Page 1 of Immortal Throne

CHAPTERONE

The bell rang.

It was such a simple sound, but one that automatically got my blood pumping and my mind racing. The need to win, fight, scrape, and claw surged through me in an instant. The flashing lights, snarling crowd, and smell of sweat and blood around me faded into the background. There was nothing but me, my opponent, and the thundering of my heartbeat as my adrenaline kicked up a few notches.

I stared at the man in front of me. Short, but thick at the arms and neck, his muscles glistened with sweat from the oppressive heat of the Underground, a secret fighting arena where people like me came to bet money or fight for the prize.

One thing was for sure—whether spectating or fighting, everyone in the Underground had their demons and they were all here to forget them or leave them behind.

Me?

I was here to beat the shit out of them.

“It’s a shame we have to fight, Sloane.” My opponent held his hands up, and unfurling his fingers, waved at me to come get him. His Irish accent was thick, and he was all smiles. Cocky. Like most new to the Underground. “I planned to ask you out for a pint.”

Not the worst pick-up line I’ve heard, but not the best either.

“Yeah, I’ll just have to embarrass you instead.” I hopped from foot to foot, my body limber and ready from my pre-match warm-up. The air was muggy in the crowded space, making it harder to breathe, but it was something I’d become accustomed to from my frequent trips here. My shorts, tight and hugging my butt, let me move freely while my sports bra kept the girls firmly in place. Those not involved or knowledgeable about mixed martial arts, or MMA, might think I wore the revealing sports gear to show off my body. In reality, I wore this outfit to stay cool, move without restriction, and make it difficult for my opponent to hold me with my clothing or use it to choke me out.

The man swung one of his meaty fists, but I dodged with a quick v-step. He came at me with the left next, and I ducked before striking him in the ribs. My hit surprised him. By the wince on his face, I’d say the strength I had behind it caught him off guard, too.

That was one of my advantages. I might be skinnier than most of the muscleheads frequenting this joint, but I knew how to fight. And thanks to years of jujitsu, kickboxing, and living on the poorer streets of Braton, I was pretty good at it, too.

I also had a little secret talent not many knew about. My sixth sense, or hindsight as I liked to call it. It was a small paranormal gift I’d acquired from my father—whoever the fuck he was—because my mother was as human as they came. If danger approached, I sensed and usually avoided it, giving me even more of an upper hand in the Underground.

So, when my opponent decided to try something sly and reached for my ponytail, my internal alarms went off. The familiar tingling warned me just in time to swivel out of his way, spin, and elbow him right in the mouth. He reeled back, holding his split lip, and cursed. The crowd around the tall cage erupted with cheers, drowning out his shouts, and I grinned.

He was making this almost too easy.

As long as I didn’t pass out again, this fight was going to be a cake-walk.

I’d been coming here for years. Ever since I was eighteen and able to, according to the rules. That was pretty much the only rule in this place.

As expected, I lost a lot in the beginning. My crooked nose and scar above my right eye proved it. But now, I’d made a name for myself.Now, when I stepped into the cage, people knew not to bet against me.

I rarely lost.

As the Irishman charged me, I crouched and swiped out with my leg, catching him behind the knee. He hit the floor like a ton of bricks. After a second or two, he visibly shook himself and grabbed for my ankles. With excitement spiking, I danced away from his grubby hands. When he stood again, fury blazed in his eyes.

Didn’t like getting his ass handed to him by a woman, huh? Most of these pig-headed male fighters were the same. He’d learn soon enough. In addition to my hindsight, I had additional strength, too.

I held up my bruised and taped-up fists again as the Irishman glared.

As I waited for him to come at me again, my vision blurred.

Oh no.

Not again.

My opponent’s tense shoulders, bloody face, and hate-filled expression became nothing more than a fuzzy outline of shapes and color. Heat prickled across my skin. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

I’m going to go down. Again.

This wasn’t my hindsight; there was nothing paranormal about it. I needed to return Dr. Callahan’s call about these random fainting spells. He said he had the test results. Maybe I needed to drink more water. Maybe I had some sort of vitamin D deficiency or a lingering concussion. I didn’t know. I wasn’t a doctor.

Or it could be something more. Something…deadlier.

Like cancer. Like she had.

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