Page 10 of The Blacksmith in My Tavern: Tales of Bleakness

“For sure,” she says, but there is a worry line between her brows. “He won’t be hurt, will he?”

I snort a laugh and then realize she is being serious. “It’s a fight, lass. Unless, by some miracle, nobody lands a blow, he will assuredly be hurt.”

“Oh, I cannot stand the thought of him being hurt. I saw his hands after… after my father, and that broke my heart.”

“Well, no one forces him to compete. I overheard him and his pa discussing how it keeps his skills sharp. They hold the fights once a month, and he takes part as often as not—and has done so for several years. Do you want to go, Ada?”

We have reached the tavern. I bring us to a stop at the archway leading to the back and the entrance we use.

I see the indecision on her face. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her… only how could I not when I am going. She deserves to know. Also, it’s fair to say the love triangle plot between Ada, Callum, and Gray has thickened, and I’m inclined to stir the pot—Callum is going to be fighting, and I’ve overheard Gray will be going as a spectator.

She nibbles on her lower lips, her eyes searching mine before they pull together in another frown. “What is it?”

I shrug. “Well, just so you know, there are always hussies hanging around trying to get their hands on the competitors, offering all manner of saucy favors. You don’t want anyone poaching your claim.”

Her eyes go wide. “Yes,” she blurts out. “I want to go.”

“Good,” I say. “I have a mind to keep an eye on his pa, too. Those lasses are shameless. Also, I have it on good authority that a certain Master Gray will be in attendance.”

And by shameless hussies, I mean me. Only enough is enough. He wants me too. I know he does. I tried leaving him tocome to his senses. Look how that has worked out—poorly. It’s time to lay my heart on the line. If the fool man rejects me one more time, I won’t try again.

Heath

I used to participate in Bleakness’s underground fights when I was younger. The reasons I moved to Bleakness with my late wife are complex. I was already supporting the rebellion. We were in danger, and they helped us. In return, I agreed to support the cause here.

It should have been a few years. But my wife died, and everything changed.

Still, the underground fights are useful in ways more than keeping your skills sharp. It is a good place to meet other like minded men for the latest news regarding the rebellion. Tonight, I come to support my son who is so much more than he realizes.

A son who trains hard with me every evening after we finish at the forge, and who has just obliterated his opponent and won his fight.

The atmosphere is wild. The crowd’s roar follows us back down the tunnel to the changing room.

I’m fucking proud of my boy.

In every way imaginable.

Yet every time I look at him and see his red hair, it reminds me of his mother, my wife, the one I dedicated my life to, who I left my home, and everyone I knew to protect.

And whom I lost.

I shove those memories down, along with the dose of guilt that has assaulted me increasingly of late.

Betsy, with her bold ways, her sashaying hips, and those tits that are a test to any man seeking to think straight. Her smile weakens me every time I see it. It is a lethal weapon every bit as effective as an orc club to the gut.

Callum staggers as we enter the changing room. But it is not from fatigue. No, he is buzzing from the fight. Tonight is the first occasion his mother’s heritage showed itself—the worst possible time.

The room has a basic shower, little more than a spout. I pull the leaver and shove Callum under the icy spray, still clothed in his pants.

“Fuck!” he mutters, trying to step out.

I shove him back. “You can stay there until you’re in possession of your wits.” Gods, there is steam rising from his flesh. He is on the brink of shifting—he doesn’t even know he is a damn shifter.

Why is it only now it begins to show? I am no shifter. That comes from his mother. I am woefully unprepared for this.

He chuckles, breaking some of the tension. “I am fucking freezing.”

“Good,” I say brusquely.

---