Page 43 of The Witch and His Crow

Unfortunately for the other witch, it took little time for Arwyn to regain control over the fight. Not but a minute later, Arwyn was straddling the witch, raining punches down into him. He was feral, blinded by the need to cause pain.

It should’ve scared me, but the feeling I harboured was opposite.

‘Tap. Out,’ Arwyn shouted between each slam of his fist.

Not a sound was made around the courtyard. Even Romy missed her chance to make some joke about wanting to ‘tap him’. Instead, we all watched as Arwyn kept attacking until, finally, the witch gasped out for it all to stop.

Arwyn pushed off him, rocking back a few steps. Two women walked into the courtyard and begun to help the beaten witch up. It was then I noticed how similar they all looked. Triplets, or at least siblings. And a coven no doubt, because no one else risked stepping close enough to Arwyn to help.

‘I think we’ve seen enough,’ I said, drawing my eyes off Arwyn for the first time since they’d found him. The lower half of his face was covered in blood, giving him the look of a beast having torn into a fresh kill.

‘Good idea,’ Romy replied, although I could tell she would’ve been happy to stand around and watch. She’d call it research, saying it was a way of studying our fellow contestants. But I knew the truth.

I barely turned my back on the courtyard when my name rang out across it.

‘Hector, don’t you want a go?’

Slowly, I turned back around to find Arwyn looking directly at me. His breathing was deep, making his powerful chest swell dramatically. Without taking his eyes off me, he took his t-shirt off the courtyard wall and cleared the blood from his face. It didn’t take away from the ominous way he studied me.

This…this was personal. If I hadn’t distracted him, his nose may not have been broken at the bridge. Shame that wasn’t my issue.

‘No thanks,’ I called back, aware of every set of eyes on me. ‘I’ve had a night full of sparring. I think a morning off is well deserved.’

Arwyn smiled deceptively. It was an infuriating grin that had the desired effect on me. One he clearly wanted. He was goading me, forcing me into a corner he already knew I would not get myself out of.

‘Oh come on, dance with me, Hector.’Fuck my life.‘Or perhaps you’re nervous you’ll expose yourself for having two left feet in front of all your adoring fans.’

Audible gasps sang out across my crowd of ‘adoring fans’. The sound wormed itself through myself control, enough that not another word was required for me to give in.

‘The choice is yours,’ Romy said beside me. Her faith in me to win was proving rather motivating.

‘You’ll heal me up again, right?’

‘Or him,’ she said, allowing me to pull free of her arm.

Yes, Arwyn was built like a mountain of muscle. But if anyone had seen the way I fought, it was Romy. She’d watched me take down three hunters—well two, because she’d finished the third.

Then, I’d had Caym to help. But that was a one-off. I didn’t survive all these years on my own for the likes of this arrogant witch to make me look like a fool.

I was not only proving myself to Arwyn and the crowd, but to myself.

I could do this. Last night was a fluke, four witches against one. This time, it was only me and Arwyn.

‘Would you like me to take my top off too?’ I asked, sauntering into the open space with my shoulders back. ‘Or would you also find that too much of a distraction?’

His smile faltered, broken nose twitching. ‘I don’t find you?—’

I swept my power out with a subtle flick of my finger. Arwyn’s legs were knocked out from beneath him. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that he didn’t even have a chance to put his hands out to stop him. He hit the ground on his side, groaning as the wind was banished from his lungs.

All I did was ready myself, bend my knees and flex my neck from side to side. ‘Clearly.’

I knew, from the look he gave me next, that this was yet another time my sarcasm would leave me with a few bruises. And I welcomed it.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Arwyn wouldn’t take his eyes off me. Especially when my tongue traced my torn lip, lapping up the blood he had so kindly spilled. But he wasn’t without a wound either. Arwyn’s left eye had swollen shut, courtesy of my fist. I’d no doubt at least one of his ribs was fractured, maybe two if I’d gotten lucky.

Beside the tear in my lip, my only other affliction was exhaustion. We had been sparring for what felt like hours, but which must have been five minutes. No fight lasted this long, not when every second was utilised. And what was evident was we’d keep going until one of us tapped out.

---