Edison, Oliver, and Elwood followed Sloan on the ground right beside the ring.
Sloan removed her smelly cloak and started to stretch. The canvas of the ring had at one time been a light blue, but that was a day a very long time ago. It was darker now, with generous splatterings of dried blood that now looked more black than red.
“Elwood, put down the cereal and help,” Edison barked to his magical assistant. He listed off items at a rapid pace. “Towel, stool, water bottle.”
Elwood placed his empty bowl on the ground and reached behind his back. His magical ability as a gnome allowed him to conjure anything he could hold in one of his small hands. As ordered, Elwood conjured a fluffy white towel; a clear, cool bottle of water; and the smallest stool Sloan had ever seen.
The gnome looked over at Sloan and gave her thumbs-up, offering his advice in an excited chatter.
“What did he say?” Sloan looked over to Edison for translation.
“He said to kick her in the nuts.” Edison placed the stool in the corner of the ring and handed the bottle of water to Sloan. “Sorry, he’s a bit confused about gargoyle anatomy, doesn’t quite get it yet.”
Sloan squirted a gulp of water into her mouth as she eyed the grinning gnome who continued to pantomime kicking motions.
“Gargoyles are turned to stone under the light of the full sun.” Oliver jumped up onto the apron of the ring, offering advice. “When she’s in her awake stage, her skin will be tough, but not impenetrable. If you can place a few shots to her head, you might be able to stun her. She still has to breathe like everyone else, so get her into a choke hold and make her tap. But above all, be careful, Sloan.”
“I appreciate the words of wisdom.” Sloan jumped up and down on her toes. “I already have a plan.”
“Oh, you haven’t seen her fight yet.” Edison looked over to the doctor. His voice dropped to a whisper as if he were exchanging government secrets. “She’s been injected with the vampire elixir and the Phoenix Serum, remember?”
“You what!?” Oliver took a step back, blinking through his still-broken glasses. “You never told me that. What were you thinking? You could have killed her.”
“I was almost dead anyway.” Sloan rolled her neck from side to side and swung her arms out, stretching them in preparation for the fight. “I’m fine.”
“Yes, I’m sure you feel fine, but we need to do tests.” Doctor Oliver Livingston looked at her with concern. “Sloan, we need to make sure your body is adjusting appropriately to what was done to it.”
Sloan already knew that Doctor Livingston was interested in her. Even back when she thought he was a creep and she worked for the queen, he hadn’t exactly kept his interest a secret. The idea that what he said now stemmed from his interest in her made her pause.
The bell rang.
Elwood gave her another miming motion of kicking someone in the crotch.
Chapter Ten
Sloan
Sloan turned, taking in a large breath of the cool night air. The weather was perfect—not too cold, but chill enough to bring a light ripple of goosebumps down her skin. The mat below her feet shuddered under the gargoyle’s weight.
She moved forward, hands up and knees bent. The light from the moon and stars aided by a few flaming braziers in the backyard were plenty of light to see by.
It didn’t seem like Kimberly was in a talking mood. Her hands came at Sloan like battering rams. No doubt the gargoyle knew what she was doing. The form she chose for her boxing stance was the best Sloan had seen from any fighter.
If it hadn’t been for Sloan’s transformation into something more than human, she wouldn’t have a chance. But she was something different now. Her own movements were faster than any human’s had a right to be.
Sloan ducked and weaved out of the range of Kimberly’s strikes. Sweat began to bead down Sloan’s forehead as she took her time, looking for an opening in her target’s defenses. Likewise, Kimberly was beginning to understand there was more to her opponent than met the eye.
“Stand still,” Kimberly growled as she pushed forward with another onslaught of punches.
Sloan ignored the request as she continued to telegraph the blows and maneuver out of the way. Once her opportunity came, she knew she had to take it. Kimberly opened up her left rib cage to an attack, and Sloan pivoted her hips, sending her full body weight behind her right fist.
Her hand slammed into Kimberly’s ribs so hard, there were two separate snaps: one from Kimberly’s ribcage, the other from Sloan’s hand. Both women stumbled back. Kimberly went down to a knee.
Pain, one part numbing and one part fire, lanced through Sloan’s hand. She brought in her right fist to her chest, cradling her injured hand. She had seen and endured enough wounds herself to understand she had broken her wrist.
But along with the pain came a warm sensation that wrapped itself around her palm. In seconds, the discomfort was gone. Sloan looked down at her hand. She flexed her fingers. She made a fist and opened her palm a few times over to make sure what she was witnessing was, in fact, real. Her hand was completely healed.
“How?”
Sloan looked up to see Kimberly struggle to her feet. She held her left ribs with her right hand. Her face was contorted into confusion and rage.
“What are you?”
“I don’t really know yet.” Sloan raised her hands and moved forward to finish the fight. “But after we finish here, I intend to find out.”
The bell rang, signaling the end of the first round. Both combatants glared at one another before returning to their respective corners of the ring.
“That was remarkable,” Edison breathed as he and Oliver, along with Elwood, entered the ring to check out Sloan’s injury. “You can heal at a rate that far surpasses any vampire soldier we created.”
Elwood offered water and the towel to Sloan.
Sloan squirted the cold liquid into her mouth.
“You caught her by surprise the first time, but she won’t let it happen again.” Oliver knelt by Sloan, giving her a look she had seen a thousand times before. It was the look men usually gave her when they knew she was going to put herself in harm’s way. “Be careful.”
Sloan wondered if Oliver would give the same caution and worry to a man if he was going into a boxing ring.
The bell ran again with two quick chimes.
Sloan was back on her feet and walking to the middle of the triangle-shaped battleground.
Kimberly had wrapped her side in white tape. The stark white bandage contrasted against her dark grey skin and brown leather shorts and sports bra she wore.
This time when Kimberly came, she wasn’t in her perfect boxing stance, neither was she ready to talk. The gargoyle rushed Sloan, taking her off guard. She swooped in, half-running, half-flying as her massive grey wings spread out on either side of her back.
Soon, Sloan wasn’t only blocking fists; she was blocking wings and a tail. Kimberly fought like a demon incarnate. Still faster, Sloan did everything she could to avoid the blows, but sidestepping an onslaught from so many strikes and from so many different appendages proved too much.
Blows landed across Sloan’s face, opening lacerations that spit dark red blood. Sloan’s arms felt like rubber as she blocked fists, wings, and the gargoyle’s tail.
Hold it together, Sloan thought. You’ll heal. If you’re going to have to stand here and take the blows, might as well give her a taste of her own medicine.
Sloan abandoned her original idea of picking apart her opponent with well-placed, patient strikes. Now she began throwing her fists at Kimberly, hitting her just as many times as she was being struck in return.
Somewhere in the back of Sloan’s mind she knew the rounds were only three minutes long, but while she was in the middle of the ring, exchanging blows with the gargoyle, time felt like it was dragging on into an eternity.
Soon, Sloan’s arms began to tire. Apparently, where speed and strength were among her new abilities,
endurance had not been added to her box of tools.
When the bell rang again, both combatants were a bloody mess. There was so much blood in Sloan’s eye, it obscured her vision. Her dark blonde hair was plastered to her face with a mix of sweat and blood.
Kimberly stumbled as she took a step back. The gargoyle didn’t look much better than Sloan. Her height had made it difficult for Sloan to land many strikes to her face, but she had opened a cut that bled profusely down the giant’s left side of her lip. Along with this were dozens of bruises so intense, they already began to show through the gargoyle’s grey skin. Along Kimberly’s arms and chest, she was showing a variety of black-and-dark-blue marks.
“Whatever you are,” Kimberly said over her shoulder as she made her way back to her bench, “I’m going to finish you next round.”
Sloan didn’t bother responding. She was gauging the place of the moon in the sky. The very edges of the horizon were beginning to shift color now, from a dark black to a dim orange.
The sun would be out soon. They had another two, maybe three, rounds if the fight lasted that long before Kimberly would be forced to find shade or be turned to stone by the sun.
“That was amazing.” Edison placed the stool down for her, wiping away the blood and sweat from her face with the towel Elwood had provided. “How are you feeling?”
“It still hurts as bad as it ever did when I get hit or a cut opens up, but within seconds, I can feel it healing.” Sloan opened her mouth for Oliver to squirt in a gulp of water. “She’s tough. I’m landing punches all over her body, but I really need to gain some height to hit her in the head. I’m starting to tire. I don’t know if I can make it long enough to wait for the sun to come up.”
“I think you’re right.” Edison took away the towel. It had lost most of its whiteness and was now a deep shade of red. “She might have more endurance than you, but you’re stronger.”
“I agree.” Oliver began moving out of the ring as the next bell signaled the fighters forward. “You’re stronger than she is. You can finish the fight now if you push yourself.”
Sloan nodded as she forced herself to her legs and met Kimberly in the ring for what she hoped would be the last round.
Chapter Eleven
Sloan
There were no words wasted between the two. Sloan was saving her breath for fighting; Kimberly was baring her teeth in rage.
The two combatants began walking toward one another, when Sloan had an epiphany.
If you’re going to try to end the fight before you gas out, then there’s no reason to hold back now, Sloan coached herself. Come on girl, this is it.
Sloan channeled the same warrior spirit she had come to love over the years. The same aggressive attitude that had seen her through brutal training drills in the army and live combat in numerous fights.
Sloan’s walk to the middle of the ring turned into a jog, and then a full-out run.
Kimberly saw her opponent charging and returned the act, her heavy footfalls booming against the mat as she came. A roar split the air as the gargoyle took flight and soared a few feet over the mat.
An idea so ridiculous it had to work entered Sloan’s mind. Her timing would have to be perfect, but still, it should work. As the two combatants were about to collide, Sloan jumped, cocking her right fist back. With every ounce of her strength, Sloan let out a roar of her own as her fist made contact with the gargoyle’s face.
For the second time in the fight, Sloan felt like her hand had been broken. The force with which her fist broke on the gargoyle’s face was enough for Sloan to wince under the pain. The discomfort in her hand was short-lived. Kimberly had collided with her so hard, it took Sloan’s breath away, and the two fighters rolled over and over again a mess of arms, legs, and wings.
When they finally came to a stop, Sloan found herself on top of the gargoyle.
Kimberly was stunned, trying to free herself from Sloan, but her actions were groggy and uncoordinated. Sloan jumped on the chance and begin sending strikes from both fists to Kimberly’s head—that she could now reach.
Something was happening inside Sloan as she punched over and over again. Not quiet anger, but a fury she didn’t know took over. Sloan’s fists battered against the gargoyle’s face, and blood flew through the air in tiny sprinkles of red.
Sloan was lost in a mad frenzy, until she felt her own blood trickle down her lips. She paused to reach a hand to her mouth. Something was off, but she couldn’t quite place what was wrong. Sloan’s right pointer and middle fingers moved past her bleeding lip. She touched her teeth. Canines larger than normal met her fingertips and sent a shiver of the unknown down her spine.
“What, what kind of an abomination are you?” Kimberly sputtered through a mouthful of blood.
“I—I don’t know.” Sloan forced her mind away from whatever she was becoming. She raised her right hand into a fist again. “Do you surrender?”
Kimberly’s face was a mess of cuts and bruises. Her warrior spirit was raging against her obvious defeat. Sloan knew the gargoyle wouldn’t surrender.
“We can call it a tie if that makes you feel better.” Sloan held her fist cocked in case her opponent decided to try anything. “All I want are my friends to go free. I don’t care about winning.”
Kimberly’s dark slate grey eyes took her in once more. There was knowledge in those eyes; yes, fury, but a controlled fury that spoke of not only her ability as a warrior, but also as a leader.
“You’ve won.” Kimberly let out a huge sigh. “The sun will be rising soon anyway. You can have your friends.”
Sloan fell more than moved off her position on top of the gargoyle. She landed on her back beside Kimberly with a heavy thud. Exhaustion would be the best word to describe how she felt. Her body was sore, her muscles screamed with fatigue.
There was no time to think of what she would do next as Edison, Oliver, Elwood, and Kimberly’s two guards ran into the ring to aid the combatants.
“You did it!” Oliver ran to Sloan’s side. “Are you injured?”
“I think—”
Before Sloan could get any further into her sentence, the sound of pounding boots met everyone’s ears. Kimberly’s backyard was surrounded by tall, stone walls at least six feet tall, though that didn’t seem like a problem for the New Hope soldiers as they climbed over the barrier like ants.
Sloan struggled to her feet, trying to discern how many there were. She had seen a handful in the bar with Kade, but it seemed that had been only a small portion of their number. No less than twenty soldiers climbed over the wall. All of whom were equipped with long-barreled rifles, pistols, and sabers.
“Grrrrr.” Kimberly fought her way to her feet with the aid of her two guards. “Seymour was supposed to be on lookout duty. I’m going to skin him when this is over.”
“In the name of Queen Eleanor Eckert of New Hope, you are commanded to surrender yourselves for questioning,” a gruff voice shouted.
Sloan recognized the voice. It was the same soldier she had seen in the bar—Tensor. She got a better look at him now. Past the muzzle of his gun trained on her, his uniform was emblazoned with her own previous rank: captain.
It was clear they were surrounded. Fresh, Sloan had no doubt she would be a match even for this number, but being barely able to stand made her rethink her options.
“I’m not going anywhere with them,” Kimberly whispered to her men. “Anyone taken by the queen never returns. Are you with me?”
The two guards nodded to her.
“I propose an alliance for the time being.” Kimberly turned her battered face slightly toward Sloan. “After we survive the soldiers, we can pick up where we left off.”
“There may be another option.” Sloan put her pinky and pointer finger of her left hand into her mouth, and whistled.
Chapter Twelve
Jack
“Help! She needs help!”
Jack pounded on the thick door providing the only entrance and
exit to their room. Their plan was risky at best, but what other options did they have? Staying as a prisoner wasn’t an option.
Jack slammed his curled fist against the door over and over again. “She’s choking, someone help us!”
A heavy click met his ears as someone on the opposite side released the lock.
“Stand away from the door!” a rough male voice ordered.
Jack obeyed, positioning himself away from the door. He took a place next to one of the two beds in the room.
A second later, two soldiers entered. They both wore the black-and-grey uniform of New Hope. Both of them were also clearly part of the Vampire Project. Their skin was an unnatural pale white, their eyes pigmented with a hint of red.
“Here, here.” Jack pointed to the bed where Abigail lay in a crumpled ball. “Help her, she’s choking on something.”
Both soldiers rushed to the bedside, looking down on a pile of pillows stuffed under the blankets to take the shape of a person.
At once, Abigail removed herself from her hiding position between the wall and the open door.
Jack had slowly made his way to the unlocked door as the two guards ran to take a look at the supposed choking victim.
Then, Jack ran at an all-out sprint. He knew he had a second, maybe two, before the guards understood what was happening and moved to block their escape.
Abigail was already through the door when Jack reached it, but the new vampire soldiers were too fast. He could feel hands grabbing at his shirt as he crested the threshold of the door.
Fear of being dragged back into the room seized at his heart. The dreaded sensation of panic overwhelmed his rational thought. Pure desperation forced him to keep moving despite the hands grabbing his shirt. With a loud rip, Jack was into the hall, and Abigail slammed the door behind him, throwing the bolt in place in one fluid motion.
House of Spells: (A Paranormal Urban Fantasy) (The Vampire Project Book 3) Page 5