He turns, a deep line across his forehead, clearly confused about me being here. But he waves for security to let me pass and gives me a hand up to the edge of the ring.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, looping an arm around my waist. He squeezes me in next to Sam, who also does a double-take when he realizes I’m here. On the other side of the rails I spot Dylan circling my tiny doppelganger.
“Hildi invited me.” I point over his shoulder. “What the hell is that all about?”
Before anyone can answer, the mini-me, wearing a dress I distinctly remember, opens her mouth wide and unhinges her jaw like a snake. Her teeth jut forward, dripping with venom, and any hesitation Dylan has vanishes. He slashes across her body with the blades and I yelp, covering my eyes. Damien squeezes my side and I look up to see black smoke in the place of the girl. I stand straight and watch in horror as the form sweeps into a swirling tornado, spiraling up in the air. The whole arena is frozen in fascination as the mist takes shape. I notice the hair first. Then the lips. Damien inhales next to me and Sam’s hand slips into mine.
The Morrigan, looking very much like me.
Dylan retracts the blades and the sound echoes through the silent room. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small, oblong object. With a sharp twist it unfurls into a coil of leather. It’s a whip.
“What’s happening here? Why is he fighting me?”
The crack of the whip cuts off my questioning. Dylan circles the mocking form. She licks her lips and rests a hand on her breast. She speaks in quiet voice that I suspect only he can hear. Whatever she says hits him like a ton of bricks.
He stares at her for the longest time and I think for a moment that he won’t kill her. His eyes grow cold, dark blue sapphires. She smiles mockingly and steps forward. “She can’t hurt him can she?” I ask.
“She’ll do damage,” Damien says. He taps the side of his head before leaning over the barrier. “Destroy her, Dylan!”
I can’t take my eyes off of the figment. She looks so like me. Her eyes, her face and hair. She’s a perfect replica. I spot the slightest wavering in his eye, a confusion. What is it about the Morrigan that has him so tied up in knots?
“Dylan?” I shout. He looks over, blinking once. “Slay that bitch!”
He jumps out of his calm and lunges for her. She punches back, many of her moves reminiscent of my own. I can predict each swing, each step. I know before she does when she’ll kick or duck. She and Dylan fight hand to hand, her dark eyes lit with fire following each hit. He clips her chin and her head snaps back. To my surprise, blood drips from her lip. She licks it and grins.
He moves quickly, swiping her feet from under her legs. Bending down, he reaches for her throat and holds her in the air. The crowd jumps to their feet and the chorus of feet stomping begins again. The figure shifts again, right between his fingers, turning to smoke. Again it whirls through the air but this time over his head. Out of the mist, feathers stretch, creating a wide span of wings, followed by a beak and beady, dark eyes. The crowd gasps, crying out at the figure—we all know what it means. When the Morrigan sends her Raven, her enemy is dead.
Dylan stands beneath the Raven, its shadow covering his face. Massive wings flap and I think he’s about to drop—surrender to the power of the Darkness. The bird coasts through the air, wings spread in victory, and I feel Sam’s fingers tighten in mine. Dylan moves just an inch—barely that—clenching his fist. The coil of his forgotten whip slithers across the canvas mat. He spins on his heel, the black tail flying overhead, ensnaring the Raven by the feet. He yanks hard, muscles bulging, pulling the bird back to the ground. It lands with a thud, no longer bird. No longer a body. Just the fading mist of magic that has just been defeated.
The buzzer rings over the cheering crowd and the lights flash, signaling the end of the fight.
Damien pulls me into a hug, clearly relieved the event is over. I release him quickly, pushing past to get to Dylan who shoves through the barrier to get off the ring. He doesn’t look at me or the others. His eyes are hard and tortured—focused on getting out of the arena.
“Let him go,” Clinton says, holding me back. “Just give him a minute.”
An
y other night I would, but not tonight. Not this time.
I ignore him and slip away, following Dylan’s wake.
Chapter Ten
Dylan
The crowd parts, fully aware they need to stay out of my way. I keep my eyes focused on the door against the far wall. If I can just get there, I can lose it in private.
Even though they give me space, the spectators scream my name with such ferocity I feel it in my bones. I’m propositioned. I’m revered. There is no higher ranking in this arena than Guardian and after that spectacle they all want a piece of me or my brothers.
A dark shadow flits across the corner of my eye and I clench my fist, looking for the handle of the whip, but of course it’s gone. So is the shadow.
I’m losing my mind.
The door is five feet away and I ignore every voice calling my name. Four feet. Three. Two…
I slam my palms against the metal door and step into a blast of cool air from the prep room. I tear off my shirt and throw it on the floor.
The door opens right behind me and I spin. The shaman stands between me and the door.