Page 6

Chapter six

N aked wrestling. wrestling with no clothes on. Bare-arsed nude wrestling in a shallow pit while fey lounge around on cushions, smoking hookah pipes and placing bets.

That’s what I am about to be doing, according to Llywelyn. Why on earth did I agree to this?

So what if it is a normal activity for pets? I’m sure there is a way out of it. Normal is not the same as expected. It doesn’t necessarily mean it is an obligation.

I have a horrible sinking feeling that I agreed because I am feeling guilty as hell about fucking the prince. Even though I think he enjoyed it.

I run my hand over my face. I need to stop that train of thought right now. It leads nowhere. I do not have enough information to draw a conclusion. Unless I talk to Llywelyn, and he tells the truth, I will never know how he feels about the events of this morning.

This morning.

Damnation. That was only this morning. I’ve been in my new post not even 24 hours and I’m fucking up. Quite literally.

Deep breath. Concentrate, Ethan. You can’t fall apart in the middle of a mission. Stop fretting. Look around. Observe. Learn.

I’m in a small holding cell that appears to be carved out of dirt. Llywelyn led me here on my leash, then he unclipped it, and a fey guard locked the barred gate behind him.

Thick wooden bars form one wall of my cell. The three other walls are bare Earth. clay soil. I’m guessing it’s London’s natural ground, but I’m no expert .

I’m going to go with the assumption that the fey have merely carved a hole in the foundations of Buckingham Palace, and they chose wooden bars because they don’t like iron.

It’s warm in here even though I’m only wearing Llywelyn’s collar, so there must be a heat source even though I can’t hear or see it.

Wait, can I hear footsteps approaching? Yes, I can. Oh for crap’s sake, I have such a strong urge to cover my junk with my hands. But Ethan, the man-bun wearing, yoga-pant loving, namaste dude, is proud of his body and embraces nudity as being natural. And he would be totally fine with being ruthlessly manscaped.

There is just enough time to suck in a quick lung full of air before four people come into view. One fey guard and three naked people wearing collars. All of them appear male.

The cell door is opened and the three pets file meekly in. The guard locks the door and strolls away, leaving the four of us alone.

My gaze quickly scans over the bare dirt walls. I’m fairly certain there are no listening devices. Besides, why would anyone be bothered to spy on a handful of pets before they perform? Llywelyn is a genius. This is a perfect opportunity to gather intelligence.

I clasp my hands together and bow to my new friends.

“Namaste.”

My greeting invokes three different expressions, but they are all variations in levels of incredulity, bemusement and confusion. It’s perfect. Exactly what I was hoping for. They now firmly believe that I am completely unthreatening and no danger at all.

“You’re human?” the youngest looking one asks.

I let my surprise show and I quickly reassess my new companions. The one who has spoken looks like a Caucasian male. Short blond hair. Blue eyes. Around 5‘6. Slender build.

The other two men are older, thirties, and bulkier. Brown hair. One has green eyes, the other pale blue. They are all extremely attractive. But all three of them look very human. They don’t look fey.

“You’re not?” I all but stammer and I don’t have to fake it at all.

“No,” answers the blond with a soft smirk.

I look at the trio again, my gaze darting like crazy. “You came through the portals?”

The older, green-eyed man sighs tiredly. “Paranormals have always been here, human. We just hid from you.”

It is an effort to keep my wide-eyed expression while keeping my scowl to myself, but I manage it. Llywelyn should have told me this. It is extremely important information. It is a whole potential pool of allies.

“Oh,” I say in my very best lost and hopeless tone. Immediately, pity flares in the blond’s eyes. Excellent. For good measure, I wring my hands together anxiously. “What are they going to do to us today?”

The older two look vaguely irritated, but the blond steps forward with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry.”

I turn my full attention to him. He’s clearly the one to latch onto. It’s going to be far easier to get information out of him. There is no need to bother with the other two until I have learnt everything I can from this one.

“The guy who captured me said something about wrestling?” I say, with a nervous quiver to my voice.

Blond boy places a reassuring hand on my naked shoulder and starts to talk. Perfect. Now I’m getting somewhere.

Roughly thirty minutes later, our little chat is ended. Four fey guards, all dressed in stout dark leather, have come to take us to the ring. Actually, ring is the wrong word for it. I glimpsed the performance area on the way here. It is a pit. Just like Llywelyn described. Dug out like this cell is.

“You and you,” says one of the guards, pointing at me and the green-eyed man .

I guess that means we are first. I run an appraising eye over my selected opponent. He is taller than me. With far more muscle mass. And a deeply aggressive gleam in his eyes. Damn it, I’m going to have to let him win. There is no way yoga-boy could defeat this kind of man.

I lower my head and follow the guards out. Discontent is grumbling through me like I’m some sort of jack-ass. Losing a fight is a ridiculous thing to get upset about. I don’t know what has got into me lately. I’m really starting to think the fey bring out the very worst in me.

We reach the pit via a shallow trench. The pit itself is only about seven foot deep. I could reach up and touch the lip. It’s about twenty feet across. Plenty enough room for two grown men to throw each other around.

I was half-expecting a ravenous, raucous crowd. But instead, it is almost eerily quiet. A gentle hum of conversation. Soft harp music. The fey that I can see, are idly lounging on huge cushions. Almost like beanbags, but far more stylish.

I spot one ornate hookah base. A pretty curved glass vase with several coiling cords spiralling from it.

Llywelyn is holding the end of one in his long elegant fingers. He is sitting close to the edge of the pit so I can see him and his insufferably smug expression far too well.

I snatch my gaze away. I have never in my life been stark naked in front of these many people, and being utterly body hair free is making me feel extra bare. But I’m not going to let it get to me. Especially since nobody seems interested. If I had to describe the atmosphere in one word, it would be, ‘bored’.

It seems the life of the stupidly rich is the same everywhere. It doesn’t matter if you are human or fey, if you are rich and nobility, then you lie around your court being as bored as hell. With no jobs and nothing to aspire to, I guess it makes sense.

Suddenly a gong sounds. The next thing I know, my opponent is rugby tackling me to the ground. For a split second, my combat training tries to kick in, but I manage to quell my instincts and let myself be thrown to the floor instead.

Then I flail about and put up a desperate, panicked, pathetic attempt at resistance. There is nothing to be gained by prolonging this absurdity, so I let my opponent put me on my stomach, straddle me and put me in a chokehold.

This bastard isn’t gentle. He is choking me in earnest. My vision is dimming. Fuck. Maybe I’m going to have to try to do something about this? Even though all my training was about never, ever getting in a position like this in the first place, there has to be a way out.

The gong sounds again, and suddenly I can breathe. As I wheeze and gasp, a faint smattering of applause echoes around.

A silken rope, more like a fancy bell pull than anything utilitarian, is thrown down from right by Llywelyn’s feet. The prince gives me a haughty, impatient look, and I get the idea. I grab a hold of the rope and haul myself up to collapse by Llywelyn’s cushion.

He gives me a distracted pat on the head while keeping his attention glued to the pit, where my new blond friend and the older pale-blue eyed man are being led in.

Llywelyn leans forward, as if this is the match he has been waiting for. My lips curl down. What a fucking asshole.

The gong sounds, and the pit erupts into motion. My eyebrows rise. Okay, my opponent was being gentle on me, after all. These not-humans are fast. Strong and vicious. It is like watching dogs fight. Or wolves.

But soon enough, as it usually does, height and muscle mass wins, and my blond friend is pinned down by the older man.

The gong sounds. More faint applause.

“Let the victor mount!” someone says.

“As you wish,” replies an older looking fey woman with neatly coiffured cherry red hair .

Other voices cheer. The crowd leans forward like one hungry, salivating beast.

A lump forms in my throat. Oh god, please let this not be what I think it is. Blond boy mentioned nothing about this.

But as I look down at the pit, I see the blond boy struggling a little and then giving up. I wince and snatch my gaze away. It seems he curtailed his information, possibly in an attempt to not scare me.

I wince again. Not watching isn’t helping me at all. I can’t escape what is happening just a few feet below me. His whimpers mingle with the older man’s snarls, and both sounds are clawing at my guts. I’m going to be sick.

Llywelyn’s expression is one of sheer avarice and glee. His golden eyes are fairly glowing with it. I look away from him too, even though there really is no escape from him.

Just what kind of man am I putting on the throne?