else to say. Bette opened her arms, a clear offering, and it was up to him to follow through. Rollin unbuckled his sword and let it fall from his waist right there in the doorway, then kicked off his boots, and as he reached her, he dropped to his knees. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he laid her back on the bed and held her tight, his head resting on her stomach.
Bette ran her fingers though his hair, massaging his scalp, doing anything she could to ease the tension in the muscles of his neck and shoulders. Lying on top of her, he didn’t move. His weight wasn’t crushing, and yet she felt completely surrounded by him. Enveloped.
“I’m sorry,” he said against her stomach.
“You shouldn’t be,” she said, ruffling his short hair through her splayed fingers. “You deserve answe
rs.”
“But not like that. I shouldn’t have… I’m normally more patient.”
“You’re very patient.” She softly added, “The timing was not ideal.”
“We need to talk,” he said.
“Not now,” she said, gently hugging him closer. “I’ve just got you back.”
He lifted his upper body to look her in the eye. “This is important.”
“Yes, it is. I’d like to explain a few things,” she said. “But can we stay as we are?”
“Afraid I’ll leave you?”
She gave him a slight nod.
“Good,” he said. “I’d hate to think this was one-sided.”
Her breath caught, but before she could respond, Rollin settled back on top of her, his head on her stomach. When she once again wrapped her arms around him, she breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s not. Not at all.”
“Go on, then,” he encouraged gently. “Tell me your story.”
“The Lord of Valenna died perhaps fifteen years ago. His mate never considered following him in death, which was shocking enough, but then the rumors began of the lady’s involvement with the captain, in both her bedroom and in the murder of her mate.” Bette continued her gentle massage, walking her fingers over the tendons of his neck and following them to his shoulders, using the simple task to maintain her focus on the memories of her past. “Then the captain’s mate disappeared. No one knows if the poor female went into the sun or if the captain killed her himself. He remained fully active in his duties to the city, never grieving for his mate.”
“Two vampires deciding not to follow their mate in death? Seems farfetched,” Rollin said.
“Doesn’t it, though? I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t witnessed it myself, but then, they must not have cared for their mates in the first place to turn to another so quickly. I don’t understand it,” she said, shaking her head. “Sometimes it was hard to say who had more power in the city, the lady or the captain. Captain Basteen killed an aristocrat in order to take his home, his wealth. The lady turned up her nose and pointedly ignored the death of an honorable man. No one knew if she’d sanctioned the killing, or simply did not care, and that put everyone on edge.”