Page 3 of The Enemy to the Living (The Wild Hunt #2)

Quinn

A ll my focus is on the fae standing across from me in the ring. The crowd clamours, already loud, some daring to get up close and rattle the walls of the cage itself.

The fae opposite me, a troll, I think, squares his shoulders and flexes his arms. He’s big. Bigger than me. But I’ve watched the other trolls fight; they’re slow and often clumsy. I can do this.

Tonight marks my fourth round of fights, one step closer to coming here with no conditions at all.

It also marks the first time I’m not absolutely terrified to be here—no one’s seen me coming or going from our pack house, and though Sam must feel me pass through the wards each time, he hasn’t asked what I’m doing.

The troll shifts his weight from one foot to the other and the crowd’s excitement intensifies as we begin to circle each other. I don’t look out at the faces. It doesn’t help.

Bryn told me that after my first fight. I won the first round against a selkie, who also seemed to be here for the first time, but then I faced off against a troll and lost. Badly. They pack a hell of a punch.

The fae running things up front—not the twins—dragged me into the back and left me there. There was a moment where I thought I might die or at least pass out, but Bryn is one of the other wolves who fights regularly, and he sat with me and told me I was going to be okay.

There’s no point in them letting us kill each other, he said. You can’t make money off the dead.

Not like this, at least.

I dragged myself home after that, avoiding everyone else more out of luck than my own judgement, considering the way my head was throbbing, and won two rounds at my next fight, which was a significant improvement.

The troll darts forward, faster than I’m expecting, but I leap to the side and his blow only glances my shoulder. Pain still shudders down my arm. I spin on the ball of my foot and lash out at his unprotected side. He hisses when my fist connects.

Some of the wolves shift when they’re in here, though usually not until they’re a few rounds in, I’ve noticed.

Bryn does that. He hasn’t asked why I don’t, though he’s been around at every one of my fights so far.

I want to ask him which pack he belongs to, why he’s here, but I know better than that.

I don’t want to answer those questions myself, do I?

The troll bellows and charges me this time, which is just what I’ve been waiting for.

He’s stronger than just about any full-grown wolf I’ve met but nowhere near as fast as a vampire and doesn’t have the agility to make up for it.

I slip out of his guard and hit him again, this time kicking behind his knee so he stumbles, nearly planting face-first on the floor.

I want to dart my gaze up, to check that shadowed booth where I know the twins sit, but I keep my eyes right where they are.

I haven’t spoken to them since the night I agreed to fight.

The green-haired one—Sorrel—is the one who texts me about the fights, and true to their word, I’ve always been given at least half a day’s notice.

My only worry is if they drag things out, but I want to be here. My blood sings with every hit, the chaos of my mind quieting when I’m forced to focus this way. Yeah, I go home injured, but I sleep soundly after, nightmares buried underneath sheer exhaustion.

I don’t want to stop doing this. I can’t stop doing this.

The troll charges me again. Unlike most of the other fae, the teeth he bares at me are square and flat, more for crushing than digging in. Eyes narrow under a prominent brow, and this time I don’t duck out of the way.

I need to be close to finish this, and I know I will.

It’s only my first fight of the night, and if I made it to three rounds last time, I can certainly do four this one.

A flicker of surprise crosses his face when I don’t move, but when he tries to grab me, to bring me down, I twist and punch him square in the chest.

It’s a gamble. Trolls are hardy, and even if I didn’t know that, his barrel chest would be a giveaway. Still, I am a wolf. I put all my strength into it. His bones don’t break, but he stumbles, all the breath forced out of him.

A sound ripples through the crowd. I hook my ankle around the troll’s leg and shove him, sending him sprawling. At first, I think they’re making sounds because of the fight—maybe he’s a favourite for this round—but then I look up and see him.

Asher. The guy from the Wild Hunt.

He’s not looking at me. He’s trying to force his way through the crowd, gaze locked on the booth where the twins sit, and the trolls who protect them are already moving, warding off the vampire who was with Asher and Maurice on the night of my challenge a few weeks ago.

The troll pushes up onto his elbows, but he hit his head hard on the way down, and he can’t get up. One of the fae opens the cage.

“Go!” she shouts. “The Hunt are here.”

I take a step forward, then hesitate. I need to get out of here. If they’ve seen me—Asher works with Maurice, and Maurice might be together with the crai, but I know he talks to Sam on occasion, being as they’re both dealing with magic.

But they can’t do anything to me, can they?

The fae…

I glance back. The troll is standing now, leaning against the wall of the cage. When he pushes away, he sways in place.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

I grab him by the arm, and he growls at the touch. “Come on ,” I say, and his eyes widen in surprise. Unlike the twins, whose eyes are all black when they’re not wearing a glamour, his are a deep brown, with strange, square pupils. “You need to get out of here.”

The room is clearing out, fae scattering, and Asher and his friend seem to be preoccupied with the trolls. The shadows in the booth twist and writhe—then one darts through the back room, where the fighters wait before they’re called into the cage.

It’s the best way out. We might get lost in the shadows out front, but that room has a door that leads out to another alley, one that isn’t so magically hidden.

I half-carry the troll over to the door, noticing as the other shadow leaves through the front. There’s no one in the back room waiting, so I shove open the fire door and hustle him out into the alley.

We’re halfway down it when he stops me. “Need to—” He shakes his head. “Glamour.”

Fuck. I haven’t even considered that. I help him over to the wall and nod. “Okay, you—”

Movement in my periphery has me looking up, as does the sound of the fire door slamming against the wall. Asher runs out into the alley and stops dead when he sees me.

The troll mutters something under his breath. I feel a sudden pressure, like the air is getting heavy, then hear a pop as he vanishes, leaving me behind.

Asher doesn’t move. I don’t move.

He’s just as I remember him. Njáll took almost everyone’s attention when he strode into my challenge and demanded Augustine’s surrender, but I couldn’t help but stare at him.

And why wouldn’t I? He oozes control, sheer confidence, and if I want to trace all the tattoos that peek from the edges of his clothes, then that’s no one’s business but my own. He takes a step towards me now, though, and I startle, taking my own back.

He pauses, raising his hands like he wants to calm me.

“Asher!” a voice calls from within the pub. His companion. The vampire. I don’t want to deal with him .

“What is it?” Asher shouts back. He doesn’t look away from me. That’s the only thing keeping me here, and I think he knows it.

“Any sign of them?”

Them. Not me. He’s not after me. He can’t be.

The twins. One went this way, but they’ll both be long gone now.

“No,” Asher shouts back, the sound startling me. My heart beats, staccato, against my ribs. I should go. I need to go. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

The vampire doesn’t reply, and Asher doesn’t seem to care that he doesn’t.

I can’t scent him from here, and I don’t know if that’s because he’s suppressing his scent or I’m panicking too much or if it’s just the general dulling of my senses that’s been creeping up on me over the past several months.

“Quinn,” Asher murmurs, taking a step closer.

My name in his voice startles me more than anything else so far. I know he recognises me, of course, but I wasn’t expecting him to remember my name. I don’t know why he’d have taken notice of it at all.

I can’t go with him, though. I can’t be escorted back to my pack like some naughty child. Bad enough they don’t know what I’ve been doing; I’m sure Kieran will be furious to find out that I’ve been here, and even more so that he found out after everyone else.

Asher’s closer now, but he jerks to a stop when I step back again, like I’ll mirror him, like I’ll stay just because he wants me to.

“Quinn.” More warning in it this time, but that’s just a sign for me to go.

“Asher,” the vampire calls again, and it’s just enough to have me moving. I spin on my heel and run before I can think twice about it.

If Asher chases me, I’m sure he’ll catch up, but by the time I’m a few streets away, I accept that he stayed behind.

He has bigger things to worry about. Far more important things than me.