I eye Hildi across the ring. She’s removed her jacket and beneath the tattoos covering her arms I see the lean, hard muscle. She reaches above her head and stretches. My female handler notices my interest. “She’s good. Fast and strong.”
“What do Valkyries do…mythologically speaking?”
“They choose which warriors will live or die in battle. The ones that die will go on to Valhalla.”
I stiffen. “So wait, she can determine if I’m going to die?”
“Not today. That will be up to you and your skills.”
The buzzer sounds and the lights flash.
I’m up.
It’s then that I notice how big the crowd is around the ring. The lights are bright as I climb onto the canvas mat. I can’t see the spectators—I only hear them—roaring like a giant beast. I look over at my opponent and note the surprise on her face. She didn’t realize I’d be here.
“Since when do they allow little girls in the ring?” she asks the Shaman.
“She’ll prove her worth,” he says, then shrugs. “Or not.”
The strange thing about this moment is that I’m not afraid. Not of Hildi. Not of the possibility of enchanted death. I take deep breaths, attempting to calm the beast rising under my skin. She wants out. She wants to play.
Most of all, she wants to feed.
I use all of my concentration to keep her at bay. I’m going to beat her. Morgan, not the Raven Queen.
Me.
The second buzzer goes off and the Shaman vanishes. It’s just the two of us and it doesn’t take Hildi long to make a move, springing from her spot.
My training has prepared me for this moment. The hours Clinton pushed me to my limit. I dodge her fists, her feet, her sharp elbows, and manage to land one of my own in her kidneys. She bends and I take a breath, glancing up at the seats. A shadow moves and all I feel is pain, sharp and excruciating as her fist slams against my chin.
“Dammit,” I curse, feeling my teeth wiggle. I kick her in the knee and then the stomach. I duck, avoiding another punch and then I take the offensive, lunging at her waist and knocking her off her feet.
We stumble and I scramble fast, pinning her to the mat. To my surprise she doesn’t fight back, instead staring at me with wide eyes. “Stronger than you look,” she says, her voice sounding far away. I drag my eyes from hers but they’re magnetic. I can’t look away.
“You have no idea,” I say, but I blink and when I open my eyes I’m on the mat alone—Hildi gone. The crowd roars, amplifying my confusion. I glance behind me and feel her fist before anything else.
I fly backwards, held in the ring only by the barriers. My feet wobble but I steady myself. I’m ready when she comes at me again. I grab her by the neck, getting her in a messy headlock. “You tricked me.”
“Did I?” She laughs. “Show me what you can do—he wouldn’t let you in here if you didn’t have the receipts.”
But that’s the thing. I don’t know what I can do. I can fight—hold her off. I can release the Morrigan and kill everyone in here. But what can I do? What magic do I really possess?
I flip Hildi over and again I’m in a position of dominance. I avoid her eyes and I think of the last time I was like this in a fight. What would I do if she were Clinton or Dylan or one of the others? How would I over power her?
The answer comes in a wave of hungry emotion.
I lift her by the shirt, focusing on her mouth not her eyes. She cries at my strength.
Yes, the Morrigan begs.
No, I shout back. Fucking no. I fight the desire. The want and hunger, but I succumb, pulling her face close to mine.
One kiss. Just one. Kill this bitch who came on to your man. Who talked about his body. Spoke of what and who belongs to you.
I look into her eyes hoping Hildi will do whatever it is she did before, but all I see is blatant desire in return.
Fuck.