Dark Deception (The Dark Creatures Saga Book 3), page 6
At a rough guess, there are about a hundred people present. Most of them are sitting on chairs around the ring or standing on the gantries looking down. In the cage, two men are circling one another. Both are large, but in a more middle-aged-spread kind of way, as opposed to toned and muscular. If this is the standard of fighter Oliver went up against, I’m not surprised he won.
As we move further in, there’s a murmuring and exchange of glances, both from the floor and up in the gantries, too. Even the guy in charge of the music is staring at us. It’s hard not to feel uncomfortable, even when I know the attention isn’t on me.
“You obviously made quite an impression the last time you were here,” I whisper. “They don’t look particularly pleased to see you.”
“No, I think I may have taken out their local favourite.”
The fans switch their attention back to the fight, as a flurry of punching and pushing sees one of the men ending up with his face pressed into the bars. His opponent grabs him by the hair, pulls his head back and then slams it into the ironwork again. The crowd is on its feet, cheering and baying for blood. There’s certainly plenty of that. The action lacks the finesse of a boxing match. It’s far more brutal and raw. The referee seems in no rush to intervene, even though the guy can barely see through his swollen eyes and probably can’t breathe anymore through his smashed-up nose. With a final elbow to the top of the head, he collapses unconscious on the canvas. The referee finally steps in and declares the winner, holding his bloody hand aloft.
I look at Oliver. He shrugs.
The victor bursts through the door of the cage to the cheers of his friends and supporters, while two burly guys half carry, half drag the other man out.
“Are you okay?” Oliver asks.
I just nod. I can’t think of anything to say.
We find seats, ready for the next bout. Two women now enter the ring. One is dressed in a crop top and loose black shorts, with tightly braided hair. The other has a shaved head. Her attire is much the same, just in yellow rather than black. I look down at my jeans and baggy t-shirt and feel maybe I missed the memo about the dress code. Not much I can do about it now, so I focus on what I can, which is learn.
Paying close attention, I try to identify a pattern to the women’s movements, although they seem to consist mainly of bobbing and weaving. I can feel Oliver watching me as I study them, no doubt ready to answer any questions I might have, but for now, there aren’t any. I’m doing exactly what he told me to do. Watch.
Already, I can tell Braids is the stronger of the two. She’s not throwing as many punches—hardly any, in fact—but every time she does land one, it rocks the other girl. Skinhead is ducking and diving, trying to stay clear of her fists, occasionally throwing out a speculative kick when she gets the chance. But inch by inch, Braids is forcing her to back-peddle towards the cage wall. Skinhead lashes out once more with her foot in a last-ditch attempt to open up some space, but Braids catches her ankle and upends her. As they crash to the floor, Braids is quickly astride her opponent who is flailing ineffectually with her legs and desperately trying to cover her face with her arms as the blows rain down on her head.
“Surely she’s going to give up soon?” I hiss to Oliver. “She’s going to get killed, otherwise.”
“It’s harder to admit defeat when you’re in there than you’d think from here,” he responds.
It must be true as, despite her obviously hopeless situation, skinhead continues to battle on, trying to claw her way free. Finally, Braids manages to pin one of her arms with her left hand, leaving her exposed to the full force of her right.
The referee reaches over, pulls her off her stricken opponent and raises her hand.
“Not a bad fight,” Oliver says.
“Not bad? That bald girl was thrashed.”
“Yes, but I bet she held out for far longer than people expected her to. Besides I suspect, like you, she was here to learn as much as to win. She’ll improve. Just lacks a bit of strength and confidence. That said, letting herself get backed onto the bars like that was a rookie mistake. She should have kept moving around. Kept side-stepping.”
Braids is bouncing around the ring triumphant, arms pumping the air, but my eyes return to the loser, as I try to digest everything that Oliver just told me.
She sure looks strong enough as she rolls over and pushes herself to her knees, streams of sweat and blood weaving down her forehead. Her skin is glistening, her chest heaving and there’s a look of deep anger on her face. Maybe she had come here to learn, like Oliver suggested, but from her expression, it’s clear that she’s not at all happy to do that by losing. After a moment, she regathers herself and heads to the cage door, at which point Oliver turns back to me.
“Right. Are you ready then?”
“For what?”
“To fight.”
Chapter Fourteen
I don’t know why the hell I was so excited before. I’m not now. I’m close to crapping myself. Oliver has spent the last half hour chatting to the organisers and various other shady looking people. The result is that I’m currently standing in the cage, in my T-shirt and jeans, waiting to have the shit beaten out of me, which shouldn’t be difficult—see previous comment. On the plus side, my opponent looks far less professional than the women we watched earlier. Like me, she’s dressed in more casual attire, her tight vest top exposing cheap-looking tattoos. Her hair is bright pink, and she has a wild look in her eyes.
“Sure you want to do this?” Oliver asks, through the bars.
“I’m sure,” my damn mouth replies before my brain kicks in. Or maybe it was the wolf part of it that answered. It’s been buzzing away quietly since we arrived. I’d almost forgotten it was there, it’s been so quiet lately. But not now. Now, it’s excited. Unlike me.
God damn it, Naz, get yourself together. You want to do this. This is what you’ve been practising for, after all.
I know I’ve been training for weeks, but now it seems all too real. Feet together, or was it apart? And where the hell is my thumb supposed to go, again? Shit, it’s like my grey matter has just turned to jelly.
“She’s your perfect first opponent,” Oliver says encouragingly. “She seems inexperienced and doesn’t look that light on her feet, either. Plus, she won’t have your pain threshold.”
“Have you seen those tattoos?” I ask. “I don’t think a person who can handle something like that is worried about discomfort.”
He doesn’t even glance over at her as he continues his pep talk.
“It’s about learning, remember. Practice, not perfection. Now go give it your best shot. And remember, you have the advantage of being you-know-what.”
“That’s only an advantage if I change mid ring and rip her throat out,” I hiss back.
“Okay, don’t do that. Definitely don’t do that.”
For the first time since I stepped into the cage, a shadow of worry flashes across his face.
“You’re not going to do that, are you?”
“No, of course I’m not.”
“You’re sure?”
I glower at him.
He looks me up and down and purses his lips in a way that doesn’t fill me with confidence.
“What? What is it?”
“Your T-shirt. It’s too baggy. It’ll gives her something to catch hold of and control you. You’d be better off removing it.”
“What and give you and everyone else the opportunity to perve at me in my bra?”
“Please, you were hardly shy when you used to waltz around my flat in your underwear the last umpteen years. Seriously though, there are no rules. The ref isn’t going to stop her if she uses it to her advantage. Think about it.”
I do but only momentarily, before shaking my head.
“It’s fine. She’d have to get close to me to grab it, and I have no intention of letting that happen.”
“Okay. Your decision.”
A minute later, the ref yells, and I’m suddenly standing in the middle of the ring, with Oliver’s voice fading into the distance.
Close up, the girl’s not half as fragile as she looked before. Her arms are rippling with muscle, and she stands a good six inches taller than me.
I’m still considering this when a bell rings and my opponent’s fist flies out and strikes my square in the jaw. Stumbling back, I shake my head, trying to figure out what just happened, only to see her fist coming towards me once more. This time, I’m ready, and I dodge to the side before she can hit me again.
In terms of sportsmanship, I’m not impressed. Seriously, give a girl a chance to get her bearings before you start with that. Unfortunately, I’m not able to take it up with her or even dwell on the matter for long, because her fists are still flying. And not just her fists. Her feet and knees, too. I just don’t have enough limbs to block all the different angles that she’s coming from.
So much for not being light on her feet. Right now, she looks like a bloody gazelle. It’s not like the blows hurt that much, compared to the ones Oliver has dealt out recently. They have more of an annoying-mosquito quality to them rather than huge strength behind them. But mosquitos can bite.
“Go on the offensive!” Oliver’s yell makes its way through the fog of my thoughts. “Use your jab! You’ve got this Naz! You’ve got this!”
This is a learning exercise, I remind myself, as I take another punch in the guts. So learn. And get one good punch in, at least.
With renewed determination, I drive myself forwards, lunging at her with the first real show of aggression since the fight started.
She blocks my strike, but it slows her down.
“Yes Naz! That’s it! And again! Go again!”
Oliver’s voice spurs me on and I lash out again, but connect with nothing but air. I swing at her for a third time, certain that I’m going to connect, when there’s a tightening around my back and shoulders and I’m dragged forwards, my breath catching in my lungs. I look down. She has the front of my T-shirt in one hand and is yanking me further towards her while thumping me in the side with the other.
“Hey!” I yell, pulling back to try and get out of her grip, but her nails are in there tight, and I can’t get away from her. She lands another punch and then kicks my legs, causing me to stumble. I try to regain my balance, but she uses my shirt to swing me around and send me sprawling onto the deck. In a flash, she’s on top of me and her forearm is crushing my windpipe, her sweaty face just inches from mine.
“Baggy T-shirt,” she says in a thick accent, and smiles. “Rookie mistake.”
And that’s when the wolf joins in.
Chapter Fifteen
It’s like a switch going off in my head but not to change me into the wolf this time. I’m still in charge of that. It’s doing something different, taking control of something else. The instinct to survive. To fight.
I buck hard beneath her and pitch her forward over my head. Quickly rolling onto my stomach, I jump on her back before she’s had the chance to turn around. She uses her considerable strength to lift us both and stands. Still holding onto her upper body, I use my feet to kick her legs away from under her, sending her face first into the mat again. I start to rain blows down and she curls up, covering her head. A moment later and the referee is pulling me off and lifting my arm to declare me the winner.
“Yes! Naz! Wow!” Oliver comes bounding into the cage and hugs me off my feet. “How? How on earth? Where did that come from?”
“I guess I had a good coach.”
“No, I did not teach you that. Trust me, I would have remembered. Come on. Let’s get you some water.”
While the shock of what I just did is still uppermost in my brain, he leads me over to one of the benches, fetches a bottle of water and forces me to drink it.
“So, what was all that at the beginning? Were you just bluffing? Trying to make her think she had you?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t really know. When she pinned me down, something just clicked into place.”
I consider mentioning the wolf, but I’m not sure myself how it happened. I didn’t become the wolf. It was more like it became part of me.
“Well, do you think you can get it to click into place a little sooner next time? But that … that was incredible.”
It’s wonderful to see his face lit up like this. I can’t remember him looking so excited about anything in the longest time and the return of that inane grin causes a whole heap of warmth to flood through me.
“So, how shall we celebrate?” he asks. “What do you want to do?”
I hesitate and look back at the cage, before turning to him with the most restrained grin I can manage.
“I want to go again,” I say.
The organisers were all too keen to see me in the ring again. It took a couple of minutes for the wolf to decide to join in during the second fight. I was hoping I’d be able to tap into it immediately, but it turned out it would take a string of hard punches to my ribs for it to show up and offer me its support. Those ribs are now on open display, since I ripped the bottom off my T-shirt and converted it into a makeshift crop top. Oliver was right, it’s better this way, but it doesn’t look anywhere near as sporty or professional as the other women fighters.
I’m currently up against Braids. I’ve defeated two opponents so far this evening, but she is far superior to them. There’s a fluidity to her movements that makes it harder to anticipate where she’s going to strike next. Harder, that is, unless the wolf is helping. After the first few strikes, it already knows how she’s going to move. It’s like the very first time I ran in the forest. Back then, smells and sights were stored away for future reference. Here, it’s the twitch of a muscle, or the curl of a finger.
“Keep your feet moving!” Oliver shouts over the noise of the crowd. “You’ve got this!”
Various cheers and boos echo around the room. They’re certainly paying attention to this fight, which I’m confident I’m going to win. Part of me feels bad for the girl. She must have trained for years to be this good. Her technique is exceptional, far better than mine. And she’s clearly as strong as hell. She’s just at the distinct disadvantage of not having werewolf DNA in her makeup. However, I came here for a reason, to win and earn money, and I’m not going to let a small thing like that make me feel guilty.
As she throws her next punch, I block it with my elbow, only to swing around and bring the other one down on her shoulder. Her knees buckle and she drops. People are stamping their feet and cheering. You know, for someone who’s shied away from being the centre of attention her whole life, this is something I could get used to.
As my arm is lifted into the air for the third time, Oliver rushes in to join me again.
“That was great! You are officially incredible!” He nods to his hand and the thick wad of notes he’s holding. “How about we call it a night now?”
“Is that it? Is there no one else I can fight?”
“I haven’t asked. It’s better to quit now, while you’re still feeling reasonably okay. Believe me, tomorrow your muscles are going to hurt. Let’s head back and get pizza on the way. I think it’s fair to say you’ve earned it.”
I glance down at the scrapes and bruises I’ve collected and it’s clear he’s right. Despite the fact that I’ve won all my bouts, I’ve taken a good few hits, too. But while the idea of pizza is very tempting, adrenaline is still coursing through me. Another fight would help me hone my skills even further. Besides, although I know I’m going to be sore tomorrow, it’s not like I’ll hurt the way the average person would. I’ve got werewolf DNA to help me. A long soak in the tub and some stretching will be all it takes to have me feeling on top form again.
“Maybe just one more fight?” I suggest.
“I don’t think you should.”
“I’ll win.”
“It’s not about that.” He clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath before looking around us.
“We’re meant to be keeping a low profile, remember? With your unexpected winning spree, you’ve already drawn enough attention to yourself tonight.”
“It can’t be any more than you did.”
“True, but that still doesn’t make it right.”
As much as I hate to admit it, I’m beginning to agree that calling it a night is probably the most sensible idea. I can still think rationally. The wolf isn’t in control of me. A further week’s training with Oliver will keep it happy and me motivated.
“Look, we’ve earned good money,” he says. You’ve found your rhythm. If you want to fight again, we can arrange it. We’ll come back in a month or so.”
“A month? We might not even be here that long. How about a week?”
He hesitates.
“Two weeks.”
“One. Oliver, trust me. I have this. Besides, if we do have to move on soon, one week and a big win will set us up. I know I’ll be able to beat whoever I face. You do, too.”
“Fine,” he agrees with a mock groan. “One week and you can go again.”
Chapter Sixteen
Calin
I’ve kept moving. That way at least it appears I’m doing what Polidori asked of me—hunting down Narissa. Of course, I don’t need to. I’ve known where she is every day since she left the wolf pack. My check-ins with Oliver have been less frequent than I would have liked, but I know she’s safe and that’s all that matters. He’s teaching her to fight, too, he says. That’s a sensible idea. One I should have probably considered, although she already had enough on her plate before, plus dealing with me.
It’s hard not to let emotions get the better of me. Part of me wants nothing more than to go Europe and run away with her myself. But then we’d both be at risk and Polidori would have a bigger target to aim at.
I’ve been travelling around the UK. Nowhere in particular, just enough to appear that I’m searching for her. I’ve been making my presence known, dropping in on Blackwatch in various cities, showing my face at a few of our feeding haunts, making it look like I’m busy. But now I’m back in the last place I saw her—Scotland, heading to where the wolf pack used to live.
