Page 118 of Obsidian and Frost

“I know. I’ll go to him.”

“I’ll be along shortly and—”

“You can barely move. Rest. Justrest.” As he moved to protest, I added, “It will go a long way with Lazriel.”

He sighed, then gave a nod. “Be careful. Graverun is as brutal as its name suggests.”

I was well aware.

Although, not wanting to witness that brutality wasn’t exactly why I’d stayed away.

There’d been more to it than that.

And it seemed like tonight that reason would be thrust into the light.

I guess it was the time for a whole lot of that in several respects.

Hiding and denial hadn’t helped anything.

Sylas looked out at me, his gaze dropping to my lips for a moment, before he smiled, his eyes sparkling, which was really saying something considering all he’d suffered tonight.

I smiled back at him.

And then I sucked in steadying breath and teleported out.

Holy hell.

It was unbelievably brutal.

Like, no-holds-barred.

Sylas had been right on the money.

I’d heard about how intense it could be here.

Wherever I went, I ensured I did my research.

And this had been no exception.

But some things were different in practice, different up close.

Magical amber fire flickered erratically from the iron settings above, meekly lighting up the space, keeping most of it cast in shadow and darkness, clearly the intention for such a gritty, down and dirty place.

Roars, whistling, and cheering blared through the space like an aggressive cacophony that I was doing my best to try to block out.

Spectators were leaning forward on the edge of the coliseum-type seating around the fight circle, some on their feet andwhooping.

Right now, they were all embroiled in watching a very bloody fight between a Light Fae and a Dark Fae—two warrior women going hard at it, using magic and bare fists and feet to brutalize one another. I’d watched the Light Fae have her two front teeth knocked out. Magic would fix it later, but for now, it had definitely added to the bloody spectacle.

I wanted to hate it.

Normally, I didn’t like people being hurt.

But that was my surface reason. Because itdidcall to my darker side. The violence, the power in that and the aggression… I liked it on some level. It made something stir inside me… something that I was afraid of acknowledging fully, let alone actually letting out and allowing it breath.

At least that was until I saw Lazriel stride down the gangway as the current fight came to an end.

He had a green satin robe hanging off his shoulders that was marked with glittering gold letters asHalfblood Hound.It was open, revealing matching shorts beneath, along with all that sculpted muscle of his.