Мэри Дэвидсон - Canis Royal Bridefight

“Nearly all is in readiness for the fights today,” Damon explained as they walked her down the corridor. “Your place has been chosen; once you have broken fast we will take you there. We must then prepare ourselves.”

“Okay. Thanks again for the ringside seat. Is this an okay thing to wear today?”

“You look beautiful,” Maltese assured her. “You are a visitor, so no one expects to see your rank badges or affiliations.”

“I do have a badge, though. I mean, I did. I guess my old shield would be the closest thing to an affiliation. Jeez, I sure wish my footlocker was here.”

“Your what?”

“My footlocker…it’s this big metal box that I kept at the foot of my bed. Most women have hope chests; I’ve got my dad’s old army footlocker. Anyway, it had some

old clothes, and my shield, a bunch of my guns and some ammo, too.” She shrugged and turned. “Oh, well, no use crying over—ow!” Lois suddenly ended up on the floor. She’d tripped over something. Something that hadn’t been there five seconds ago.

She looked over her shoulder and saw her foot locker. Damon leaned down. “Are you going to make that noise again?” “Aaaaaagggggggggggg—” “I take it this is your footlocker?” “—ggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!” Damon helped her up. She reared back and gave her footlocker a kick—yep. Solid

as a rock. This was no hallucination. “Someone better tell me what the fuck is going on! ”

“I told you,” Damon said patiently, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “You are a powerful sorceress. You have but to call what you need out of the air, and it comes.”

“It has happened before,” Maltese added. 
“ What ? You mean other people have just sort of popped up, and they wish out loud

for things, and then their shit shows up, too?” “…yes. If I understand you correctly.” “Do not count on it,” Damon chortled. “Jeez, why didn’t any of you say something? So I could—I could wish myself home,

if I wanted?”

Damon looked distinctly alarmed, and now Maltese was the one fighting a smile. “Peace, my good brother—as to your question, fair Lois, yes, you could wish yourself home. But not for much longer. The ability only lasts for a few sunsets. Then you will remain with us until the end of your days.”

“Oh.” 
“There was no need to tell her that,” Damon said sulkily. 
“Shame, my good prince. To keep things from a lady so as to not have an

interruption to your pleasures.”

Damon flushed, but she was barely paying attention. Things were getting—she could hardly believe it was possible—weirder and weirder. There must be a portal or something, a doorway between her world and theirs, and when someone from Earth was near death, they could get through it. Or something. Shit, what did she know? She’d never read so much as a single sci-fi book in her life. True crime was more her literary bag. “Well, that’s—interesting. I guess.”

“You will not,” Damon said firmly. “You will not wish yourself away.”

“And if I do?” she teased.

“Then I will gag you until your ability has flown.”

“Careful,” she warned, though she felt a tingle at his silly-ass possessiveness. “My footlocker’s here now, with all my guns. Mind I don’t shoot off your kneecap.”

“That does sound unpleasant,” he admitted.

“Has anyone ever gone back?”

“No. Never. I would be…displeased…should you be the first.”

“Hmm.” She lapsed into silence. So no one had gone back—they’d killed themselves or died while desperately unhappy and woken up in a land of shapeshifters and uncommon courtesy, a land where the weather was sunny and seventy-five degrees, where the royal family was worshipped but the commoners had it pretty good, too. Where strangers were welcomed and wooed. No fucking wonder no one had gone back.

The question was, would she be the first?

And why was she even considering it?

* * * * *

She really did have the best seat in the house. It was right next to the king’s chair, which was conspicuously empty. Servants practically fought for the privilege of bringing her treats, and before the Bridefight had even started, Lois was stuffed.

Still, she kept eating. She picked another squashy sweetmeat out of the brimming bowl Zeka was holding for her. “What are these things?”

“ Kumkoss, my lady.”

“Well, they taste like the hybrid of a Tootsie Roll and a marshmallow. Yum! Say, it’s kind of making me nervous, the way you hover over me all the time. Why’n’t you sit down, take a load off?”

Zeka looked alarmed. “I could not, my lady.”

“It’s Lois, and sure you can. Just have a seat.”

“You are kind, but I must not. Look! They begin.”

Still chomping, Lois looked. The place really was like something out of Gladiator …the arena was all hard-packed sand and blinding white, almost too white to look at. The tanned fighters stood out dramatically against it. They were, naturally, naked and, interestingly, a few of them were aroused. Thinking about picking their future brides, maybe? She couldn’t help but notice there wasn’t a teeny weeney in the bunch. Lois finally quit trying to avert her eyes—there were about twenty naked guys running around the arena floor, too many to avoid looking at—and settled back to enjoy the show.

Still, irritating thoughts kept intruding. Like, If I killed myself here, would I wake up back on earth? Or would I be dead-for-real? And why am I thinking about this morbid shit? Jeez!

The fighters were announced one by one. Surprisingly, they all trotted up to her seat and bowed when their names were called. She waved back. These guys really knew how to treat a visitor! And they all looked like escapees from a Mr. Hardbody calendar. Not a scrawny, short fella in the bunch.

When Damon came, she tossed him a Kumkoss, which he snatched out of the air and popped in his mouth so quickly, she never saw his arm move. “A boon from my lady!” he called triumphantly, and the crowd cheered.

“It’s candy, not a boon,” she told him, but he was already walking back to his place, his gorgeous backside flexing as he walked. She nearly fell out of her seat as she craned to get a last look at that fine butt before he turned again.

There was dead silence when the last name—King Sekar’s name—was called. She saw Maltese and Shakal’s mouths pop open in surprise, but Damon just frowned.

“Have a care, my good lord,” he said in the abrupt silence.

The king, who had just finished bowing to her, grinned. “Shalt take your own advice, my good son?”

Meanwhile, Zeka and two other servants were fighting so hard over who would be the one to pour Lois a drink, her beverage ended up on the floor. “Cut it out, you guys,” she said, turning around and giving the three of them a good glare. “Go find somebody else to bug.”

“But my lady is the one…one we wish to…bug!”

“Too bad. Go on, shoo.”

She turned back to watch the action—and nearly shrieked. The king and his opponent had just… transformed . The king was a puma, like Damon, except leaner and longer, with a gray face. His opponent was a black leopard.

The fight happened so quickly, before she knew it, it was over. The puma and the leopard fought, were men again, slugged it out as men, were animals again, clawed and bit, and now they were punching, and now they were leaping, and now they were kicking, and now the king was bowing to her in man-form and the leopard was rolling over on its back, showing throat. It happened so fast, she was shocked, frozen. Finally, she clapped. It seemed the polite thing to do.