Page 31 of The Wolf in My Tavern

An orc sits next to Tim, and they start a conversation. They seem on friendly terms and have clearly spoken before.

As my eyes sift through the crowd, I realize I’m looking for him.

Not Callum, who Betsy has already explained will be in one of the many antechambers, but the other him in my life… who is not even in my life, should I stop to consider it. Further, I am confused as to why my thoughts should constantly stray toward him.

But then I spot him, and my stomach drops in a familiar way, and I know the pull is still there.

He sits on the opposite side of the pit from me, with Drake on his left, speaking to two men on their right.

A bell rings, and the din rises as those not yet in their seats hasten to find them. A door opens in the side of the pit as people are still milling around in the tiered rows above them, and two men emerge. Their upper bodies are naked, and they are barefoot, with pants that reach just below their knees.

The crowd cheers—there is a frenzy of late bets still being placed.

A man steps forward onto a small platform to the right, calling out the names of the fighters, where they hail from, and a summary of their recent fights.

All the while there are boos and cheers from the crowd.

The announcer steps back.

The two men raise their fists and brace their knees in a fighting stance.

The bell rings.

They clash.

I expect them to box. But what happens appears unstructured to my uneducated eyes, as they lay into one another using knees, elbows, fists, and the occasional grappling move. The fight is vicious, and my heart is already in my mouth thinking about Callum doing this.

I turn away from the fight, but when I do, my eyes land on Gray, and I find him staring back at me. Swallowing, I try to sink into my seat.

A cheer goes up, and my gaze returns to the pit where one man is lying unconscious.

The bout is over.

The winner is announced to the roar of the crowd.

Pundits rush to claim winnings and make fresh bets.

Two new men enter the pit, and the same follows. This fight begins and soon blood splatters over the sandy pit floor. I lower my eyes this time, not wanting to know if Gray is still staring at me or distracted by the bout.

Tim gets us all drinks and roasted chestnuts to eat. The crowd turns wilder. A frenzy invades the stone chamber, almost charged with power like the air after a lightning strike. I feel odd and a little disconnected from reality.

Fighters come and go.

I sip my ale and eat a few of the roasted chestnuts. My stomach is in knots, and I don’t want to acknowledge the strange primitive allure of what transpires in the room, how it crawls under my skin and seems to infect me in a similar frenzy.

I am sick to my core at the thought of Callum fighting.

And curious.

Also conflicted.

“We can slip down to see him afterward,” Betsy says, leaning in to speak to me.

I have not been keeping count, but my instinct tells me Callum’s fight is next.

“Is that allowed?” I ask.

“It is not allowed,” Betsy confirms. “But they also turn a blind eye to hussies as want to slip through.” She grins. “I’d be a hussy for Callum’s pa. Those strong, capable hands could touch me in any way he chose.”

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