by T. F. Walsh
Shadow hurried toward the corner of house, where a cluttering of pebbles adorned the edging. Kneeling down, he dug through the stones, pushing them aside until he hit soil. There was nothing there, so he worked his way along the rear of the building until he approached the wooden door. Except, Sivath would never hide it that close to the door. Too obvious.
A creak groaned from inside. Shadow’s heart slammed into his ribcage. He scanned the area; it was barren of shrubs, and the trees lay too far to reach in time. So he sprinted across the yard and threw himself around the corner of the home. Lowering himself to a hunched position, his back sat against the cold wall.
A horrible churning started in the pit of his gut. It grew by the second. While he had zero idea what was going on, Shadow was convinced he’d break bones until he discovered how Sivath and Carver were involved in Klurt’s death.
When no sounds came, he crawled back out and kept digging along the pool of pebbles near the house’s foundation. The keys better be there, or he was tearing down the door. The tips of his fingers stung from the prodding. Each time a stone clung against another, he cringed.
He edged onward when something sharp stabbed his thumb. Beneath the pebble was a silver key. “Goddess, thank you.” He dashed to the cellar door.
A metallic groan screeched—hinges from inside the house.
He jabbed the key into the hole, but kept missing. Glancing up showed no one had emerged yet. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled, and, finally, jammed the key correctly. He pried the trap door upward and rushed down into darkness. Within seconds, he’d closed himself in the cellar. A harrowing smell crashed into him. He stood on the steps, listening, holding back a coughing fit as his chest heaved for fresh air.
Silence.
He climbed down into the basement. At the bottom of the stairs, the pungent odor intensified. A fly buzzed in his face. “What the hell is that stink?”
Shadow found the light cord. The same one he’d tugged dozens of times as a child when he went to retrieve another jar of pickled gherkins. A fluorescent beam illuminated the empty cellar. Uneasiness pushed against him.
To his left, the room lay empty, and the door leading up to the kitchen was shut. On the opposite wall, shelving was crammed with rotting boxes.
Shadow lowered his gaze, and a chill crept over him.
Flies swarmed around a large tubular item wrapped in plastic.
Dread curled into his chest, squeezing his heart. He hesitated at first.
Move, his mind screamed. He inched closer and retrieved his blade from his belt. He sliced through the material. The foul smell had him gagging.
Shadow shuddered. He stared down at the grayish flesh that was once his mentor, friend, and father figure. Sivath.
Flesh was torn across his throat, maggots wriggling in the open wound. Sivath lay dead, his open eyes hollow of life and his body way past the rigor mortis stage.
Sivath had been dead for maybe weeks. “What the fuck is going on?”
Anger crashed through Shadow fast, burning him up from the inside out. It consumed him, and he was already rushing up the steps to the kitchen, his muscles taut and ready to fight. He tried the handle. Locked.
Holding on to the wooden railing, he kicked the door. Nothing. Another round of kicks and it burst open. He didn’t give a shit if the noise drew Carver’s attention. That was the plan. Then he’d break his fist into Carver’s face.
Shadow stepped into a dim kitchen with nothing but a sink and counter beneath a covered window. No one came to investigate his intrusion.
Outside the kitchen, wisps of light from gaps in the curtains sliced the darkened hallway.
He stomped toward the rear room with the fireplace, only to find it empty.
Rushing back through the house, his boots thumped the wooden flooring as he checked each room. No goblins or furniture. The next level was the same, while the top story looked lived in. Mattresses, blankets, and boxes of clothes.
“Where the hell are you?”
A deep ache settled in Shadow’s head. The bastard must have left.
He stepped closer to the window and pushed aside the dusty, brown drapes. Below, he spotted two figures entering the woodlands. Carver and Den.
He gritted his teeth as blood rushed to his head. No words formed. Only the fury unleashing from within. Today, this shit ends.
Shadow stormed back downstairs and outside. He broke into a sprint, determined to catch the asswipes and make them beg for their lives.
Shadow wasn't sure how long he’d been running through the forest, but he hadn’t found Carver or Den. Yet the image of Sivath refused to unstick from his mind. A cut across his throat told Shadow everything he needed to know. Sivath had been betrayed.
In retrospect, he should have made the connection earlier. Sivath not attending Klurt’s ceremony. But Carver was there, using Sivath’s name like some kind of scare tactic. In hindsight, he recalled Zana’s words about the guy who’d killed Klurt; cropped, golden hair, large guy with a limp. The same dickhead with Carver.
Anger propelled Shadow to move faster, racing toward the night’s festival in case that was Carver’s destination. Zana was probably there with no protection.
Every time Shadow pictured Carver, he smacked his head with the flat part of his hand. “Idiot. Should have killed him when you had the chance.”
The aroma of barbecued meat hung in the air. Shadow barged through a row of bushes and shoved a low-hanging branch out of his way. He stepped out of the woods. The clearing from the previous night drowned in the silvery glow of the moonlight, and had been transformed into an outdoor party. A bonfire roared at one end. An ocean of red lanterns were piled up on the lawn farther away—ready for each new goblin who found their mate that night to release one into their air as a token to the goddess. Families bought spiraled potatoes on a stick from a cluster of food stalls. Couples cooked marshmallows in the fire. Everyone else enjoyed the picnic. Voices and laughter brimmed with cheer.
Shadow pressed through the throng, ignoring the glares, the foul words coming his way. Fuck them all. He’d lost two goblins, and he had to find Zana first, then Carver.
Neither Klurt’s nor Sivath’s deaths would go unpunished. Pryvale was a town built on a foundation of corruption and fear. This was what Sivath and Klurt had tried to fix, to offer goblins a line of help and support. They were the pioneers of changing goblins’ lives. But, clearly, not everyone agreed.
He scanned the tops of heads, standing taller than most.
Someone grabbed his arm.
He spun around. “What?”
“Geez. Someone is high-strung.” Zana stepped back. Behind her gaze, something softened. Was she going to cry? The concern in her eyes added to the heaviness on his shoulders.
“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out for her hand, but she pulled away.
“You left my place without a word, and—”
He sighed. “I had lots to do, but I’m here now.”
“Screw that. You vanish and expect me to forget that you freaked me out all day?” She ran a hand down her face. “I thought you were dead somewhere.”
A couple of goblins walked past, gawking at them. Yep. This conversation would be on everyone’s lips in about five seconds.
“I can look after myself. Told you that. But I think it’s time to get you home.” He glanced around him. No matter what, Shadow was delivering on his promise to make Carver bleed.
“Are you even listening to me?” she asked.
His attention swung to Zana as she chewed her lower lip.
“Look,” he said. “Tonight, shit is going down, and I don’t want you in the firing range.”
“Why? What—?”
A summoning gong rang across the meadow. “Hell! The mating dance.”
Goblins moved like a tidal wave, crashing against him, ushering them both forward.
Zana had already been swept into the current. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her mouth moving, but
he couldn’t make out the words.
He reached out his hand to her. Fighting the horde was useless. Shoes stomped his boots, elbows knocked him in the ribs, hot exhales blew against his neck.
“Hell!” Worse than a cattle stampede.
Another bell rang, and he recognized the enormous empty land ahead. Six-foot poles staked in the ground, alongside blazing torches, which surrounded the arena. Several females were getting tied to the posts, facing the center, giggling—the mating dance. Single women waited for eligible men to select them. The goblins engaged in a mock fight, then they claimed a girl. After that, the couples would search the woodlands for an elusive lunar flower that only grew one night a year. It was said that couples who found the flower were blessed for a happy life, and it was a message from the goddess that they were meant to be together.
Shadow had dreamed of getting his chance, too. One of the reasons he’d agreed to come home. To see if the goddess would favor him with a mate. A most auspicious night for all goblins. His insides were shredded and knotted so tight, he could barely breathe. No time for this. Get Zana to safety first.
But when he found her, she was rushed into the center by a cluster of females. His stomach sank. Once someone entered the circle, they had to continue with the ceremony. To pull out was a slap in the face to the goddess, and goblins had been thrown out of town for less. If a male selected the girl, she wasn’t permitted to walk away. Not until the couple hunted for the lunar flower to see if they were, indeed, meant to be together. No other male was allowed near her until then.
Part of him fought with the notion of tearing in after her and forcing her home. Every molecule in his body called him to claim Zana. To take what he wanted… needed. But not when Carver could be anywhere.
Zana scanned the masses. Was she searching for him?
He wove closer through the herd, toward the night’s entertainment. No way could he walk away and leave her at some other goblin’s mercy.
He rushed forward amid the bodies, sliding between two larger goblins. One was pulling the gate shut. Hell no.
Maybe he’d conform, untie Zana, and get out. Surely, that wouldn’t take more than ten minutes. The thought of claiming Zana did something to his insides. Heating them to the point where he couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope amid the darkness swarming within.
A few feet from the entrance gate, a hand snatched his wrist. Povian stood there, grinning. “So glad you’ll be participating, son!”
Shadow’s mouth opened, but his response died when a handful of goblins patted his body.
“Back off.” He pushed against the hands, a growl rolling in his throat. Someone snatched his knife from his belt.
“Give that back!” Shadow yelled, his hands reaching out between bodies.
“No weapons allowed,” Povian said behind him.
Moments later, Shadow was shoved into the ring, and the gate shut with a final click.
Cheering exploded from the hundreds of spectators crowding around the arena. Damn. He’d felt more comfortable swimming in the nude with draes back in the kingdom than being goblin-handled.
He surveyed the arena. About thirty girls were tied to poles, and forty or so males hung out in the center, fake-punching each other. A primal energy gripped him at the idea of anyone else touching Zana. She was his.
But when his gaze landed on a familiar face amid the contestants, he tensed.
“Carver!”
11
Anger shook Shadow. He glared at Carver across the arena of the mating dance. The fucker had killed Sivath, and he was going after Zana. He’d rip off Carver’s head with his bare hands. The spine was coming out, too.
Shadow didn’t doubt for a second that Carver would target Zana. Pricks like Carver were the underlying problem in goblin society. Greedy fuckers who walked over anyone. Everything they did was to benefit themselves; not the community.
Shadow stormed toward Carver. The bastard lingered deeper in the arena amid other goblins.
Someone punched Shadow’s lower back, right behind his kidneys.
An involuntary gasp rushed past Shadow’s lips. His knees buckled, and a barrage of twitches lanced down his legs.
The spectators booed, but such attacks were legit in the circle. Shadow looked up, watching a golden-haired goblin limp past. Den. The prick glanced over his shoulder at Shadow, sneering with the filthiest look in his eye.
If Den and Carver both wanted their asses whooped, Shadow would deliver.
He dusted his jeans and got up. He stared over at Zana, noting the dread etched on her face. Yep. She had worked out her predicament. No time to worry about might-haves or the unfairness of two against one.
A loud siren cried overhead, and the audience erupted into a cheer, stomping. The ground beneath Shadow quivered.
Once everyone quieted, Povian spoke. “A quick reminder of the rules. No weapons. Your goal is to mock fight initially. Impress the girl you intend to claim. When you hear the signal, stand next to your selected female. If you have a challenger wanting her as well, you must battle. Last one standing wins.” He clapped. “Let the mating dance commence!”
The rhythmic beat of drums began, growing faster, louder.
Surrounding Shadow, the single males started their acts. Some ran in circles. Others flexed their muscles, while the rest practiced kicking moves on invisible foes. Shadow loathed prancing like a peacock, convinced if he did, Zana would laugh. Most of the guys looked idiotic.
Shadow marched toward his targets. But Carver and Den fanned out in opposite directions, merging into clusters of other bodies.
“Shadow,” Povian’s voice boomed. “Show us your strength, or you’ll be thrown out. And you don’t want to that.”
“Damn!” Shadow yelled. Getting booted out meant leaving Zana to the whim of Carver, forcing her to spend the night with him. Fuck that.
Shadow unbuttoned his shirt and ripped it off his body.
Whistles surrounded him, and even Zana was beaming. He winked at her and tucked the edge of his shirt into his back pocket. Shadow spun and did a lap of the ring, mainly to stretch his muscles and pin down the location of the dickheads.
Carver hovered near a cluster of goblins, stretching. Den hurried up behind Shadow, limping. Suddenly halting, Shadow sidestepped and swung around, a hand clenched. His fist collided into Den’s nose. Blood dotted his knuckles and a deep ache raced up his hand, but it was worth it.
Applause thundered.
Shadow lifted his hands in the air as a show of his mistake. No touching yet until the final siren went off, so better the audience believed it was an accident.
“Fucking piece of shit,” Den growled as he wiped his bloody nose. But instead of staying back, he charged, taking Shadow off guard.
Den’s tackle sent Shadow staggering. A slam to Shadow’s face, then another, had his head spinning.
Shadow’s vision wavered, but the dick wasn’t slowing. Shadow ducked the next swing and returned the favor into the goblin’s gut.
Den groaned and bent over, clutching his stomach. Despite Povian’s hollering, all Shadow could think about was Klurt. Dead. Sivath in a plastic bag. An inferno consumed his veins. He grabbed Den’s shoulders and drove a knee into his face. Blood splattered across Shadow’s jeans.
“Son of a bitch.”
Shadow chased after Den, but others grappled Shadow’s arm. He yanked free and ran.
Den’s lips twisted into a weird grin, mouthing the words: “She’ll die tonight.”
Shadow closed the distance and roundhouse kicked Den in the chest, sending him stumbling to the center of the arena.
Arms locked around Shadow’s stomach. Povian was there. “Son, stop. Hit him one more time and you’re out.”
The shaking refused to abide, and Shadow embraced the fury. But Povian was right. For Zana, he’d hold back. For now.
Povian called out, “Just a little misunderstanding. Let’s continue with the show. Remember, no contact until the sire
n goes off.”
Povian and his guards left the field. Shadow couldn’t move or stop staring at Den, who ran a hand over his face.
Every molecule inside Shadow implored him to finish Den.
Shadow pushed into a fast walk around the perimeter, slowing his breaths on purpose. He had to keep his mind straight. Two against one meant he had to hold his shit together.
He wiped the splatter of red speckles across his chest. When he reached Zana, he pretended to stretch his shoulders. Talking with the girls wasn’t permitted, but showing off was.
Despite Zana’s show smile, the worry behind her eyes implored him to take her into his arms and whisk her from the show. But he somehow doubted she’d agree to be the damsel in distress. Besides, he wasn’t going anywhere while Carver was near.
She whispered, “Be careful.”
Shadow nodded as he curled an arm, flexing his bicep, coaxing a laugh out of Zana. At least she wasn’t crying, and he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.
He turned just as the drumming ended and a siren blared like a howl, piercing the air. He dropped his arms and approached Zana, selecting her as his lifemate. Just thinking those words left him buzzing with warmth. He’d come here to join the festivities to find a partner, and he was doing just that.
“Hey,” she said. “Release me now. I’ll forfeit my entry. Don’t take Carver and his jerk buddy on alone.”
Other goblins moved to stand near their desired females, and the seething in Shadow’s veins intensified. “Carver isn’t walking out of here alive.” He took a step forward, staring at the shadows beneath her eyes and the tightness of her lips.
“Are you mad? Don’t ruin your future for revenge. You’ll never be allowed back in Pryvale.” Her voice implored him to listen.
Not happening.
His jaw line twitched from the earlier punch, and rubbed it, his fingers rubbing along his beard. He opened his mouth, ready with a response, when he spotted them. Carver and Den strolled closer, both stopping in front of Zana. They wore their bruises like badges of honor and held their chins high as if, somehow, they’d won the game.