Page 26 of Nocturne

He leans in, keeping a measured distance. “Stranger danger is real, love. But in this case, you’re safer with me than anyone else.”

Ivy hesitates, torn between protest and concern. I grip the table to steady myself as another wave of weakness washes over me. Eero growls low, pulling his keys from his pocket.

“I don’t want your help,” I mutter.

“And I don’t care,” he snaps, tone brooking no argument. “Protecting the boss’s interest is my job. And you, sweetheart, happen to be that interest.”

I stiffen, his words settling uncomfortably in my chest.

“Why?” I manage, defiant despite my exhaustion.

His grin is all teeth, eyes glinting with something dark and unreadable.

“Let’s just say sharing isn’t his strong suit.”

Eight

Ara

Saturday night finds me and Ivy in a fighting ring—Nocturne.

We have been loyal to the one which we had been visiting since college even if Nocturne has been famous for a while. But when the fighting ring which we frequented was closed last week, we decided to check out this place which has been the talk of the town.

Like all fighting rings, this space is also illegal. But there isn’t any secret code like the others to let us in.

The scary-looking bouncer guy stands in front of a large iron door that creaks every time someone opens it. There is even valet parking available and I don’t see any police coming to bust them. That is the least of my concerns right now.

The bouncer/ticket collector glares at me as if he wishes to strangle me. I don’t fault him. I openly gaped at his shining bald head with a red and black dragon tattoo without so much as blinking. I must’ve made the man self-conscious for all I know.

“Thanks,” Ivy drags me by my hand.

Both of us struggle to push the heavy door open and the guy doesn’t so much as look at us to help. With a lot of struggle, the door opens with a heavy groan and our ears are greeted by near-deafening screams of enthusiastic spectators. Ivy and I stumble inside, looking around with widened eyes. The place is huge.

The arena is situated on a floor below, looking more like a cavernous space with its rocky walls surrounding us. It looks like someone scooped out the inside of a massive cave to make space for the fighting ring that is surrounded by a metal cage. Strobe lights decorate the place here and there so that there is some light to see. Steep stairs lead towards the arena.

I look around while I slowly climb down the stony stairs. A mezzanine is built behind the ring where there is a betting cage that is surrounded by gamble-hungry people screaming something unintelligible.

There are bouncers situated all across the arena, all of them tall, packed with muscles and looking around for trouble. If there is even the slightest form of trouble, they are fast to intervene and break it or grab the troublemakers by the scruffs of their neck, to probably throw them out of the establishment.

We probably must have missed the introduction of the fighters, because by the time we run towards one side of the fighting ring, one of the fighters has already walked in.

While running from the stairs, I caught the host informing that the price of losing in these matches was his/her life. Cutthroat. Wow. I’m not sure if I’d like to see such a cut-throat fight, but we are already here, I might as well enjoy the experience.

The one already standing in the ring wears a red boxer, looking determined and serious. If I’m fighting for my life, I’d be serious too.

The host screams into his mic, announcing the next fighter,Shadow.

The strobe light shifts to our left, stopping outside the mouth of a narrow corridor. The crowd goes absolutely mental whenthe fighter from the black corner steps into the light. Even from a distance, I recognise him and hear Ivy’s sharp gasp from my side.

“Fuck!” she curses.

Shadow is none other than, Nico—one of the men from the night in Roarfort. He is clad in black boxers.

His dark scowl like that night is still in its place as he walks towards the ring. He doesn’t seem to care about the wild cheers that shake the walls around us for him. He is tightening the tape around his hands while he cracks his head sideways.

The man is solidly built, his physique a display of brute strength rather than refinement. Faint silver scars crisscross his skin, stark reminders of past violence. My eyes snag on a symbol burned into his back—a mark that stirs unwelcome, unsettling memories. Memories I shake away, immediately.

His story could be anything, but the scars etched across his body speak volumes of pain and suffering—enough to break and reshape anyone. It’s easy to condemn criminals for their actions, but few consider what might have led them down such a path.

---