Page 10 of An Empress of Earth & Darkness

It wasn’t long before a mob had stopped watching the actual fight in the ring and began wondering what was happening in the hordes of fights breaking out on the floor. If they weren’t getting in on the action, they were passing around coin, making another bet on the ongoing brawl.

“Three gold coins on them not making it out here alive,” she heard a man roar.

“I’ll bet ye four,” confirmed another.

The bald man standing in front of Emara was now laughing at her as she held up Agnes, showing them how lethal she was.

She would give him something to snigger about.

“Do you know how to work that pole, sugar?” He laughed, and the men standing at his back did too. “Should you not be dancing around that instead of holding it, pretending like you know how to use it?”

Emara gave him an unimpressed glare.

His vile tongue licked his cracked lips as he said, “Are you going to stand there and wave your little stick, or are you going to take off your cloak and show us a good time?” His beady little eyes wormed their way across her body, and the other men all hastily agreed.

Say nothing, she thought. Keep him thinking that I’m intimidated by him.

She pouted a little. “You see, I could dance here with this pole for you,” she said as the crowd got a little heavier where she stood. “Or I could just knock your disgusting little teeth out with it.” She raised an eyebrow as a cruel smile broached her lips, and the corners of his mouth pulled down in confusion.

She moved, finding a weakness in his confusion—always finding a weakness—and struck.

She whacked the spear so hard across his face that stars dazzled in his eyes as his body fell to the floor.

The men around her roared in laughter and shock, some already dipping into their pockets for more coin to wager.

Finally, she looked up, knowing magic was swirling in her eyes. But she knew she wouldn’t gain any respect down here if she fought with magic. No. She had to fight the old-fashioned way. She looked at all the men who were standing ogling her. She found that terrible smile on her lips again. “Anyone else wanna see me dance with my pole? I’m pretty good.”

His Fae opponent hit the floor of the ring with a smack, and he didn’t get back up. He didn’t even twitch. That was a good sign—for Torin.

It looked like his night of oblivion was just about to begin, the cheap whiskey of the underground numbing his wounds until he woke the next day, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a spear cut through the air. It hit its target, knocking a man into a table and shattering the glasses on it.

He stopped dead.

The spear had a reddish glint as it flew through the air.

It couldn’t be.

He had kept his whereabouts a secret. Only Gideon and Artem knew of his extracurricular activities.

Wiping the blood from his cut eye and leaving his foe on the floor to sleep off the fight, he moved towards the ropes to get a better view. He noticed his white hand wraps were now tarnished with crimson as he placed a hand over his eyes to see out into the crowd. He realised quickly that no one was watching him anymore, their attention on the messy tornado of limbs and bodies that was causing chaos in the centre of the crowd.

Everyone seemed to be engrossed.

“Hey,” he shouted over the brawl to a bystander who was taking coin from a Shifter. “Hey, who are they betting on?” he asked, still watching the crowd to see if his eyes were betraying him. They did that quite a lot in crowds. They imagined her standing amongst the crowd with her stunning tanned skin and midnight hair falling around her shoulders, tumbling down her arms. They imagined her ruby-red lips pulling into a smile, her eyes cosmic and stargazed.

“Some bitch with a spear has taken out a few men. Her two bodyguards started it, though. This lot are placing bets on who will be the first one t’ die,” the weasley man stated as he took a few more coin, counted them, and placed them into a pouch on his belt. “My bets are on the girl. Apparently, she is a witch who can fight. ‘Magine that,” he cackled. “Covens coulda been doin’ with her a few months ago before the Dark Army started stringin’ them up by their necks—”

Before Torin could hear the rest, he leapt over the ropes that encaged him, already swinging punches to make his way through the violent crowd to get to where he needed to be.

The first person he saw was Artem Stryker; with his inked hands and his deadly punches, he was giving it hard to a massive Shifter Torin knew to be were-coyote.

A normal night in the pits, then.

Next, he saw Gideon’s nimble frame, ducking glasses, punches, kicks, chairs.

He almost laughed.

A gleam of gold and silver whirled past his face, and then a banner of silken black hair dove past him. She was quicker than expected, but it was her. He would have known her anywhere, even if he were blindfolded. His soul could find her anywhere.

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