She gave the priest a strange look. “Death shouldn’t trouble me?”
He patted her hand. A wide smile split his made-up mask, showing off teeth not quite as white as his makeup. “Not when she’s got as fine a pair of breasts as our fair goddess.”
Francesca extracted her hand from beneath his. “I can see why you were picked for this.”
“Round one: Tiana Hoffman versus Dan Singh,”a smooth voice called out over the speaker system.“Contestants and spectators, please take your places.”
Happy to have something to distract her from the priest, she shifted a bit toward Maxine in her seat and looked toward the ring. A part of her was relieved to see that it wasn’t Luis up there, proxy or not, and another part of her grew more tense in anticipation.
What if he loses? What if he wins?
She still had no idea what she dreaded more. Even learning a bit more about the dangerous man she’d rejected, she flinched at the idea of him being hurt. He’d always been kind to her. Gentle, even. It was impossible to square that man with the one who’d be fighting in that ring for a chance to drink her blood.
Two large men slid under the ropes and faced each other in the center of the ring. Their feet were bare, and they had neither gloves nor wraps on their knuckles. There was no safety equipment to be seen at all, actually.
Leaning close to her friend, she asked, “What are the rules?”
“First to draw blood wins,” Maxine answered, her voice rising above the gathering roar of the crowd in the tight space. “No fangs. Everything else is on the table.”
The fighters, whose broad backs were painted with the initials of their patrons in white, tapped knuckles before they stepped back a few paces. Wincing despite the fact that a punch hadn’t even been thrown yet, Francesca asked, “Don’t vampires have claws?”
Maxine rested her head on her hand. Smoky eyelids falling low like she was already bored of the spectacle, she answered, “We sure do.”
A whistle shrieked through the speakers. Francesca jumped, her nails digging into the arms of her chair, and swung her head back around to watch the ring. The crowd boiled with movement and jeers as the vampires danced around each other, testing their reach.
They didn’t hold themselves quite like she expected them to. Their arms were loose, their fingers half-curled, and their heads lowered as they prowled the ring. The first hit wasn’t what she thought it’d be, either.
The large man with the initials TH on his back swiped at his opponent’s face. It was too far of a reach, though. His claws would never make contact. That, she realized, hadn’t been his aim.
When his opponent dodged, one long leg snapped out to hook his foot around the back of the other man’s knee. DS lost his balance and tumbled backward. The crowd surged as THlunged for him, only to see him narrowly roll out from under the man.
It was, she realized, a very scary game ofdodge.
There was some appeal in the anticipation of the dance. Every time one of the men took an opening, she held her breath, fully believing that this would be the one to end the bout — and every time the other managed to dip or dance out of harm’s way.
She even found herselfenjoyingthe athleticism of it, right up until she didn’t.
DS had the advantage, having gotten his opponent into a corner, and both men were beginning to show the strain of the fight. It had to be over soon, with DS appearing to be the likely winner. What she learned, however, was that putting oneself in the position to win also put one in a position to lose — badly.
Just as DS went for the win, his claws extended toward TH’s face, the other man ducked, shot out an arm, and raked his claws down his vulnerable belly.
Francesca didn’t gasp. She didn’t even blink. She froze as the crowd jumped from their seats, their roar of approval shaking the walls as a man’s bowels spilled out like earthworms onto the floor.
They wriggled as he collapsed onto one knee, then listed to the side to smash into the mat. Blood pooled around the pink tubes stretched out from what’d once been a perfectly normal stomach, now split like TH had simply pulled a zipper.
Bile rushed up the back of her throat, scalding it, as the announcer excitedly called out,“A win for Tiana Hoffman! Next match: Raphael Bray and Anthony Hood.”
A small fleet of staff rushed into the ring to pile Dan Singh’s proxy — and his entrails — onto a stretcher. He was carried away in what felt like the blink of an eye, leaving more staff to quickly clean the mat of his blood. Tiana’s proxy didn’t stick around towatch. He ducked out from under the ropes and strolled back to where the contestants waited.
Francesca tried to trace the wounded proxy’s path through the crowd, but it was nearly impossible in the crowded space. Her voice trembled when she asked, “Is he going to die?”
“It’s possible,” Maxine answered in a tired voice.
She turned her head woodenly to look at her friend, half expecting to see a horrifying boredom in her expression. But Maxine didn’t look bored. She was watching Francesca, her expression blank but her eyes full of a knowing kind of sadness.
I tried to warn you,those eyes said.
Francesca looked away. Her shaking hands found their way to her lap and became the object of her focus.Luis is going to participate in this?The thought made her want to hyperventilate.