Page 36 of Barons of Decay (Royals of Forsyth University #10)

That’s the difference, I realize. Damon’s volatile like a loose wire. You don’t touch him wrong unless you want to get shocked. The tingling in the tit he pinched is an ever present reminder.

The bell rings.

And I swear, the world narrows down to fists and footwork.

Porterfield starts sharp–jab, cross, step out. Carson’s warning rings true. ‘He also is impatient and goes for the first hit. You can either take it and go from there or beat him to it.’

Damon eats the first one, head barely snapping back. He grins. I know that grin. I saw it in the dark forest when he stumbled on Armand’s dead body and the bloody knife in my hand.

Leverage.

That’s all he needs.

Slam!

Porterfield lands an uppercut, knocking Damon further off balance.

He’s got his own rhythm, dancing just out of reach like he’s showing off.

Every time Damon reacts, the grip I have on the railing tightens, knuckles turning white.

He’s swinging wild, looping hooks and knees from awkward angles, but nothing’s clean. Not yet.

" One, two, three, four... " I chant as they circle one another. “ One, two, three, four…”

The bell chimes, ending the first round. He returns to the corner, bleeding from his eyebrow. Rob and Carson are ready, tossing a towel at him to wipe his sweaty face and squirting water in his mouth. I lurch up, but Hunter’s arms tighten, holding me back.

I twist to look at him. “I need to talk to him.”

“Let the guys do their job.”

“No, I need to tell him something.” I fight against him, and finally he relents, letting me loose. I climb over the railing, lunging for the ring. I wobble, but keep upright, shuffling over.

“Baroness,” Rob says, when he sees me. “It’s not safe up here.”

I ignore him. “Damon, look at me.”

Blood oozes from his eyebrow. I grab the towel and press it against the wound.

“ One, two, three, four… ”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he mumbles.

“All dances have beats,” I explain. “Rhythms. One, two, three, four… this fight? You and that guy are in a dance. To win, you just need to find your rhythm.”

I wait for him to tell me to shut up, that I’m stupid and crazy and to go back to my seat, but he just takes a step back, nodding slowly.

When the bell rings for round two, I’m back in Hunter’s lap and Damon is back on the mat, circling Porterfield. That’s the thing I’m learning about him–he doesn’t break. He bends. He absorbs. He adapts.

And then, somewhere in that mess of punches, he finds the rhythm.

It’s not pretty.

But it works.

He starts cutting angles, forcing Porterfield toward the ropes. Dirty boxing, clinch knees, short elbows. He’s fighting ugly–and after the mess before, ugly is beautiful.

“Yes!” Hunter shouts, when he lands a right hook that stuns the redhead.

On the mat, Porterfield stumbles. Just a blink.

But Damon sees it and pounces, the darkness in him releasing in a fury of hard-hitting fists.

He follows it with a knee to the body. Porterfield grunts, shifting to defense.

He takes another hook that sends him staggering back before he drops, hard and shattered.

The ref points to Damon and the roar of the crowd hits me like thunder in my bones.

My Baron just stands there, chest heaving, blood smeared across his cheek. His eyes find us across the ropes and he gives Hunter and I a smug grin.

The ref comes over and lifts his arm. Every Beta Rho in our section jumps to their feet, including Hunter, who lifts me in his arms.

“Memento Mori!” Damon shouts, lifting his other fist. His eye, already swelling, catches mine.

I smile, caught up in the sheer enthusiasm of the night–of how great he did out there.

Standing over Porterfield, who seems to be grimacing in both pain and humiliation, he can’t seem to help but add, “There’s only one victor in the house tonight, and it’s a goddamn Baron. ”

If I thought the gym was chaotic before the match, after it’s close to a riot.

Damon hopped down from the ring only to get instantly swarmed by fans and haters, both shocked at his win.

But like all winners, everyone seems to want a piece of him–to bloody him a little more or to lavish praise.

The members of DKS huddle around menacingly, outraged at the loss, but they’re not actually aggressive.

There’s an unspoken tension in the air, like they’re just waiting for someone to screw up and give them an excuse.

It’s a different kind of ferocity that comes from the females. Damon’s name is a screeching cry on their red-painted lips, clawing out with cat-like nails. They don’t want a piece of him, they want his attention. His power, no matter how sweaty and bruised.

A blonde in a sequined tube top pushes her way through the Shadows, clinging into his side. “Can I get your autograph?” she asks, thrusting a pen in his hand.

He looks up, eyes a little glazed from the fight. “Yeah, sure?”

“You can sign right here,” she says, pulling down her top to expose her tits. They’re small, but perky, and he scribbles his initials across her flesh. “Thank you!” She slowly drags her top back up. “I’m Audrey, by the way, let me know if you want a private celebration. I can make that happen.”

Her eyes flit past me when Carson drags her off, the grin on her face telling me that our little pre-fight show did nothing to assert my claim.

Did it seem fake? Superficial? Could they all tell that Damon doesn’t care for me?

That the King finds me disloyal. I’m a murderer.

A liability. The list goes on and on. That truth nags at me as we reach the back hall, an area blocked off to the main crowd.

“Kemp,” a voice calls, “hold up a minute.”

I turn and am instantly struck off balance at the man walking toward us, a crescent haloed around his head.

He gets closer, his long legs wrapped in leather, his shirt unbuttoned down to his waist. Pale skin covered with ink.

His shoulders are broad, but he’s lean and I’m certain he’s an angel, but there are no wings.

A demon then? No, not that, a nephilim, I decide, both.

“Maddox,” Damon says, pulling at the bloody tape on his hand, “come to finish the job?”

“Nah, fair is fair,” he says, although he doesn’t look like it. I stare at his eyes, the bottle-glass green. “At least you didn’t bring a knife, like some other pricks we know.”

“Ashby, right?” Hunter asks, shaking his head. “I heard about that.”

“Absolute punk move,” Maddox–whoever he is, lifts his shirt to reveal a jagged scar. “Whatever, just makes legit wins even better. Anyway, since Porterfield lost, I figured I’d offer you his winner's tattoo, just to rub it in a little.”

“Yeah?” Damon says. “Yeah, I won’t say no to a free tat.”

“Good, I’ve been wanting you to come down to the shop anyway. See the setup. Talk about maybe working together.”

Damon nods. “Yeah, sure.”

“Not tonight though.” The nephilim runs his hand through his white-blond hair. “I need to let Porterfield know he’s not welcome in the tower tonight.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, well that’s the punishment for being a loser,” Maddox mutters. “Ask me how I know.”

A bulky figure with warm brown skin emerges behind him, rolling his eyes. “Dude, Lav went with you and played nursemaid for three days. I think you survived.” He shifts his attention to the Barons and thrusts out his hand. “You’re the new Barons, I’m Sy Perilini.”

“You’re the King,” Hunter says, shaking his hand. “Hunter Sorrin.”

“Damon Kemp.” He holds up his bloody hand and they both agree not to shake.

So far none of them have acknowledged me at all, but I sense eyes on me: the nephilim.

“You must be Arianette Hexley. Current Baroness and future bride. How does that work?” His eyes assess me before darting over to Hunter and Damon.

“The three of you share? Or does the King get dibs?” He scratches his chin dramatically with one of those long, inked fingers.

“Or does he have your cunt on lockdown so he can make sure he’s the one that knocks you up so he can have the perfect, obedient heir? ”

“What the fuck did you just say?” Hunter asks, pushing me to the side.

“Chill. Ignore him.” Sy grabs his friend by the shoulder, his voice firm, “Come on, Rem, let’s go deal with Porterfield.”

Down the hall, a figure enters the doorway, instantly consuming any remaining air. “Christ,” Maddox mutters when he sees the Baron King, adding even lower, “as if meeting mommy dearest and losing tonight wasn’t enough, now this bullshit.”

“Simon,” the Baron King says as he approaches, “Remington.”

Remy grunts, but Sy steps forward. “Nice match tonight. Your Baron did well.”

The tension between the men is obvious, permeating like a bad smell. I press against Hunter, who stiffens at the closeness, and I watch the meeting of Kings.

“Better than well,” the King says, assessing Damon. “You were solid out there. A little sloppy at times, but you held your own against a trained hooligan.”

“Okay,” Remy says, ramming past Sy and pushing his sleeves up. “How about you get in the ring with me and see who wins.” He grins, cheeky and handsome. “You’ll have to take that mask off, though. House rules.”

There’s a flicker of heat between the two men, a battle that seems to cross time and space, a battle that I don’t understand. “Settle down, Remington, I came down here to congratulate my Baron on his win, nothing more, nothing less.”

Even I don’t believe that.

“Well, we’ve got a party to cancel,” Sy says, pushing Remy back the other way. “Congratulations, Kemp.” I think we all breathe a little easier once the Dukes are gone.

“I’ve sent Graves a message to set up the crypt for a celebration–truly, beating a Duke isn’t easy. Especially without bringing a weapon into the fight.” The King reaches into his cloak and pulls out a small silver box that he hands to Damon. “For tonight.”

“Thanks.”

“Will you be there?” I blurt, immediately regretting drawing his attention to me. At this point it’s too late and I add, “At the celebration.”

“No. Not tonight.” He steps back. “Once you return, stay on the grounds.” He nods at me. “And always keep an eye on her, even on our property.”

It’s a directive, one that doesn’t require a response.

The King starts to walk off, but I see a grimace on Damon’s face. He calls out, “Wait.”

He turns slowly. “Yes?”

“I shouldn’t have done it. I got caught up in the moment and–”

“Don’t apologize,” the King says. “In war, the best weapon is the one you have.” Then he adds. “But now that the battle is over, I expect you to not succumb again.”

A moment later he’s gone.

“Jesus, that was stressful,” Hunter says, slumping into the wall. “Right?”

“Yeah, I don’t even want to know what kind of bullshit the King has with the Dukes. I just want a shower and to relax.” Damon pushes open the locker room door and steps inside.

Hunter holds the door open for me and I say, “Are you okay if I go to the women’s room? I know the rules. No talking to people–not even women.”

“I’ll wait outside,” he says, “just make it quick.”

One step into the small room and I wish I’d just gone to the men’s room to pee. The sink area is occupied with crypt chasers. I’m scanning the room when someone says, “If you’re looking for Bronwyn you’re safe.” I look at a girl replenishing her black lipstick at the mirror. “She left.”

“I wasn’t looking for her.” I totally was.

“I heard she was a petty bitch to you before the match. Tried to take your spot.” The person that says this has two knotted buns at the top of her head.

“I know they call all of us crypt chasers, but most of us are content with the guys in the frat. Everyone knows the Barons belong to the Baroness.” She lifts her skirt, revealing a hole in her tights.

“Fuck! I can’t believe Kirk ripped these. It’s the third pair.”

I duck into the toilet, listening to them talk.

“Maybe you should just stop wearing tights in public if you know he’s going to be there,” lipstick says. “That’s a better bet than him keeping his dick in his pants.”

Bunhead sighs. “True.”

“Whatever. You’ll never tell him no.”

I hear a snort. “Like you tell Rob no when he asks for a blow job in the car every morning on the way to school.”

“He thinks better when he’s just had an orgasm.”

I flush the toilet, as much as a warning as anything else, hoping that when I come back out they’ll stop talking about their sex lives.

As I approach the sink, the girl with the buns makes eye contact in the mirror. “I’m Jane, by the way.” Her head tilts to lipstick. “That’s Gloria.”

“Arianette,” I say, even though I’m sure they know.

“I love those shorts,” Gloria says. “You’ve got the perfect ass for them.”

“Uh, thanks.” I turn on the faucet, letting the hot water run over my hands.

“Fuck.” Jane stares at the wound on my chest. “That must have hurt.”

“It did.”

“I can’t imagine,” Gloria adds. “I’d never survive the Hunt.”

“Which one did it?” Her perfectly groomed eyebrow lifts. “It was DK wasn’t it?”

“Hunter, actually.” I think back to that night when he was bent over me, the knife in his hand. Just like every other time we’re together, he went out of his way not to touch me directly. “DK… he Claimed me later.”

Both girls’ eyes get wide and for some reason I just show them. Tugging down my top, I reveal my tit and piercing. “Holy shit.” Jane looks thoroughly impressed. “I knew he was a piercer, but fuck. That’s sexy.”

“I wasn’t sure about you,” Gloria admits. I straighten my top. “Any of you, really, but maybe you’re all more Baron material than I realized.”

“So,” I ask, working up the nerve to ask the question that’s bothered me all night, “do I need to worry about anyone other than Bronwyn?”

Jane shrugs. “Not if you stake your claim.”

“Claim?”

“Show everyone that they belong to you–especially DK. He’s going to be hot after taking down a Duke.”

The guys Claimed me with a knife and needles. Isn’t that enough?

“I’ll give you a hint, Baroness, since it’s your first Fury, first victory and first post-win party,” Gloria teases, moving close like she’s sharing a forbidden secret.

“When the Barons win their matches they always get a little gift from their Baroness.” She winks. “Usually in front of the whole party.”

I’m inexperienced, but I understand the implication. “Everyone?”

Jane takes one last look in the mirror and says, “Yep.”

“Don’t worry,” Gloria adds, putting her lipstick back in the black purse slung across her chest. “It’s a Crypt party. You won’t be the only one.” She grins. “See you there.”

I’m still standing by the sink when Hunter sticks his head in a few seconds later.

“You ready?”

I really don’t think I am.