Gabriel.
Nick remembered him, too.
Nick found himself taking them all in differently this time, viewing them with a wariness he hoped didn’t show in his expression, or in the way he moved as he ventured deeper into the room, his muscles tensing slightly as he marked more faces, some of them familiar, some not.
The vampire with the brown mohawk continued to look at him, grinning faintly.
“You look like you finally got laid, brother,” the vampire laughed. “Tell whoever it is, I’m jealous. And if it’s your ‘exclusive,’ tell them, it’s about time.” He glanced around at the other vamp fighters, a smirk on his lips. “You might want to tell her we’re all jealous, brother. And also secretly hoping it’s worn off that angry edge of yours a bit. Primarily so we have a chance in hell of beating your ass in the ring tonight…”
Nick gave him a flat look.
Something in his face caused a few of the other vamps to laugh.
Before Nick could speak, someone approached on his other side. He turned in reflex, and found himself facing a beaming human.
It turned out to be the first human who’d spoken, who’d called out to him and laughed that booming laugh. The blond male walked directly up to Nick, shocking him with a hug and clapping him on the shoulder in a friendly way.
“It’s about damned time Farlucci got you in here,” Tom said with a grin. “I was beginning to think we were going to have to go forward without our main attraction tonight. Which, between you and me, would have sucked.”
Nick remembered that grin.
He also found himself remembering when he’d last seen it.
This was the human who’d given him the card to go to that club.
He’d encouraged Nick to make an appearance at the same club where Nick got drugged and dragged out to be harvested and butchered like a farm animal.
More than that, Nick found himself thinking how weird this whole set-up was, after what happened to him. It seemed like a million years ago since he’d last been down here, looking at equipment with this same human male. It struck him as borderline surreal when Tom nudged him towards the back rooms, beaming at him.
Nick followed the human’s hand in rote, smiling back stiffly as Tom slapped him on the shoulder again in rough affection, still grinning at him.
“Come on,” the blond said, inclining his head towards the hallway that stood to Nick’s right. “Let’s get you geared up. I wanted to run through some things about the cage. Now that you’re on contract, we need to get you up to speed on how everything works around here. There’s a lot of stuff we don’t bother telling our one-off and amateur fighters…”
Nick listened with part of his mind as the other droned on, his eyes taking in every inch of the space under the ring. He turned at the other’s guiding hand, followed the pull of those fingers without losing focus on every person in every space he occupied.
He frowned around at the other vampires, counting them, assessing their facial expressions, their body language, noting their human handlers.
Luckily, he had a good excuse for doing it, given where he was.
For the same reason, all of the vampires seemed to be watching him back, sizing him up. Nick didn’t pick up on anything weird there; under the circumstances, it was the most natural thing in the world. Now that the ink was dry on the contract with Farlucci, Nick would be fighting some or all of them at one point or another.
Of course they were curious about him.
Even so, he found himself thinking he definitely shouldn’t limit his internal list of suspects only to the humans in Farlucci’s employ. There were vamps who could be paid to do just about anything––including harvesting blood and venom from other vamps.
Including killing their own kind.
Still somewhat off-balance, Nick fought to get his head on straight as he followed the blond human down the narrow hallway and into the round equipment room he remembered from the first and only other night he was here.
“I see you’re as talkative as ever,” the human smirked, glancing back as they walked into the center of the dome-ceilinged space. “You feeling okay, friend? I heard I.S.F. gave you a hard time about joining our team.”
Nick shrugged.
Thinking about the human’s words, he grunted.
“Yeah,” he said, glancing around at the wall filled with equipment and clothing. “I think they were a lot more worried about their percentage.”
Tom laughed. “Yeah. No shit.”
He walked over to the first station, like he had on that first night.
“We got you your own equipment,” Tom said. “You can replace any of it you want, of course, as long as it follows certain parameters… like the colors, and some of the basic design elements. Just check with us first, if you’re not sure about any of it.”
Somewhat apologetically, he handed over a pair of pants and a mask.
“The colors are the same as that first night… hope that’s okay. The management thought it was for the best. The digital recordings of your fight have circulated like crazy.”
Absorbing Tom’s last words, Nick grimaced.
It hadn’t occurred to him to ask anyone how the fight had been received on the circuit, or in the fight press––much less whether the vids hit mainstream media.
He’d been pretty preoccupied with the attempt on his life.
Not to mention the hangover from the blood and venom draining, waking up strapped to another padded table, trying to get the fuck out of the city…
And Wynter.
It hadn’t even crossed his mind to check the networks for how they’d reacted to his one and only pro fight.
Frowning, he hoped St. Maarten’s people were right about him.
He’d gotten a full medical work-up before Kit got busy with his implant.
They said he was back to full strength, that he was completely recovered.
St. Maarten assured him most of his venom had replenished, as well––even though they’d drained that from him pretty much entirely. His blood levels were back to normal. His muscles had recovered and rebuilt themselves. His weight was within a few pounds of normal, according to the records the I.S.F. had of his last check-up.
St. Maarten told him he’d been down almost ninety pounds when they first pulled him out of that warehouse in Queens.
Nick winced, thinking about that now.
He wondered what he’d looked like when he showed up at Wynter’s.
He took the clothes and equipment Tom handed him, smoothing his facial expression before he looked up.
“That mask okay?” Tom said.
Nick tossed the armful of fighting clothes down on the bench.
He removed his coat, tossing that down on the bench near the pile, and kicked off his shoes. He began loosening his tie, unknotting it from around his neck.
“A tie?” Tom mused. “We don’t get a lot of those in here.”
Nick grunted. “I have to look human. More than most humans.”
Tom nodded.
He just stood there, watching as Nick tossed down the tie, then unbuttoned and removed the collared shirt, leaving nothing but a T-shirt and black pants. The retro clothes had been Morley’s idea, too. He said it would align with what they’d told Farlucci’s people, about Nick being mostly an undercover cop, and thus needing to keep his face out of the imaging captures for the fights, as part of his contract.
As if Tom overheard his thoughts, he spoke up.
“You heard about the tattoo, right?”
Nick glanced over, quirking an eyebrow.
He’d been in the process of picking up the mask to look at it. He completed the motion now, hefting the thing in his hands. He was relieved to see and feel that it was of the same relatively-light, flexible material as the one he’d used the last time he was here.
It looked better made, though.
It also looked brand new.
Unlike the last one, which had been all black, this one
shimmered with blue-green virtual designs, metallic and liquid as they ran around the jawline and the straps that would go around his head.
Nick hoped all that shit wouldn’t be distracting in his peripheral vision.
Fangs flashed in those blue-green designs, a virtual snarl with a metallic edge.
Overall, he liked the look of it.
He had to admit, it looked menacing as fuck.
“What about the tattoo?” he said, belated.
“Management wants it. The White Death mark. They don’t want to blur it out tonight. Or for any of your future fights.”
Nick frowned, looking up. “What?”
“The I.S.F. granted permission for us to leave it visible. They said you’ve been separated from them long enough, it shouldn’t matter.”
Nick stared at him, not even trying to hide his bewilderment. “What about White Death? Aren’t they worried about making me their unofficial mascot?”
“Yeah.” Tom shrugged, his expression and the gesture apologetic. “I don’t know about that. I assume Farlucci talked to them and they’re okay with it. He doesn’t fill me in on all of that stuff. Above my paygrade.”
Nick frowned, still more bewildered than anything.
“Why?” he said. “Why would they even want to do that?”
The blond human shrugged.
“Money, friend. Why else? They think it makes you scarier. They want to work it into your whole persona in the ring.” Tom grinned faintly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, they’re going for the bad boy thing with you. They want to call you the White Wolf.”
Nick’s frown deepened.
Seeing something in his face, Tom smacked him lightly on the arm.
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t worry. Farlucci’s got connections with your old vamp friends. I’m sure he ran this by them. He’d have to, right? If he took on one of their people as a contracted fighter, they’d want to know. He keeps cordial relations with them. He can’t afford not to. There’s no way he would’ve negotiated this as part of your contract without their approval.”
None of that reassured Nick.
In fact, it did pretty much the opposite.
“Farlucci talked to the White Death? About me?”
Tom nodded, frowning. “I assume so. He must have.” Hesitating at something in Nick’s face, he added, “It’s cool, right? You said you have an understanding with them. That you left on good terms.”
Nick grunted.
He didn’t bother to tell the male human that there was no such thing as leaving the White Death on “good” terms. The White Death didn’t operate that way. No one left at all, not unless they made their leaving worth more to the White Death than their staying.
Quirking an eyebrow, he gave the human a humorless smile.
“I didn’t leave on bad terms,” he said. “I’m not sure that’s the same thing.”
Tom laughed.
“You worry too much. I’m sure it’s fine.” Jerking a chin towards the door, he motioned down at Nick’s body. “Come on, put that on. Boss wants images, so he can adjust the look once you’re dressed. Then I want to take you up to the ring, like I said. Give you the full tour.”
Nick sighed, but internally that time.
Unhooking his belt, he fought not to think about Wynter, about the fact that he could practically hear her yelling at him in his mind, even as he writhed out of his pants.
He hadn’t managed to talk to her really before he left, but he knew she’d be watching him again tonight––assuming he made it into the ring alive.
He remembered worrying about her seeing his bare upper body the last time he’d walked into that ring.
She’d seen a fuck of a lot more of him now.
The thought brought a rush of heat to his cock and throat.
He squelched it, cutting off the thought along with any image or memory of her. Biting his tongue, he deliberately blanked his mind before he could react for real.
Even so, he caught Tom glancing down at his naked body, one eyebrow quirked.
Nick ignored the amusement in those eyes.
Kicking off his pants, he grabbed the blue-green shorts, the color he’d also picked out because of her, even as he focused back on where he was, stripping his thoughts of emotion.
He couldn’t afford to lose focus.
He couldn’t afford to think about Wynter until this thing was done.
Chapter 19
Three Of Them
Nick emerged in the pit below the ring.
Briefly, it was quiet.
The crowd sounded like a distant ocean, rolling and ebbing back and forth.
Some voices stood out, here and there. Nick heard drunken laughter, a few shrieks and catcalls, but it was surprisingly subdued––maybe in part because he’d been expecting worse.
Then his image must have appeared in the holograms above the ring.
Instantly, screams broke out.
Instantly, Nick was blinded by lights that erupted seemingly right in his face.
The crowd above him roared.
A long, wailing, angst-filled howl filled the air above the stadium seats. That time, the sound definitely wasn’t made by a human, and Nick looked up, staring up at the holographic images playing over the ring. The hyper-realistic image of a wolf sat on its haunches, howling up at a full moon half-covered by clouds. The wolf was white, disturbingly life-like as it broke off the howl, letting out a blood-curdling snarl from above the caged ring.
Nick heard the thump of percussive stomps as the audience rose to its feet.
They screamed and clapped, hitting their feet against the pressure pads in the semi-organics on the floor of the coliseum. He heard humans and vampires howling along with the holographic wolf, howling and barking and stomping their feet as the virtual wolf snarled, pacing over the cage, snarling at unseen enemies in the dark.
Déjà vu hit as Nick fought to get his bearings.
Still, the differences from last time were bigger than the similarities.
This time, he heard people screaming his name––his actual name––which was unnerving as hell. He heard recognition in the voices around him.
Then, as soon as he was clear of the stairs and in the pit, surrounded by friends of the fights and other VIPs, he felt hands on him, hands touching him, gripping his arms and patting him, stroking him––groping him in a few cases––fingers lingering on his back, his ass, his cock. Voices he didn’t recognize wished him good luck, even as other lips brushed by him, making lewd comments, telling him he was a fake, howling like a wolf at him, warning him he’d lose, offering him sex, offering him money, asking for autographs, shouting personal questions, telling him he was a sideshow.
He swore he heard Wynter’s name, somewhere in that.
He bristled, immediately turning, but he couldn’t see who’d said it, or even if he’d imagined it.
His light-sensitive eyes fought to adjust to the too-bright lights of the stadium. The sharpest of those lights came from hovering media drone cameras and lights, just like they had the first time, but there seemed to be twice as many now.
He also sensed and saw probably three times as many faces and bodies around him in the small space. Security was tighter, too. Despite the groping hands, five huge humans surrounded him tightly in the small space. They couldn’t keep all the hands off him, but they shoved off people who tried to linger near him, carving a path through what might otherwise have been a claustrophobia-inducing crowd––if vampires got claustrophobic.
Vampire or no, Nick was relieved when he reached the stairs.
The narrow passage forced most of the crowd to remain behind him.
In front of him, no-neck and a big African-American weightlifter Nick remembered led the way, their broad shoulders like a wall blocking out the worst of the lights.
To his left, Tom paced him.
He leaned towards Nick’s ear, talking to him, even now.
“This is a challenge match, remember
. This guy is a serious fighter…”
Nick nodded, watching another drone rise up beside him to his left.
“…Remember what I told you,” Tom said, speaking loud, but not as loud as most humans did to one another in noise like this. Clearly he hadn’t forgotten Nick’s hearing was a few dozen times better than his.
“He’s also from another club, so don’t hold back,” Tom added, even though he’d already told Nick this downstairs. “It’s good theater, and there’s no reason to worry about embarrassing the club, so go all-out…”
The human’s hand massaged Nick’s bare shoulder as they walked, his voice reassuring, calm.
“The boss’s club and the Vipers are rivals,” Tom said, again repeating what he’d told Nick downstairs. “There’s a big bonus in it for you, if you take this guy down. They’re cocky as hell, so use that against him. They’ve already given interviews claiming the previous fight was staged, that it wasn’t real.”
Nick nodded, frowning.
Well, that explained the people yelling “FAKE” he’d heard.
“Remember the tapes I showed you,” Tom added. “He’s bad with his left leg. And he tends to lead with his chin when he gets flustered––”
Nick nodded, fighting to listen, focusing on the words as best he could with the rising volume of screams and shouts as he ascended the stairs. He winced as yet another media drone erupted with a blinding light only about a foot from his face.
He raised his hand, blocking the light without slowing his progress up the stairs.
He was reacting more to the distractions than he should be.
He needed to be more grounded than this.
If only to distract himself from the shouts and the jeering crowd, he glanced up at the space above the ring, and saw the white wolf was still there, only now it was snarling at a red and green serpent, presumably the insignia for the other fighter.
The audience was still howling, interspersing their howls with barking and catcalling.
Tom’s hand continued to massage his bare shoulder.
“Don’t forget you don’t have your teeth,” Tom warned. “Most beginners in this biz, that’s where they fuck up. The more experienced the fighter, sometimes the harder the habit is to break. You can’t rely on your teeth. Vamps naturally want to go there, to bite, to subdue their enemies. You can’t forget you don’t have that––”
Eyes of Ice Page 24
