Rise of the Gryphon (Belador)

by Kenyon, Sherrilyn

  Cute, in an odd way.

  Feenix would love that for a playmate.

  How was she going to hurt, much less kill, something that didn’t even have legs? How did fighters come into these rings—theaters—and attack something that had never threatened them?

  She could see how boxing was a major sport, but beast battles weren’t sport.

  This crowd demanded dismemberment and death.

  Smiling at the cute little devil would send the wrong message. She’d try to scare Sandspur into begging for relief. Storm wouldn’t be happy with her, but he’d just have to get over it. Flipping the dagger end over end and catching the grip, she moved into a crouch attack position.

  Sandspur opened a maw of finger-length sharp teeth and let out a yell that might be impressive for a caterpillar, but was too thin and high-pitched to be anything scary. Laughter bucked through the crowd.

  Evalle had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Poor thing. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long. She didn’t want to see Sandspur humiliated.

  “Come on, buddy,” she called over quietly, her words shielded by the roar of laughter. “Let’s rock and get you out of here.”

  Sandspur’s eyes went from pink to hot blue flames. Six black tiger stripes wrapping its body unleashed, stretching ten feet out on each side. Along the edge of each stripe, tentacles spiked up like shark teeth and sharp pincers clicked at the tips.

  Crap.

  Sandspur moved forward as if on a supersonic railway.

  One tentacle whipped at her.

  Evalle pushed off the ground with kinetic force and landed on the opposite side of the dome.

  Sandspur spun in place like a whirligig, tentacles flying in all directions.

  So that’s where it got the name.

  Getting close enough to stab the fat body would be tough.

  Sandspur spun toward her with amazing speed. Its pincers clicked close to her face as she dove away once again. A row of teeth along the tentacle caught her left shoulder, ripping open skin and tearing muscle.

  Fighting harder only pumped the blood faster.

  No choice.

  With a quick roll away from the flying tentacles, Evalle shoved to her feet. She called forth her Belador battle form that she could use without sanction. Her arms bulged with muscle. Cartilage broke through the skin, then her shirt. Her neck thickened and her legs split the jeans.

  Her Alterant beast wanted to surface, but she kept her control locked down tight.

  Cartwheeling away from another attack, Evalle landed with her feet planted, facing the overgrown worm. “That all you got?”

  Sandspur paused, its flowery head tilting to one side, then the thing actually laughed.

  I’ll show you funny, you miserable . . .

  Big mistake. The fat little turd’s action had been meant to distract her. And it worked.

  A tentacle lashed out fast as a whip.

  This one stretched way longer than the other five and sliced her calf, jerking her off balance. She bent around and slashed the tentacle with her dagger.

  The three-foot piece of appendage whimpered as it crawled off, its pincer snapping at air.

  Another tentacle shot out from Sandspur’s body the same length, but this one went for her face.

  She dropped her blade to use both hands to catch the black arm just below the pincer. Rubbery skin over rigid cartilage or bone inside. Jagged one-inch spikes along the edge cut into her palms. Her shoulder was losing strength. She struggled to keep the slashing pincer away from her face.

  Could Sandspur stretch only one tentacle this far at a time? Looked that way, but now it was using her hold for leverage to inch its fat little body across the sand with the other four arms reaching for her.

  Not as fast when a tentacle was caught?

  Blood oozed through her fingers.

  Two spikes pierced all the way through her palm and stuck out the back of her hand. Pain wrenched her mind in different directions from her hand to her shoulder and leg, but she would not lose to a freakin’ worm.

  Dizziness washed over her. Bile rushed up her throat.

  Could those spikes on Sandspur’s tentacles be fangs that injected some kind of venom?

  Gritting her teeth, she clenched harder on the tentacle, tightening to cut off any blood flow, if blood ran through this thing.

  Sandspur trembled, then emitted a crunching and growling sound. It started whipping sand into a cloud.

  If Evalle lost her glasses in this bright arena or that much sand hit her in the face, she’d be blinded. But she couldn’t release a hand to grab her dagger, or the pincer would take a piece of her skull.

  With the sand tornado circling its body, Sandspur drew its remaining tentacles back around itself and started growing larger.

  But it stalled out and wobbled.

  Pressure eased from the tentacle Evalle wrestled. She risked a look to glare at Storm, warning him to stop helping her. He gave her a What? look in return.

  Ignoring him, she arm-wrestled the tentacle toward the ground. The pincer bent back on itself and bit at her wrist, cutting a gouge.

  She rallied everything she had and pressed down with her forearm. That freed one hand to snatch up her dagger. She stabbed the tentacle, pinning it to the ground.

  Sandspur screeched and jerked.

  Didn’t like that one bit, huh?

  The little bastard spun harder to reach her.

  Evalle shoved up her hand, palm out, and blinked to clear her vision. Sandspur crashed into a kinetic wall of energy.

  Whispering to her dagger to stay where it was, Evalle pushed up to stand. She staggered but kept shoving the kinetic barrier at Sandspur. Forced backward, Sandspur keened as it stretched the stabbed tentacle.

  When Evalle held the creature trapped against the ground, Sandspur had the audacity to laugh at her.

  Nice try.

  Evalle wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

  Extending her trembling, bloody hand toward the lopped-off tentacle still making angry clicks as it crawled around, she called the appendage to her with kinetics. It flew to her hand. Gritting her teeth, Evalle gripped the angry pincer that snapped viciously at her face and swung it around to face down.

  Sandspur stopped laughing.

  With one last burst of energy, Evalle released the kinetic wall for a second and stabbed the pincer right below Sandspur’s three-petal head.

  Its toothy maw opened and squealed.

  The pincer had no loyalty beyond ripping at whatever it touched. Murky red flowed from the ripped wound. Sandspur’s hot blue eyes turned pink, then changed to a dried-up brown as its head fell away from the body.

  Evalle left the pincer stuck there and turned around. The tentacle her dagger held in place had begun to shrivel.

  Swaying toward the Gate Two exit, she called the dagger back to her hand, catching it as she stumbled down the hall.

  She exited the hallway limping badly and lurching from side to side. Storm was running toward her.

  When he reached her and made a move for her legs, she gave a wobbly shake of her head. “Don’t even think about picking me up.”

  Cursing, he opened the door to her holding area.

  The minute Evalle stumbled into the room, Storm kicked the door shut and lifted her in his arms, heading toward the shower area. “Don’t start with me.”

  She didn’t have it in her to complain. She moaned at the movement and didn’t want to look at her hand, which throbbed as if it had swollen to the size of a baseball catcher’s mitt.

  She wanted to calm Storm down. “I’m not dying.”

  “Really?” Icy sarcasm dripped from his one-word question, but she heard fear beneath all of it. He was afraid for her. “You left a trail of blood that looks like a carotid artery’s been slashed, and you’re dragging your leg.” He lowered her to a bench outside the showers and slipped her boots off, then her socks, lifting one that dripped red, then tossing it aside. The coppery smell of fresh b
lood soaked the air.

  He ripped her jeans apart with his bare hands, removing the denim in pieces.

  She fumbled with the ragged shirt, trying to drag it over her head before the blood dried to her back. Storm took over, lifting it gently even though he was so tense that lightning should be popping all around them. He tossed the bloody shirt over with her socks. That left her in panties and a bra.

  She had to get up and shower on her own. “I’ve got it from here.”

  When he didn’t move, she said, “Please.”

  Storm stood up and backed away, arms crossed and frustration pouring off him.

  She could do this and would, just as soon as the room leveled itself out. Pushing up, she felt a moment of arrogant pride that she could stand on both legs. Then she took a step, and her gashed leg buckled.

  Cursing, Storm caught her under the arms. “Your skin’s turning green. Probably a poison in your bloodstream.”

  “Bathroom.” She barely got the word out before he swung her around and into the bathroom stall, where she unloaded her sour stomach.

  Her head spun. She sat back against the wall.

  Storm handed her a cup of water she used to rinse her mouth. Anything sent south would come right back up.

  With that done, he helped her up until he could put his arm around her and walk her to the shower stall, where the water jets already gushed water.

  Cold as ice.

  She jerked at the shock to her hot skin.

  “Easy.” Storm started speaking in the strange language she’d heard him use before.

  Heat swirled inside her chest just above her breasts. She looked down at the emerald, a blurry green shape. The stone glowed a little, then got brighter the longer he chanted.

  She could feel the venom receding.

  Pausing briefly, he told her to use her Alterant beast to start healing herself, then kept chanting as he held her under the cold water. She managed it again, but this time took longer. Not an encouraging sign when she had to face off with an Alterant next.

  Strength slowly returned to her arms and legs. Her shoulder stopped aching and her vision cleared. “Think I’m good now.”

  “I’m not.” He turned her around and held her against him. He reached out and shut off the water, then his hand pressed her head to his chest. “Watching you fight is torture.”

  She’d feel the same way if he had fought instead of her. “I understand and I appreciate what you did, but you can’t do that again.”

  He eased her away, staring down at her. “What’re you talking about?”

  She pulled free and stepped out of the stall, where she found a thick bath sheet to wrap around her. “When Sandspur was stuck.” She wiped her face and started drying her body. “You did something to hold him in place and weaken his tentacle.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Lowering the towel, she asked, “Who else would have . . .” Evalle figured it out at the same moment Storm said, “Lanna.” Was the girl trying to get killed? “That means she’s escaped her safe zone and is running around with her cloaking.”

  Storm frowned, pondering on something. “If she broke free of the spell I used and intervened with Sandspur, that means she’s a hell of a lot more powerful than we realized. I should have realized that when she got past the Domjon.”

  “But she possesses untrained energy, which means she’s still no match for that wizard Grendal. We have to find her before he does.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Lanna snuck around the edge of a crowd gathered to watch security capture a witch who had given aid to her Alterant during a beast fight.

  Two scary men dressed in warrior clothes similar to those worn by the guards outside the entrance rushed to grab a young witch with long white hair.

  Her gold mask hid all her face except her mouth and chin.

  “Let go of me.” The witch yanked her body back and forth.

  Another guard walked up in front of her with his hand out.

  Dame Lynn’s translucent head appeared on his palm. “Imogenia of the Carretta Coven, you were observed aiding your fighter—”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Imogenia cried out, struggling against the powerful guards, whose grips did not budge.

  “—and will forfeit said fighter, plus face sanction for your transgression.”

  “How can you eject me when my fighter didn’t even win?”

  Lanna agreed with Imogenia, whose fighter had shifted from a skinny young man to an Alterant beast large enough to battle a were-bear, but then had run in fear. The witch lied about causing the were-bear to trip, but she told the truth about losing.

  Her Alterant had rolled into a ball and begged for relief.

  Imogenia’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits inside the holes of her mask. “I demand to see Kol.”

  Dame Lynn merely said, “If you insist.”

  Fine hairs along Lanna’s neck lifted at something unsaid in Dame Lynn’s pleasant tone.

  A centaur—part man and part horse—appeared next to the guard holding Dame Lynn’s head. Dark hair fell past the centaur’s neck. Strong face and attractive, but frightening, too. He had no shirt, just lots of muscles under olive skin covering the human upper body that grew where the neck and head of a horse should have been.

  “I am Kol,” he boomed to the crowd, muscled arms outstretched and front hooves prancing. He grinned his appreciation at greetings being shouted. His goatee gave him a wickedly sexy appeal. He dipped his head in a bow to Imogenia. “Your wish is granted. I am here. What can I do for you?”

  The witch’s lips curved with coy intentions. She breathed deeply, which pushed her bulging breasts even higher above her low-cut neckline. Lusty noises murmured through the crowd. On her exhale, Imogenia said, “I would appreciate a private moment to discuss my little mistake.”

  Kol had blue eyes the color of a deep sea that twinkled, but not in a nice way. “If only that I could grant this one small wish, but to do so would have more women vying for my affections than I have time for now.”

  Imogenia’s smile faltered.

  Kol’s tone took a deadly turn. “And to be honest, I hold affection for no one. You have broken my laws. You will pay the price.”

  “No, please don’t, I—” Imogenia arched her back as her arms jerked above her head, and her face muscles strained against some invisible assault. The black hooded cloak tied at her throat flew off and over the crowd, landing behind Lanna, who gathered it up quickly, then stood on her tiptoes again to see.

  Veins beneath Imogenia’s skin bulged, breaking her skin in blue and purple lines that fingered out like lines on a map. Blisters boiled on her chin and arms. She screamed when her hair ignited, burning down to the scalp. In the next second, she had a bald head covered in angry sores and welts.

  Her dress poofed away in a cloud of gold dust that fell to the ground, leaving her naked for the world to see sagging skin and hideous, oozing blisters.

  Finally, her arms dropped, free of whatever had held her in place. She looked down at herself, eyes rocked with horror. “Noooo, oh, nooo . . .” Tears streamed down her face, then her mask disappeared. It had hidden a purplish-red birthmark that covered her right cheek.

  Kol shouted, “I have granted you another favor. The flaw you’ve kept hidden now draws no attention.”

  Imogenia moaned, weaving where she stood until her knees started to fold.

  Kol shouted, “No! You will walk out of here.”

  “Pleeease,” she begged, but her legs locked straight and started walking stiffly toward the exit. The crowd parted, drawing back to avoid touching her. She twisted around, her upper body fighting against her legs. “Please, Kol, I’ll do anything you want.”

  “You already have, my sweet. You’re preventing anyone else from testing my rules again, because—” He paused, taking in the crowd. “Let it be known that the next one to cross me will not get off with such a light punishment.”

  Imogenia’s sobbing could be heard all t
he way to the exit.

  Lanna shuddered at the idea of getting caught.

  She backed away from the crowd on shaky legs. Had anyone seen her help Evalle? Hands damp, she kept moving until she found another space beneath the towering steps and rushed inside it, sitting down hard when her legs gave out. She could not get upset and lose control or she would draw Grendal’s attention.

  But neither could she stay here.

  First, calm down and think. Imogenia had been caught immediately. Evalle had fought over an hour ago. If anyone had noticed Lanna’s help, they would have shouted foul then, right? She started breathing easier, but she still had to get moving.

  She looked at Imogenia’s cloak still in her hands.

  Crawling forward, she peeked out to make sure no one was standing nearby and scooped up a fist of gray-brown dirt. She sat back and dropped the wadded-up cloak on the ground between her bent knees. Sprinkling the dirt over the cloak, she gently called upon the earth, asking to dull the color of the cloak.

  A color no eyes strayed to.

  Finished, she lifted the material now the color of dirt and stood, wrapping the covering around her shoulders. Lucky for her that Imogenia was short, too.

  Pulling the hood over her head, Lanna took a tentative step away from her hiding place. She should return to the place where Storm and Evalle had left her, but she did not want to be locked up again in his spell. Breaking out had hurt, and she might not escape next time.

  Storm and Evalle did not understand that she could not sit in one place and risk being caught by Grendal.

  He had eyes everywhere.

  Dame Lynn’s voice announced, “Elite matches will begin in ten minutes. Eligible Alterants are to be in their respective holding areas at the times designated.”

  Lanna listened for Evalle’s battle as Dame Lynn called out matchups. Evalle’s was one of the last fights, same battle dome as her first two matches. With Storm and Evalle free to move around the event until Evalle had to fight, Lanna had to own the scent on Imogenia’s cloak or Storm would find her. Weaving slowly through the crowd, she kept her head down, searching for a place to watch Evalle’s fight.