Blood for Blood (A Keira Blackwater Novel, #2)

by K. R. Willis

  “Excellent.” A rap on the French doors drew our attention. “Come in,” Leo said.

  Arnaud slid the doors open and stepped into the room. He acknowledged Leo with a tilt of his head. “Sire.” Then he turned to me and his eyes brightened. “Mademoiselle, how lovely to see you again.” Instead of shaking my hand when I offered it to him, he turned it over and kissed the back of it, his lips lingering for a moment, sending an involuntary thrill down my spine.

  Embarrassed, I pulled my hand from his and got a good look at him. Arnaud’s dark brown hair was longer than it had been the last time I saw him. He’d slicked it back with some kind of gel, but left a few of the strands around his face unruly, giving him a rich, bad-boy vibe. The impeccable suit he wore must have cost several thousand dollars and fit his toned body like a glove, no doubt tailored specifically for him. Gold cuff-links matching the infinity symbol and gold chain he wore around his neck winked at me, and a burnt orange handkerchief peeked out from his left breast pocket. A perfect match to my dress.

  “Not bad,” I said. In truth, he looked damn good, but I didn’t feel it was appropriate to say so in front of Leo. Especially since we were what...dating now?

  A smile lit the corners of Arnaud’s eyes. “Thank you. You look quite ravishing yourself, if I do say so.” A noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl came from Leo’s direction, and Arnaud’s smile vanished, but I couldn’t be sure that’s what it was, or if I’d actually heard anything at all. Before I could say anything, Arnaud extended his arm to me and said, “Shall we?” but this time his tone was all business.

  I glanced between the two of them and decided I had enough things to worry about besides a male pissing contest, if that’s what it was, so I took his arm, and let him lead me away. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say the prospect of Leo trying to stake his claim didn’t thrill me.

  ∞∞∞

  “What kind of car did you say this was again?” Arnaud had taken me to Leo’s garage and waited patiently while I stared open-mouthed at all the exotic cars, before opening the door to a sporty little midnight blue beauty I’d never seen the likes of before in my life. He’d held my hand while I lowered myself onto the buttery leather seats, then taken his place behind the steering wheel.

  He glanced at me and smiled before turning his gaze back to the highway that sped by in front of us at blazing speed. “This is a Morgan Aero 8 roadster. Sire had it special ordered, and shipped to the States from England. It is top of the line from front to back, and one of his prized possessions.”

  It definitely was top notch. The interior boasted hand-carved oak and hand stitched leather, and the seats were more comfortable than most luxury cars I’d ridden in. The long nose reminded me vaguely of a Rolls Royce, but that’s where the similarities to anything I’d seen ended. I needed to look like money, and this car achieved that. I still preferred my classic cars, but I had a feeling this thing could be a lot of fun.

  We pulled up in front of Nite Vale a short time later. The neon lights flashed like beacons, drawing humans and supernaturals from miles around if the packed parking lot was anything to go by. I checked to make sure the medallion was safe inside the small pocket sewn into the lining of the dress, and I wished, not for the first time, that I had my sword and dagger. The last time I’d seen them had been when I’d fought Khalid. Just thinking his name brought a shiver to my spine. We’d fought inside a diner when the Vampire Council declared they wanted me brought in for questioning, and I’d lost. He’d taken my weapons, and I hadn’t seen them since.

  Sighing, I looked up to find that Arnaud had parked at the far end of the parking lot, but made no move to exit the Morgan or kill the engine. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  He turned in the seat to face me, the look on his face apologetic. “I am sorry, mademoiselle, but I cannot go into the fighting area with you. Sire only managed to find one medallion on such short notice, so I will remain in the main area of the club where anyone is welcome.” His worried eyes met mine. “I can, however, help with your escape once you find George, if you are able to get him out.” The if rang in my ears like a sour note. “However, should you find yourself in trouble, send Rya to me, and I will come in guns blazing, guards and medallions be damned.”

  I sat there for a moment, too stunned to respond. Then his words sank in, and my thoughts spiraled.

  Well shit. Arnaud was here, but couldn’t come into the most dangerous part of the club with me. His reassurance about coming to my aid, should I need help, gave me only a molecule of hope that this would end well. I had everything I needed to get into the exclusive part of the club where the fighting took place, but there was no guarantee I’d make it back out, especially if I had an injured werewolf in tow. Not knowing what the inside of the club looked like other than the few tidbits Rya had provided me, I didn’t really have much of a plan, but I’d been counting on Arnaud to help with getting George out of wherever they kept him, then we’d figure out the rest from there.

  Feeling like I had gone back to square one on this whole rescue thing, I rubbed my temples, trying to assuage a headache that was starting to build. It would be perfectly reasonable for me to leave now, go back home, and forget about this whole thing. But I’d made up my mind to help George, and I’d be damned if I’d turn away without even trying. I’d just have to wing it as best I could.

  Winging it seemed to be how I dealt with most things these days anyway.

  With the clock ticking, I took a deep breath to steel my nerves, then nodded at Arnaud. For all I knew, George was already dead, or he could die tonight if I delayed any longer. I chose to ignore the first, and concentrate on the second part of those thoughts. I couldn’t let that happen. I at least had to try.

  We’ll be fine, Rya assured me. She stepped to the forefront of my mind, alert and aware, but not alarmed. Her confidence went a long way toward calming my nerves.

  Arnaud made the loop up to the front of the club and waited in line as the valets assisted other people. They made quick work of it, though, and before I knew it someone opened my door and helped me out of the car. Arnaud handed over the keys to a young man in a white shirt with a red bow tie, blond hair, and mischief in his eyes. Inwardly I cringed at the thought of what he might do with Leo’s prized possession, but when he pulled away it was with the utmost care, and I relaxed just a little. I had too many other things to worry about besides Leo’s car.

  Together, we stepped through the doors of the club, music immediately assaulting our ears. The tune they played was loud and raucous, and bodies of every shape and size filled the dance floor. They danced and grinded against one another, the rubbing of their leather-covered bodies making sounds all their own.

  Arnaud gently grabbed me by the elbow and steered me toward the bar. We fought our way through a crush of people at the edge of the dance floor, but with Arnaud’s imposing form pushing his way through, it didn’t take us long to reach our destination. Which was good, because I needed a drink.

  The bartender sidled up to us. His hair had been combed into purple spikes. The witches’ knot symbol that proclaimed he was a witch—or more accurately a warlock, since he was a guy—had been threaded through the upper cartilage of his nose. He smiled, and winked at me, but went back to being all business when Arnaud put his arm around my waist.

  “What can I get for the two of you?” he asked, his voice a little off-sounding because of the nose ring.

  Arnaud ordered something I’d never heard of called Ichor, which looked suspiciously like blood. I averted my eyes, and perused the list until I landed on something I thought would be perfect under the circumstances.

  “I’ll take a Double O Seven.”

  As he fixed my drink, Arnaud leaned over and spoke low enough only I could hear. “I know you are anxious to get in, find George, and get out, but you must mingle, watch, and bet on at least one fight so you do not look suspicious. They would not expect someone who spent that kind of money on a gold medallio
n to come in, and then leave without tossing around some of that money.” To demonstrate his point, he handed me a stack of hundred dollar bills.

  My mouth dropped open. Judging by the thickness of the stack, there had to be close to ten thousand dollars there. “I can’t accept this,” I protested. I’d never held so much money in my hand at one time in my life. My palm nearly itched with the urge to fan through and touch the bills.

  “Yes, you can,” Arnaud said as he pushed my hand away when I tried to give them back. “And you will.” His stern voice brooked no argument.

  I quickly stashed the money in my pocket as the bartender brought my drink over. The pocket bulged slightly beneath the fabric, barely able to contain it all. With this much money, I almost felt like a criminal. Like I’d robbed a bank or something. For Leo to give me that kind of money to throw away on the fights made my head hurt.

  My drink burned all the way down as I knocked it back, lending me some of its liquid courage. The glass clinked on the polished wood bar-top when I slammed it down a little too hard, my mind made up. I had a job to do: I literally had money to burn, and a werewolf to rescue. How many girls could say that? If I didn’t do it now, I might lose my nerve.

  With that thought running around in my head, and my drink burning through my veins, I slid off the barstool and headed for the back of the club.

  As I pushed my way through the vigorous crowd, I debated whether Rya should stay my tattoo in case I needed quick healing, or if she should use her magic to hide her puma self so she could find George while I mingled. If I became injured, she could always join with me quickly, or like Arnaud said, she could get him, and he’d come to my rescue. If she located George while I gambled away some of the thousands Leo gave me, the faster I’d be able to get him and get out.

  Decision made, I paused in the hallway that led around the corner to the guard I’d run into the last time, and looked both ways. It was empty, and no one seemed to be looking this direction. Now, Rya. Instantly, her magic swirled around me, heavy and tingling, making the hairs on my arms stand up. She peeled herself from my side and gracefully landed on all fours before shaking out her coat, then disappearing.

  I wrung my hands and blew out a deep breath, then rolled my shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension that had taken root there. Rya bumped my leg to let me know she was with me. That helped tremendously. I pushed my feet to move, and before I knew it, the guard from last time came into view as I rounded the corner.

  Straightening, I forced a little swagger into my walk the way I’d seen Sally do on many occasions. He eyed me as I approached. This time, though, it was with appreciation rather than annoyance. Apparently, he liked what he saw.

  “Good evening, Miss. May I see your pass, please?” His dark eyes drifted down my body, caressing me with their intensity.

  I fought not to fidget and show my discomfort. It was strange and unsettling having someone other than Leo look at me like that, and I wondered briefly how Sally could stand it. Then again, she’d had that her whole life; maybe she was just used to it.

  Regardless, I sauntered up to him with as much confidence as I could muster, reached into the pocket past the bills, and handed him the gold medallion. I held my breath, not sure what would happen next.

  His eyes rounded slightly, and he softly breathed out the words “An Elite member” before he regained his composure. He straightened, donned his serious “guard” face, and inspected the medallion as though it might be a fake. After several more moments of scrutiny, he gave the medallion back to me and smiled.

  “Since you are an Elite member, you have access to all areas of the club beyond these doors, minus the actual holding areas. Those areas are clearly marked with an Employees Only sign, and are off limits.” He turned around, and punched in a code on the keypad. I tried to see what the code was, but he had angled himself so that he blocked my view. As soon as the computer recognized his code, he grabbed the metal handle and pulled open the door. “Enjoy your night,” he said before he motioned me to enter.

  “Thank you,” I managed. I paused for half a heartbeat, my nerves asserting themselves and trying to get the best of me.

  You can do this, I told myself. I shoved the anxiety away and sucked in a breath. Before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped through the door into the unknown.

  Chapter 7

  I’m not sure what I had expected to find when I passed through that door, but this definitely wasn’t it. Instead of a boxer’s type ring, an arena roughly half the size of a football field dominated the center of the massive room. The club above was nowhere near this big, so it must have continued out under the parking lot in every direction, and maybe even past that.

  Amphitheater-style seating rose up in a circular pattern, fanning upward so that each row was higher than the one below it, allowing spectators a clear view no matter where they sat. Women in cocktail dresses and men in suits cheered or booed from the seats as the fighter they’d bet on either won or lost.

  I stared open-mouthed until someone descended the stairs behind me—fifty-six steps in all, I’d counted them on my way down—and bumped into me. Embarrassed by my lack of class, I excused myself and headed toward the arena. I needed to try harder if I was going to look like I belonged. Rya bumped my leg, staying close.

  As we approached the stadium, the cloying scent of hundreds of expensive perfumes mixing together assaulted my senses. It hung in the air like smoke, and I fought the urge to sneeze. I knew they all wanted to smell as nice and expensive as they looked, but good grief they didn’t have to bathe in it.

  It stinks in here, Rya said, echoing my own thoughts. Makes it difficult for me to separate the scents.

  The sooner we got out of there, the better. Go find George, I told Rya. Be careful, and come find me as soon as you locate him.

  Got it, she said. She brushed past my leg, and I felt her move away.

  There was an opening that split the stadium, allowing access to the seats, so I headed for it, determined to at least try to mingle and look like I belonged. Several guys wolf-whistled as I walked by, but I ignored them and scanned the seats for an open one. The place was packed, the glittering gowns and sequined dresses shimmered like a sea of fireflies as the women moved and shifted in their seats. Spying an empty spot near the front, close enough I could make a fairly quick exit once Rya came back, I pushed my way over to it and sat down.

  Once settled, I got my first real look at the arena. Whoever built it must have had a love affair with Rome because it closely resembled pictures I’d seen of the Roman Colosseum in history class. Sandstone-colored columns dotted the circular arena and stadium, and intricate Roman-esque carved busts sat atop them. The floor had been covered with dirt and sand, no doubt intended to absorb the blood and gore that resulted from the werewolves, vampires, and whoever else ended up here fighting for their life.

  Upon closer inspection, I realized that the whole thing echoed of the days of the gladiators. Iron gates stood to the left and right, most likely where the fighters entered from their cells. Racks of weapons ranging from spears, axes, flails, swords, and everything in between lined the walls in various spots around the arena. All designed to maim and kill in as brutal a way as possible. I shivered, wondering how anyone could put another living thing through that kind of torture, supernatural or otherwise.

  Suddenly, the crowd began screaming their excitement and I nearly jumped out of my skin. My heart rate doubled, and I fought to swallow as my heart seemed to crawl up my throat. Whatever they cheered for couldn’t be good.

  As if in answer, the heavy iron gates squeaked and groaned as the wheels turned. Silence fell on the crowd as they hungrily waited to see who would enter the arena. They didn’t have to wait long. Two trolls, one from each end, entered the arena, sending the crowd into another deafening uproar.

  The one on my left was massive, at least eight feet tall. His pale green skin looked sickly in the overhead lights, and made the large cuts a
nd bruises that adorned his body look right at home. Not all trolls had horns, but this one did, each one curling up and out from either side of his blocky head.

  The other troll wasn’t quite as big, closer to seven feet it seemed, and had no horns. He did however have a barbed tail roughly three feet in length, which I’m sure came in handy in battle. His orange skin color reminded me of vomit, and the taste of salt—which always warned me I was about to hurl—coated my tongue for several disturbing moments before it passed.

  They each snarled at each other, then lumbered over to the racks on the walls and inspected the weapons, deciding which ones they wanted.

  “Place your bets. Place your bets everyone,” a man yelled from behind me. A flurry of activity broke out around me as the spectators readied their money, and runners ran up and down the aisles in their white shirts and black slacks, collecting the funds and handing the betters a card with the name of the fighter they had bet on written on it.

  “Your bet, Miss,” someone said just inches from my face. Startled, I jerked back and swore under my breath. A young man with coffee-colored hair and a small scar over his right eye looked at me expectantly, arm outstretched.

  My stomach knotted as I stared at him for a moment, then looked at the two fighters in the arena. If I placed my bet, it would mean that I supported what was going on here. What was being done to George. I might have been okay with the original purpose of the fights—supernatural entities blowing off steam safely—but supernaturals being forced to fight to the death against their will for entertainment I definitely did not support.

  As I opened my mouth to tell him no, Arnaud’s words rang in my ears. I know you are anxious to get in, find George, and get out, but you must mingle, watch, and bet on at least one fight so you do not look suspicious. If I didn’t bet on this fight, I would have to bet on another one, or risk someone becoming suspicious, and lose my chance to help George. Was I willing to let that happen? With a heavy sigh, I knew the answer was no. Although I’m sure these trolls didn’t deserve to die any more than George did, I wasn’t here for them.