Page 9 of The Enemy to the Living (The Wild Hunt #2)

Quinn

I stare around me as I step into Mischief Bryn’s in his sixties, I think, though in the way of wolves he looks only forty, and the other couple of wolves I’ve seen fighting are older than that.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“The twins were asking for you,” she says, and my stomach sinks when she indicates the next room with a jerk of her chin. “They’re waiting in the booth.”

I mutter my thanks and move quickly into the next room. It’s already packed in here, a selkie beating the shit out of a troll in the cage. I swallow hard. I don’t really want to face her—she looks vicious as all hell—but if I do, I think I can win.

The trolls guarding the twins step aside as I approach, and I slide through the shadows and into the booth. Celyn is watching the fight, chin propped on one hand, but Sorrel’s gaze focuses immediately on me. He frowns, dark green lips forming a little pout.

“You made it.” He sounds disappointed. I nod. I can’t trust myself to reply to that.

“Of course he did,” Celyn says, waving Sorrel off.

He lifts his head when the troll in the cage lands a glancing blow, but then rests it on his hand again when the selkie gets the upper hand.

Has he placed a bet? I’ve never seen either of the twins do that, and I don’t know why they would—they’re the ones making all the money here, after all.

“We were wondering whether your last fight should even count,” Sorrel continues, “being as it was interrupted by those two—”

He says a word I don’t understand, my ears going strange around it, like the pressure in the room has changed. Celyn looks over at him for the first time, brow furrowing.

“Sorrel.”

Sorrel shrugs. “I’m right.”

“It will count,” Celyn says. “It is only fair.”

Relief floods me. I wouldn’t have argued had they said it didn’t; only if they wanted to count it as a forfeit and take my wolf. They can’t have him. I’m going to make it through all these fights.

“It will count,” Sorrel agrees. Does he look angry? I can hardly tell. “That is four done. Six to go.”

“Five, after tonight,” Celyn says, and Sorrel inclines his head in agreement.

I nod, too. Aside from giving me the news that the fights last night counted, I don’t really know why I’m here. Sorrel could have told me that in a text or not at all. I can guess from context.

“There is something else,” Sorrel says, and a heavy stone sinks in my stomach. The selkie has won this bout, her opponent being dragged from the cage. The crowd is loud tonight, almost angry.

“What is it?” I ask.

“We expect you are keeping everything here to yourself, no?” Celyn asks. Now that there is no fighting, his lazy gaze lands on me. “Not sharing it with any of your other wolves. Or hunters?”

A chill ripples down my spine as they both survey me, unblinking. I didn’t tell Asher anything. Do they know that? Clearly, they know that I’ve spoken to him, or at least that he let me go last night.

“N-no,” I say, dropping my eyes on instinct. They’re not wolves, but they’re powerful enough that I want to roll over and show my belly. “No, I haven’t told anyone.”

“Keep it that way,” Sorrel says, words sharp. “Things might not go so well for you should we have to move again, wolf.”

Celyn clicks his tongue against his teeth. Another fighter enters the cage. I don’t dare move.

“Well, go and get ready,” Sorrel says as the selkie begins to fight. “You’ll be up next.”

I don’t need telling twice. I scramble out of the booth as quickly as I can and then wind my way through the crowd and into the room set aside for fighters at the back of the pub.

Bryn is inside, sitting on one of the benches, along with a couple of fae who cast me wary looks before they turn back to what they’re doing. The troll looks to be psyching himself up. The other one—she has hooves instead of feet, but I don’t know what kind of fae she is—shadow boxes in the corner.

Bryn’s silent as I shrug off my jacket and hang it on one of the empty hooks. I push my hair back from my face, thinking idly that I should get it cut, actually, before I turn to face him.

“You all right?”

“Fine. You talked to them?”

“Yeah.” I dart a glance at the other fae, and Bryn nods.

“All good?”

“Yeah.”

I’ve never asked if he’s working the same deal as I am. Whether his wolf will be forfeit if he doesn’t attend a certain number of fights, or win a certain number of fights…

He’s never asked me. It doesn’t seem right.

“And you’re gonna win tonight?” The grin he gives me is wolfish, and he’s the first person all day I truly feel like smiling back at.

“Yeah, I’m gonna win.”

Things are simpler here, even with the weight of what I might forfeit hanging over my head. I roll my neck, stretching out my shoulders, but it’s all unnecessary. I’ll face that selkie, and I’ve already seen she’s fast and vicious with those claws. I can win, though. I know that.

I glance down at my T-shirt. I do like this one, though, so I drag it over my head and tuck it into the side of my jacket. Bryn whistles.

“Trying to win over the crowd?”

I roll my eyes. “Shut it.”

He snorts but seems amused. I’m definitely running leaner than I used to, but that just makes the muscles I have stand out more. There’s a mirror in here, and I glance at myself in it. Fuck. I look tired , not fierce, and I don’t need those fae thinking they can get one over on me.

The door slams open and a harried-looking kelpie sticks her head inside. She frowns when she sees me standing there. “C’mon, pup. You’re up.”

“Good luck,” Bryn says, and I nod before I follow the kelpie out into the room.

The crowd is lively tonight, though they part to let us through, which is definitely more down to her than me.

The selkie’s last opponent is carried away, and I clamber up into the cage, swallowing when the gate slams shut behind me.

The sound should be deafening. I certainly hear the boos, but it’s easier, fight by fight, to drown all that out.

No. I need to pay attention to her . She’s already assessing me, eyes dark and quick, so I size her up in turn. She might have seen me fight before, but I have the advantage of having seen her fight tonight , and I’m sure I have to be at least her third or fourth opponent.

The fae don’t tire quite like we do, but they can’t go on forever. I’ve definitely outlasted at least one troll in the cage.

She moves first, fast as a vampire, but I’ve trained with them now—well, Adam and Lucien, at least—so I see the move coming. The selkie gasps at my first hit, and when she goes down, I make it clear I won’t let up if she doesn’t yield.

She’s smart, too. She gives in gracefully, though I know that when I fight her again, it’s going to be much more difficult. Four fights down and they’re still all underestimating me, but that can only endure for so long.

I lean back against the cage and catch my breath. I want to make it further tonight than I have before. Already, the violence is soothing something in my blood, making me incapable of thinking about Drew or my wolf or my parents—

The cage opens again. I frown when Bryn steps inside, rolling his neck. He’s wearing a shirt, unlike me, but it’s clear to everyone that he’s bigger than me and older.

And he can shift.

Fuck.

I don’t let my sudden insecurity show on my face. I don’t know about his pack or his past, but what are the odds he was brought up—in hindsight—learning how to fight vampires? Sure, Kieran and Drew exclusively trained to do that, but the rest of us learnt some too.

That means I know how to fight wolves, too. Not like Kieran can, I don’t think, which is what has me worried most of all, but maybe I can hold him off, get him to give in.

“Pup,” Bryn says as the door to the cage slams shut. His eyes are bright. Amused.

My lips twitch. “Old man.”

He snorts, fighting an actual smile, and okay, maybe this will be fun. Not like we’re the ones betting, after all, and at least Bryn won’t try to kill me.

Well. Probably.

The bell rings and Bryn is on me before I can blink. He grapples, grunting when I punch him in the side, beneath his ribs. He’s been watching. He knows I’m patient, waiting for an opening to hit hard and end things before they can really begin.

I’ve only seen Bryn fight once, and it was my first night here, so I hardly remember it at all.

It doesn’t matter. Bryn wrestles me to the ground, but I wrap my legs around his hips and roll us over. He dodges one punch, then shoves me off and away.

I grunt when I land hard and scramble to my feet. The crowd is louder than they were for the last fight, even though there’s no fae in the cage. Bryn dances back when I kick out at him, and I see the glitter of his claws when he begins to circle.

Double fuck.

Losing control of a shift is pretty common if a wolf’s in a stressful or highly emotional situation, which means we’ve got to be on the lookout for claws and fangs.

But Bryn doesn’t look worried. He’s managing it, which means he’s perfectly in sync with his wolf and has absolutely impeccable control.

And here I am, unable to shift at all.

I drop my stance lower. I want to bare my throat, show my belly. The crowd wouldn’t understand that, though.

They understand something, even if it’s just spotting my hesitation. No one’s shouting for me. I’m too new, too unknown. Bryn shows all his teeth when he smiles, and I don’t let myself shiver.

I run at him this time, bringing us both crashing down to the mats.

His claws rake my side the second before I get a punch in, weakening the blow.

Fuck. He’s not gone deep, but fire licks my skin all the same.

Bryn twists beneath me and I follow his movement, keeping him pinned.

I punch him again, harder this time, but when I try to do it a third time, he catches my fist and squeezes, claws digging in.

My muscles go weak. He’s far stronger than I am, and I don’t know if that’s because of his wolf or my own. Or just luck of the draw, maybe. I roll away, and thankfully, he lets go. When I stand, blood drips from my hand onto the mats.

The crowd is louder than I’ve ever heard it. There’s often this much blood between fae, but not wolves, not that we often fight each other. I fancy I can feel Sorrel’s and Celyn’s attention from the corner, and I don’t like that at all.

I risk a glance to the side, unable to help myself, and see something I like even less.

Asher.

He’s standing in the crowd, entirely unmoving, but the expression on his face—

He’s furious . At me? My stomach twists and I spot Bryn’s movement out of the corner of my eye, but not fast enough to move out of the way. He shoves me up against the wall of the cage, punches me twice—and he’s pulling them but fuck, they hurt —and then throws me aside.

I try to get up again but can’t. Oh, I’ll manage it eventually. Just not in time to continue this fight. Sure enough, the fae call it, and our audience erupts in cheers. Bryn’s eyes spark with concern when I drop my head back to the mats, but he raises his arms in triumph all the same.

Two trolls drag me out of the cage and deposit me, with no grace at all, in the back room. I haul myself up onto the bench, ignoring the knowing smirks of the fae waiting to fight. Fuck them. They’ve all got to go up against Bryn yet, and they don’t stand a chance.

My head spins, and I close my eyes. An hour or so and I’ll be well enough to walk myself out of here.

An hour or so and no doubt I’ll run into Asher again.