Elle Jasper: Everdark

In my head, I answered. “You’ve apparently not seen me fight, Vick. I got it. No sweat. Besides, Eli wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”

“He’s good for something, I suppose. Still. Be careful.”

“Later, Vick.”

“I love that you have a nickname for me now. Makes me feel special.”

Victorian finally left me alone, and my concentration zoned back to the fights. Some kid hadn’t liked the way Seth had looked and had challenged him. We watched them spar now.

If that was what you wanted to call it.

I watched my baby brother take it all easy, slow, not show-offy like me. He reflected and ducked more than he fought; but when it came down to dirty business, Seth fought, and fought hard. I could feel his restraint with each punch, so much so that the ridges in his abdomen were flexing. He knew the force of his power, his tendencies, and no matter how much of a prick his opponent was, he didn’t want them too badly hurt.

I was proud of him for that.

Seth roundhouse kicked the guy, who was at least a foot taller than he was, right in the chest and sent him sprawling. The movement knocked several spectators back. Seth followed him down, choked him with one leg, and dared him to move. No rules meant no rules, and when the kid tried to buck Seth off, Seth popped him in the nose. I heard the bone break from where I was standing.

Seth won that fight, but it was his last.

I saw opportunity in the form of another Billy Badass, and I jumped in. I heard Eli’s hiss of disapproval from across the ring.

Too bad. This was why we were here. I wanted it to end—tonight. We’d rounded up dozens of newlings and those in the quickening. We needed to take the main vein of threat out—now.

Pushing through the crowd, who recognized me from the before, I shoved the weaker fighter out. The crowd roared. My opponent was a big, burly, helluva guy; midthirties, shaven head, muscles on top of muscles. He stood no less than six feet six inches.

He slowly rounded on me, the roar of the spectators so loud, I couldn’t think. I kept my eyes trained on him. He grinned.

“Fightin’ you is gonna be more fun than fuckin’ you,” he said in a thick, country-fried drawl. “Maybe I’ll do both.” He cracked his neck.

I simply grinned. What a big, brainless dick. “If you think you can,” I egged him, “come on.”

The big idiot circled me. He wore a dingy-white wife beater, cheap jeans, big leather boots. He wore chunky gold—probably fake—rings on four fingers, on each hand. He stuck out his tongue. It was extra long, extra gross, and he must’ve thought extra sexy, with the gold ball pierced through it. Inwardly, I cringed. He probably had a little pecker.

I saw Eli in my peripheral. Noah stood beside him, probably to restrain him.

A punch flew my way and I ducked; he missed me, and I dipped and popped up behind him. With a roundhouse I kicked him in the shoulder blades, and he stumbled forward. The crowd laughed.

He did not.

Foul words flew from his mouth, along with a disgusting amount of spit; I did not entertain him with some of my own. I watched him close. For a big guy, he moved with more grace than I’d have given him credit for. He swung a few more times, and I nimbly dodged his fists. The last thing I wanted was my juicy delicious blood, tainted though it might be, spilled on the fight club floor with newlings all around. I let him get close, then swung upward with both fists clenched, landed it into his nose, two elbows to the gut, and once he was bent over at the waist, I kicked his knees out. He hit the mat with a yelp and a curse.

He tried to get up.

I landed a solid punch to his jaw. He teetered, swayed, then fell back. Out cold.

With the crowd cheering, I left the ring.

Across the ring, I saw Eli’s face. Mad was not the term I’d use to describe his expression. He was . . . more like a half inch away from changing. Tee-total pissed off—at me or the dickhead, I couldn’t say.

“You are so sexy when you kick ass,” Luc said in my ear. “Too bad my big brother wants to wring your neck for it.”

“Whatever,” I said. We watched a few more fights. I got in a few of them. Despite how good I was at it, I really, really hated it. I wanted it to end, the night to be over, the newlings put in their places, the monster caught—not necessarily in that order.

Eventually, the familiar newling—who I guessed was a leader of sorts—approached me.

“So, how have the pussies managed?” he asked over the roaring crowd.

I shrugged. “I’m still here.”

The smile he gave me chilled me. “And you’ve only fought one decent opponent. Come to ringside.”

I glanced at Luc, and he nodded forward. I glanced upward, at the next level, and met gazes first with Eli, Phin, Seth, then Noah. Zetty and Josie were on our level and in the corner.

They all had my back.

I shrugged and followed the newling.

And then stepped into the ring with a newling.

The moment I saw her, I knew it’d be a challenge; she was lithe, young, and obviously had contacts in to mask her opaque eyes. But I knew. I could sense her undeadliness. She wore head-to-toe black leather, like some freakish postapocalyptic catwoman, and the look of sheer confidence in her face could have chilled me, had I allowed it. I did not.

I’d learned a while back not to wear restrictive clothing to fight in; it was easier to withdraw my silver in baggy clothes. And since they were all hidden below the waist, I stripped off my tank, to the roar and whistles and cries of the mostly male crowd, leaving me to fight in a black sports bra. My opponent’s eyes were nailed to mine as she circled me; I circled her. When she attacked, I held back not one ounce of strength.

She was a fury of fists and long-legged kicks; so fast I almost had a difficult time keeping up. Her abilities challenged me, provoking my adrenaline to rush through me, and I gave back just as good as she offered. She roundhouse kicked me in the jaw; I’d almost managed to duck, but she caught me with the heel of her foot and it sent me reeling. The moment I landed on the floor, she was on me. I bucked her off and straddled her; she did the same. We both landed on our feet again. I lunged this time, not waiting for her. I came down, both fists clenched, and smashed into her jaw. She yanked me by my ponytail and brought my face close to hers.

“I know what you are, bitch,” she said. “You know what I am?”

“Oh yeah,” I muttered, and elbowed her in the gut. She dropped me.

“We’ll fight, then,” she said. “Like mortals.”

Our fight continued over the cheers of the crowd.

Suddenly, another joined in.

I now faced two female newlings.

With a quick glance, I found Eli. Noah physically had his hands on Eli’s arms. He was holding him back. And Eli’s face looked thunderous. I ignored it.

I took one helluva whipping, but I kept them both off me. At least, I kept their fangs from probing into my flesh. It was almost as if they dared me to make them morph; I have no idea if they knew I carried silver. But because of the number of mortals in the room, I wasn’t about to drop them.

I could have, but I didn’t.

My body was rushed by both; I leapt and cleared them. The crowd cheered.

Then, the crowd grew silent.

Then, they started to scream.

Only then did I notice why.

The newlings had begun their attacks on mortals. I guess my cover, and probably those of the others, were now officially blown. I didn’t glance around; I didn’t have time. The two newlings in the ring with me were now determined to make me one of them. They lunged, simultaneously, and I had to concentrate and zone the screams out, focusing just on them if I wanted to stay alive.