Rise of the Gryphon (Belador)

by Kenyon, Sherrilyn

  When they reached a wide opening between stadium seats, a pair of cookie-cutter young men with short silver hair, wearing identical baggy orange pants and yellow jackets with no shirt beneath, offered action for those wanting to place wagers on the first fight.

  A cylindrical scoreboard hung over one of the battle zones with a glowing sign that indicated Battle Theater One. Odds flashed on the board for each opponent in the first five matches.

  Evalle scooted around the patrons negotiating bets in everything from jewels to spells. She found an opening where the back of the stands met the ground. When she reached it, she found a dark cubbyhole six feet tall and four feet wide. Large enough to comfortably hold Lanna.

  “How deep is it?” Storm asked from close behind.

  Evalle leaned down to look. The space ran about twenty feet deep until it stopped at a solid wall.

  Not ideal with only one exit, but she had to get Lanna out of sight or they’d all get ejected the minute someone realized Lanna had crashed the party.

  Actually, Lanna and Storm would face punishment and ejection. Then Kol D’Alimonte would take possession of Evalle, which would end with bloodshed.

  Hers and Storm’s, since he wouldn’t go quietly.

  She straightened up as Lanna rushed over to the space. Evalle told Storm, “I need a minute.”

  “I’ll shield you.” He swung around, and Evalle trusted him to do his majik thing to protect them.

  Dame Lynn’s voice shouted, “In Battle Theater One, Varkal, a shape-shifting rhino, entering from Gate One, and Ixxkter the Alterant entering at Gate Two. Second round opponents who will fight in Battle Theater Two are . . .”

  Stomping and shouts shook the stadium at the announcement of Ixxkter. Evalle stepped close to Lanna to be heard. “We can’t take you with us, and you can’t be seen here. You may be eighteen, but you look younger and you have no buy-in. You’re shielded from anyone seeing you as long as you stay here.”

  Grunting came from Battle Theater One, probably the rhino having shifted, then a deep-chested roar of challenge followed. Had to be the Alterant shifting.

  Evalle waited until the noise settled down to a rumble to continue. “What were you thinking, Lanna?”

  The girl faced her, eyes bulging with regret. “I am sorry, Evalle. I did not mean to cause you trouble.”

  “No, that doesn’t work. You did this with full knowledge that you had no idea where you were going, and you lied to me when you agreed to stay at Nicole’s.”

  Evalle felt eyes on her and turned to see Storm lifting an eyebrow at her that asked how it felt to be given the slip. How had he heard that over the crowd? She had lied to Storm about waiting at her apartment for him, but she’d been given the responsibility of keeping Lanna safe.

  Grumbling under her breath about annoying men, Evalle ignored him and got back to dealing with Lanna. “Why did you leave Nicole’s?”

  “Grendal could have found me there.”

  Evalle forced her hands to remain at her sides and not grab Lanna, or she’d shake the breath out of her. “Brilliant. So instead of staying somewhere he might be, you go to where he is and let him see you. We can’t leave to take you home.”

  “Storm could, but he would not leave you. Too much honor.”

  Lanna was pulling out all the stops to win points, but she wasn’t making headway with Evalle, who ran her hand through her hair. She’d forgotten until now that she’d left it down and would have to pull it back before she fought.

  The thud of fists or a club hitting a body echoed over the crowd noise. Something howled in pain.

  Right now Evalle and Storm should be watching to see what she might be up against, but with everyone focused on the matches, this was the time to hide Lanna.

  Evalle motioned to Storm to come over. When he was close, she asked, “Can you cast a spell to keep even a wizard from finding Lanna here?”

  “Yes, if she doesn’t tamper with it.”

  Lanna perked up. “That is good. I need time for my powers to return.”

  “You’ll have plenty,” Evalle assured her.

  Storm told Lanna, “You’ll be safe as long as you don’t try to do something like leave this ten-foot-square area.”

  Horror crossed Lanna’s gaze. “I must be able to move.”

  “No, you don’t. I expect you to be right here when I come back.”

  A shriek split the air, then gained power until a sharp snap ended the sound.

  Dame Lynn announced, “Ixxkter wins his first round in record time. Place your bets while the cleanup team finds all the rhino parts. Ozawa Windago versus Moonlight Warrior will be the next Battle Theater One event. Opponents have five minutes to move to respective holding areas.”

  Evalle had an idea what Ozawa Windago was if his name was a hint, and from the tension shooting off of Storm, he did, too.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Lanna will be safe there, right?” Evalle asked Storm as they headed toward the holding area. She had to get her mind ready to fight.

  If Ozawa Windago was actually a play on the term wendigo, that meant Evalle’s first opponent was in fact already dead.

  Killing one seemed like an oxymoron.

  “I shielded Lanna’s form and her scent,” Storm said, directing Evalle through the crowd with subtle touches. “If she doesn’t do anything to draw attention to herself, no one should find her. But I’ll pick a spot on this side where I can keep an eye on her while I watch you.”

  Evalle felt the raw power Storm emitted that parted the crowd. The opposite of pheromones? Had to be something feral rolling off him, because this was not a crowd to be easily intimidated.

  At the entrance to the holding area for Battle Theater One, a Spartan guard waited until Dame Lynn appeared in his hand and said to Evalle, “You’re in holding area one, room seven. If you don’t find what you need, let someone know. The lockers are keyed to your touch.”

  Evalle took the lead. When she reached area one, she stepped inside a pristine room, where beige marble walls and floor dominated the space. Over to one side stood an oyster-shell-white table ten feet long and four feet wide with an overhead light that had her thinking operating room. An alcove had been created with a pale yellow sofa and chair, positioned as if they expected fighters to sit and chat.

  Hey, what’s your strategy?

  Don’t be the one looking for body parts when it’s over?

  Upon further inspection, Evalle found another area with a short wall of yellow lockers. She’d need sunglasses for this place even if she didn’t have sensitive eyes. Two fully stocked vanities held personal grooming products and medical provisions. An oversize shower in one corner would accommodate her beast size.

  She picked a locker to hold her jacket. After pulling her hair into a ponytail, she walked out to the central area where Storm waited.

  His brown eyes reached across the distance and held hers. “You’ll have to shift if you want to win.”

  She started to tell him she would if she had to, just to take that worry from his gaze, but that would be a lie. Even if she could, she wouldn’t lie to him any more tonight. “I can’t.”

  “You won’t.”

  “Macha—”

  “Isn’t here to help.”

  She had no arguments left. “I’ll do what I have to do. That’s the best I can say.”

  His chest moved with a slow breath, eyes simmering hot as embers threatening to blaze at any moment. Acceptance settled in his tone. “You fight to the death.”

  “Unless someone asks for relief.”

  “To the death, Evalle,” Storm instructed her with the emotion of an icicle. “If the other opponents, especially the Alterants, see you show mercy, they’ll know you have a weakness they can exploit. And don’t trust any fighter to give you relief.”

  A tap at the door preceded a guard pushing it open. “One minute until your fighter moves to Gate Two entrance.”

  “She’ll be there,” Storm replied in the same chilly
voice, his eyes not moving from her.

  The door shut quietly.

  She didn’t want to part like this, not when she had no idea what she would face or if she’d see Storm again, but going back empty-handed was out of the question.

  There was never enough time to do what she wanted.

  Fishing out the potion, she asked, “Would you hold on to Nicole’s potion for me?”

  He nodded yes.

  She handed it to him, intending to leave without making this any worse, but his hand on her shoulder stopped her.

  She didn’t move, unwilling to face more disappointment or anger. His fingers tightened gently. His emotions were so conflicted that even with her limited empathic ability she knew he barely restrained himself, when he wanted to pound a wall and shout at her not to walk out that door.

  When he spoke, his tight voice came out on warm breath that teased the hairs falling loose from her ponytail. “It’s you or them. I don’t care about them.”

  His lips brushed her neck, then he let her go.

  If she turned around, she wouldn’t make it out of the room without her control cracking.

  She nodded.

  The door opened again and Evalle exited, following the guard to where he stopped at the entrance to a corridor maybe fifty feet long. A gate of silver bars blocked the other end, where light glared from the theater.

  At the entrance to the passageway, the guard blocked her way while he issued instructions. “You’re fighting in a warded dome. Involuntary contact will toss you back into the theater. Anyone trying to actually pass through the ward from either side instantly combusts into a fireball.”

  Please tell me Storm knows this. He might be pissed off at her, but he’d gone through a plate-glass window once already to pull her from the jaws of a Svart troll.

  The guard stepped aside.

  She trudged forward until she reached the last barrier to the theater, where she peered between the silver bars to the empty battle zone. She dug around in her mind to pull up what she’d studied on different creatures. Wendigos were Algonquin creatures who . . . crud . . . no details surfaced.

  She was pretty sure they were huge, dead monsters.

  What else?

  Tiny lights sparked across the dome-shaped area that rose to fifty feet above her head, defining the ward boundaries.

  She had plenty of room to move. Two basketball teams could play a regulation game in this much space.

  Dame Lynn announced, “Ozawa Windago enters from Gate One and Moonlight Warrior the Alterant enters from Gate Two.” Shouting from the stands rocked the dome.

  Gate Two vanished. Evalle stepped into the arena, her boots crunching over the hard, packed-dirt floor. The silver bars reappeared behind her. No way out until someone won.

  Gate One had disappeared as well.

  Her opponent ducked his head even though the gate area had ten feet of clearance. The crowd noise died down to a tense murmur when the gate behind the wendigo—yes, that’s what she had to fight—blocked his exit, too.

  Anticipation mounted as Ozawa struck a pose, head raised, back arched, massive chest pushed out.

  Emaciated and muscular at the same time. Lavender-gray skin pulled taut over that cadaverous body looked as cold as the air had become in his presence. He had a narrow waist, canine-shaped legs with thick thighs, and paws as long as her forearm, tipped with curled claws. Two huge arms hung down to the ground with long, pointed fingers with joints that reminded her of spider legs.

  At least, she thought he was male.

  A three-foot-long shock of gray hair grew out of his chest and hung down between his knees. That hair probably hid genitals. Orange-red orbs glowed inside the deep-set black holes for eyes on each side of his narrow face, and another mass of the feathery gray hair sprouted off his bony head and fell past his shoulders like a headdress.

  He reached over his back, pulled out a sword as long as her leg and raised it above his head.

  The bloodthirsty crowd screamed with delight.

  She had no intention of spilling any of hers to entertain them, but between Ozawa’s reach and the length of that sword, she might not have a say.

  Her sixteen-inch dagger had a spelled blade that killed demons, but pulling that out right now would only get her laughed out of the place.

  Ozawa emitted a low, grunting noise sounding like a crazed boar. His mouth hung open. A brick-red tongue snaked out, then back in. He drooled red saliva.

  No, that was blood sliding off his jaw. Now she remembered. Wendigos were insatiable cannibals.

  He didn’t just want to win.

  He wanted to eat her.

  Ozawa rushed her, swinging the blade with the ease of a demonic Highlander.

  Watching his eyes change from red to glowing yellow centers, Evalle dove away from the gate as the blade whistled past her shoulder. He would have sliced her in half. She could use a kinetic shield to hold him off. She hoped.

  Quick on his feet, Ozawa spun around and pursued, flipping the sword from hand to hand. His eyes boiled red again.

  She waited for him to get close, then bent her knees. Calling forth a short burst of kinetic power, she leaped to go over his head.

  But he jumped just as high. Higher.

  And swung the sword across his body at the same time.

  She whipped her hands forward, pushing a blast of energy in front of her.

  His blade slammed against the wall of energy, and the blow knocked her sideways. Felt like a bus had hit her. She flew through the air, hit the packed-dirt floor rolling and lunged to her feet, hands up, ready.

  That’s when she noticed something useful. His eyes brightened to yellow once more, and when they did, his sword sizzled along the edge.

  Avoid him during yellow eyes.

  She dodged his next strike, then started racing around the dome with him turning and chasing.

  The crowd booed her.

  Screw ’em.

  Ozawa’s blade caught her across the back of her hand. She hissed at the pain but didn’t slow down. When he missed her the next time, he swung his sword to cut her leg.

  She backed out of range and should have been clear.

  But he released the sword this time, letting it slice across her thigh.

  The blade cut her skin as clean as a scalpel through a firm tomato.

  Her momentum threw her forward and down. She tumbled over and over, landing against the dome wall that sparked with the contact. That mild shock was nothing compared to feeling the skin on her hand and leg burning, literally.

  She could smell smoldering flesh.

  Ozawa raised his sword, taking his time to cross the dome to her. He waved his weapon in the air, stirring the crowd.

  A show-off cannibal.

  Lying on her back, one arm tucked at her side and the other flung away from her body, she took deep, ragged pants.

  Letting her head loll to the side, she caught sight of Storm plowing through people.

  When his gaze met hers, she gave a tiny shake of her head, mouthing the words Trust me.

  He hesitated, then kept coming, his eyes on her the whole time.

  Ozawa moved toward her on huge canine hind legs, stopping close enough for the wide paws he stood on to gag her with the smell of rotted skin. He grasped the sword hilt with two hands and raised it slowly for a dramatic kill.

  As the blade came down, she heard Storm’s roar from outside the dome.

  She drove all her kinetic energy into a shield between her and the sword, parallel with the ground.

  The sword crashed down on her protective field, driving her hard against the ground. Her arm gave, bending at the elbow, but she shoved back with all her power.

  My turn.

  Yanking her other hand away from her body, she whispered to the blade on the dagger in her hand, telling it to stop at nothing. She sliced horizontally above the ankles, cutting through both of the wendigo’s legs.

  Ozawa’s fierce gaze lost its yellow glow. C
onfusion filled his red eyes. Stunned, he teetered, then fell backward, bouncing hard when he hit the ground.

  Evalle released her shield of energy and flipped her hold on the dagger. She shoved to her feet and leaped over Ozawa’s prone body, deftly landing inches from his head.

  She drove her dagger into his eye socket.

  He reached up with sharp claws that he dragged down her arm.

  She tightened her grip, fighting a scream at the pain, and twisted the dagger. His body rocked back and forth. Taut skin stretched over his torso cracked and peeled away from muscle that shriveled. His jaw dropped open. Howling black spirits shot out in all directions, flashing into fireballs when they hit the dome wall.

  When his body stopped jerking, Evalle ripped out her dagger and wiped the gray liquid on his headdress hair. She forced herself to stand and gritted her teeth at the searing burn in her wounds.

  She headed for Gate Two, catching a glimpse of Storm in her peripheral vision before he disappeared in the direction of the entrance to the holding area.

  Just as she reached the hallway, an explosion shook the ground beneath her. She sidestepped, but kept moving. If the place was blowing up, she hoped Storm would get to Lanna.

  The guard waiting at the other end of the hall appeared too calm for any crisis, so the explosion must have been something that happened in the other theater. Before Evalle could ask, the guard told her, “You have a minimum of sixty minutes before another match. If you fail to be ready at any time after that, you forfeit your match and become the property of the host.”

  Belong to Deek’s brother?

  Not happening as long as she could breathe. She nodded her understanding.

  Storm stepped into view.

  As the guard moved away, Storm reached out to touch her.

  Anyone could be watching.

  She shook her head.

  His dark gaze turned black. He said nothing as he walked beside her while she limped to holding area one, room seven.

  She hissed out, “How’s Lanna?”

  “She’s still hidden and unhappy, but she’s safe. No one’s paying her any mind.”