Chase the Dark (Steel & Stone Book 1)

by Annette Marie

  A roar of pain escaped him. She didn’t pause. Her elbow snapped a rib. She grabbed his hand and twisted it just the right way, tearing the ligaments until he was screaming. His other fist flew out of nowhere and hit her jaw. She fell into a staggering crouch, then locked his foot and punched the side of his knee three times until something in it tore too and he fell on top of her. She shoved him off, grabbed his other leg, and pulled it into an agonizing hold. She leaned back with his leg, stretching the tendons running down the front of the thigh until he screamed again. She knew how excruciating the pain was. Her teacher had demonstrated the move on her to ensure she would never treat it as a toy.

  She pulled a little more. He howled. Pass out, she silently begged, teeth clenched. Pass out, please. She leaned back another inch, pulling those tendons to the breaking point. He slammed his fist into the floor, begging for release. If she tore his thigh, he might never regain full use of the leg. She looked frantically at the referee. He glanced at the announcer and at Thoth, then nodded. He raised his hand, signaling a victory.

  Piper dropped her hold and scooted back. Her legs were trembling so badly she couldn’t stand.

  Thoth lay still, panting, then turned over and slowly sat up. For a moment, she thought he would attack her. Then he saluted her, a mocking tilt to his fingers, before gingerly sliding under the lower rope and to the cement floor beyond. Cradling his broken elbow and torn-ligament hand, he limped out.

  Piper flopped onto her back. She’d done it.

  One more fight to go. And it might end up being the worst of all four.

  CHAPTER 11

  PIPER slumped back against the ropes, eyes closed. Her breath rasped in and out, tearing at her lungs. Her whole body hurt and bruises throbbed everywhere, but she could only feel relief—relief and a weary satisfaction. She’d done it. Against all odds, with nothing but her own skill, she’d beaten three bloodthirsty daemon fighters.

  The crowd roared, a building crescendo of anticipation. The announcer was praising her last fight, working the spectators into a betting frenzy. She half listened, concentrating on ignoring how much she hurt.

  “Now,” he called. His voice abruptly dropped to a dramatic whisper in the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, we all admit Minx has accomplished three shocking victories. Her last was narrow, we all know it, but she succeeded with a show of guts, determination, and skill we can’t help but admire. I—I wish, for her sake, that I had better news for her next match.”

  The room quieted.

  “Ladies . . . gentlemen . . . The Styx brings fighters of all ages, skills, and backgrounds to its ring. But, every once in a while, we are graced with the presence of a legend. There are fighters—and then there are warriors. Bred to fight, to win . . . to kill.

  “Tonight, one of our legends has reappeared. Yes, after an absence of over a year, one of the great warriors has come to once more test his strength against our fighters.

  “Ladies and gentlemen—I give you Dragon!”

  A heartbeat of silence and the room exploded with screams and cheers. She breathed deeply, waiting. The two thousand voices rose in a building crescendo, then abruptly quieted.

  Piper opened her eyes.

  Ash stood in the ring across from her.

  A simple cloth mask that left only the lower half of his face visible had replaced the elaborate dragon mask. His jaw was tight, but he managed a small, approving smile when she looked at him. He’d stripped to a thin, sleeveless black shirt, his black jeans, biker boots, and leather wrist braces. When she’d seen him shirtless before, he’d been all toned muscle sheathed in warm, honey-toned skin. Now, his shoulders were marked with strange designs in a dark red, very close to his hair color, that disappeared under his shirt. Was that glamour? Or had he dropped part of his glamour instead?

  He flexed his hands, wrapped from knuckles to elbows in black tape. Piper unconsciously balled her hands into fists. She swallowed hard. Even knowing he was on her side, facing him across the blood-splattered ring made her heart pound and a fresh wave of adrenaline rush through her. He was so frighteningly still, possessed of that balanced, unfailing readiness of a true fighter.

  The crowd howled their approval of this match up. The announcer shouted over them, crowing about Dragon’s past winning streak. Then, with an excited shout, he stepped over to the match wheel and spun it as hard as he could.

  The entire arena went silent as everyone watched the arrow spin around and around. It started to slow. She commanded herself to breathe. They needed a fist match. If Ash was going to convince the crowd he was beating her to a pulp without hurting her—much—then they desperately needed a fist match. Anything else would be ten times as hard to fake.

  The arrow whirled around, gradually slowing. The whole room held its breath. Tick-tick-tick. It rushed down the right side and slowed as it dropped into the red weapons match. Tick, tick, tick. It clicked into the left hand fist match, arching upward, almost all its momentum gone. Tick . . . tick . . . tick.

  Silence.

  Piper stared, dread sliding through her. The arrow had stopped in tiny black quarter—the one with the skull and crossbones.

  The brawl match. The “anything goes” match where both weapons and magic were allowed. The crowd burst into frenzied cheers. Piper hugged herself against the sudden chill in her blood. Lilith insisted Piper lose in a satisfactory way or the deal was off. The spectators wouldn’t be satisfied by anything less than all-out violence for this match. Brawls were the favorite.

  With trembling fingers, Piper once again chose the katana from the three offered weapons. When the man turned to Ash, he waved a hand and tilted his head in a mocking, arrogant shrug that clearly said, “I don’t need a weapon against her.”

  The spectators went wild as the announcer called out the Dragon’s refusal to take a weapon. They seemed to find it pretty exciting, maybe because it evened the odds a bit, but how the hell was she supposed to use a katana without killing him?

  “Fighters, ready!” the announcer bellowed.

  The bell shrilled.

  Not knowing what else to do, she lunged forward, blade first. Ash flowed forward to meet her. He was barehanded. How was he planning to make this work? She searched his face, hoping for some sign of the plan.

  He lunged so fast she reacted without thought—she swung the deadly blade at his face.

  He arched backward and the sword swept over his head. Then his arm clamped around her middle and he flung her across the ring. She slammed down hard, the wind knocked out of her, barely holding onto her sword. Holy crap! She gasped for air and rolled to her feet amidst a cacophony of cheers and catcalls. Ash waited for her, looking confident and unconcerned.

  Fine. She wouldn’t go that easy on him then.

  She slid forward, then feinted left. As soon as he started to move, she reversed the blade, aiming to nick his side.

  He smacked the blunt top of her blade with the back of one arm, knocking it off course. Then he grabbed her wrist. She couldn’t stop her shriek as he slammed a leg into her stomach, knocking her flat on her ass. Once again, she couldn’t breathe. Damn it. She knew she was supposed to be losing—and he could have kicked her way harder—but something in her wouldn’t go down without a fight. She sucked in painful breaths on the dirty ring floor. Ash was standing close, waiting—a little too close.

  She rolled and kicked at the same time, ramming her booted foot into his ankle. His foot went out from under him but she knew he wouldn’t fall. That’s why her roll brought her close enough to kick again—this time right into the nerve in his inner thigh.

  He went down.

  She was vaguely aware of the shrieking crowd as she threw herself on him. He grabbed her wrist before she could bring the katana into play. She sat on him and tried to punch him with her other hand. He caught her fist. They froze like that, staring one another down as Piper bared her teeth and strained against his superior strength. Ash’s lips twitched. The crowd bellowed their suppo
rt, though for whom she couldn’t tell.

  Before Ash decided on his next move, she yanked up one leg in a feat of female flexibility and hooked her leg on his elbow, wrenching his arm down with her full weight. He almost broke her arm when he didn’t let go of her wrist. Then he arched his back with enough force to throw her off and flipped on top of her. She used the same throw-off move on him before he could pin her, and they rolled across the floor, wrestling for control of the katana.

  Ash finally wrenched the sword out of her hand but he didn’t have a good grip on it. It flew out of his grasp, skidded across the floor, and fell off the edge of the ring. The crowd groaned as one. Piper managed to break free and rolled away before jumping to her feet. Ash leaped up in one graceful move. She twisted her mouth and he made a face back. Yeah, he’d lost the sword on purpose.

  Breathing hard, she slowly sank into a ready stance. Ash copied, his lips stretching into a tight smile. Piper swallowed. This was the part where she got beat up.

  They attacked at the same moment. Piper’s legs ached from the strain but she managed to dance away from his first attempt to grab her. She punched. He blocked. She side-kicked, ducked, and tried to jab him in the kidney. He blocked again. She jumped back and let loose a volley of attacks. He blocked every one with impossible swiftness—then his fist flashed out and caught her shoulder, sending her spinning. She turned a full one eighty and let herself fall forward onto her hands. At the same time, she kicked with both feet, doing half a handstand as she tried to plant her boots in his gut.

  He somehow twisted to the side and caught her right leg. She kicked his knee with her left foot and he dropped her before she got thrown again.

  She scrambled up and spun to face him. He tensed but didn’t attack. His smile was gone now and he looked frustrated. She tried to give him a “what the hell?” look through her mask. What was he waiting for? The crowd was getting restless at the lack of blood and pain. He stared at her, trying to communicate a thought maybe, then gave his head the tiniest shake.

  She inhaled sharply and glanced toward the yelling mob. He was right. Nothing they could fake would satisfy the crowd. Ash would have to seriously hurt her—unless there was a way to give them something else to scream about?

  She clenched and unclenched her hands. No ideas popped into her head. Damn it! Now what?

  Time was up. Ash sprang.

  This time he was on the offensive and it was Piper blocking and dodging for all she was worth. She couldn’t catch everything and though it burned her pride, she knew he wasn’t using the full scope of his skill. The stupid draconian was just that good. When his third strike caught her in the diaphragm, she dropped to her knees at his feet, clutching her belly and unable to breathe. Her legs trembled with exhaustion. Her arms ached, the muscles threatening to seize. Ash started to step back while she recovered.

  Before managing a single breath, she leaped up and tackled him right in the stomach. He staggered back but didn’t fall. Her strength gave out and she fell back, still holding a handful of his shirt. With a loud ripping sound, the side seam tore.

  She dragged herself to her feet. The crowd was screaming again—Ash had pulled his torn shirt off and chucked it out of the ring. Piper could only stare at him. The tattoo-like markings curled over his shoulders and wound down one side of his chest. A curl of the design circled the spot over his heart. She licked her lips nervously as she looked across the ecstatic crowd. The beginnings of a plan began to take form.

  Pushing her shoulders back, she lifted her chin and gestured imperiously for Ash to come at her. His lips parted with surprise, then he stepped forward in a slow prowl. When he was barely two steps away, he lunged.

  She threw herself at him with everything she had left. She summoned every last drop of energy, every bit of fighting passion she had left. She screamed her frustration as he caught her every attack. She didn’t try to hide her anger. Her attacks got wilder and more desperate, but Ash pushed back, driving her into a corner of the ring. The corner post was one step behind her when she flung her foot out in a roundhouse kick with enough power behind it to bruise even if he caught it. Wisely, he slid backward out of range.

  Piper planted both feet and mouthed as subtly as she could, “Charge me.”

  He didn’t immediately react, merely shifted casually like he was setting his feet. Then, so fast she almost wasn’t ready, he ran at her. She screamed like a wild woman and lunged forward to meet him. At the last second, she leaped at him so she was completely airborne. He crashed into her, grabbing her at the same time she grabbed him with arms and legs both. His momentum was so strong that they both slammed hard into the post behind her.

  She might have been brained right then but Ash managed to cup one hand behind her head to cushion the impact. His other hand had a fistful of the back of her jeans, holding the waist so she didn’t slide down him. She had both legs wrapped tight around his middle, her hands clutching his shoulders.

  Time slowed. The noise of the crowd disappeared. Ash was pressed hard into her, crushing her against the post, his body hot against her front. His bare chest rose and fell as he breathed deep. His hand formed a fist in her hair and pulled her head back until their eyes met in a stare that cut right through her. His irises weren’t quite black but close. His strength was all around her, holding her, pinning her helplessly. She met his stare, her teeth bared fiercely.

  Then she grabbed his head and yanked his mouth down onto hers.

  It wasn’t a gentle kiss. Ash’s mouth met hers and it was like a flame meeting oil—fire and raging heat. She arched into him as he shoved her into the post, pressing them even tighter together. His mouth moved with hers, against hers, fierce and carnal and demanding. She clamped her fingers over the back of his head and pulled him closer still, demanding even more. His hand tightened in her hair and she tilted her head farther back as their kiss deepened into something even wilder.

  Seconds later—minutes later?—Ash pulled back with one last nipping bite to her bottom lip that made heat plunge through her middle. They held there, faces inches apart, both panting for air. Piper wasn’t sure she could have unlocked her legs from around him even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t. She’d never had her legs around such perfect abs in her life.

  That’s when, belatedly, she noticed the crowd’s reaction. They were all on their feet and the noise level was deafening. They were screaming and cheering.

  So swiftly Piper squeaked in surprise, Ash pulled her off the post. The next thing she knew, he’d flipped her over his shoulder in a fireman carry. The air whooshed out of her. Ash turned and lifted one hand in a gesture of triumph, his other arm clamped over the backs of her thighs to keep her in place.

  “Well,” the announcer called jubilantly. “It seems the Dragon has claimed his prize!”

  Piper scowled, then forced her expression into something that hopefully looked dazed but still lustful, like a proper fighter girl so passionate she’d fallen for her opponent instead of thrashing him. Ugh. Reduced to a prize for a man. She’d never be able to show her face in the club again—not that it was a big loss.

  To the tumultuous applause of the crowd, Ash leaped out of the ring and dropped four feet to the cement floor while hardly jostling Piper. Yeah, he’d definitely been holding back in their fight. With fans screaming their victorious hero on, Ash strode purposefully across the main floor to the exit hall. Piper could hear a minority of boos and swearing from the bloodthirsty sadists of the spectators but her idea had worked. This club was all about passion—of multiple kinds—and the top floor of the club showed as much. The crowd had seemed extra excited in the more risqué moments of their match. Turning the fight into a different kind of passion had saved them, even if it hadn’t quite played out the way she’d planned.

  The noise grew muffled as they moved down the hall, not that Piper could see much of her surroundings hanging upside down over Ash’s shoulder. He found a door and opened it. She glimpsed a small infirmary
room as he stepped inside and pushed the door shut. Then he tilted Piper forward and slid her off his shoulder onto her feet, which meant she slid down the front of him on her way to the floor. Cue another swoop of heat in her middle.

  She found herself standing right against him, his hands hot against her sides as she cooled from the exertion of the fight. Her hands were somehow resting on the bare skin of his chest and she realized a little late that her legs were quivering so badly she probably couldn’t have stood without leaning against him. He helped her limp to the stretcher-like bed and sit on it. His fingers brushed the underside of her chin, tipping her head back. He lightly touched a sore spot on the side of her jaw, then gently pushed her mask off her face and dropped it on the bed beside her.

  She stared at him uncertainly, trying to read his expression behind the mask he had yet to remove. His fingertips were still resting against her cheek. The sudden desire to pull his mouth back to hers nearly made her melt inside.

  But then his fingers slid away and he glanced around the tiny room.

  “That was a clever plan,” he murmured. “More than I thought of.”

  “Y-yeah,” she said shakily, thrown off by the manic desire she had to wrap herself around him.

  “Good strategizing. You’ll make a good Consul.”

  She stared wordlessly. He flicked a glance at her, then stepped toward the door. “I’ll get a nurse for you.”

  “Ash,” she blurted. She jumped to her feet and nearly ended up in a puddle on the floor. She staggered but managed to grab his arm. He turned toward her. She hesitated, then pushed the black mask off his face. His expression was inscrutable.

  She touched a red scratch on his cheek, no doubt courtesy of her fingernails. She didn’t remember doing it.

  “Ash, I . . .” She swallowed. “I mean, you . . .”

  The door to the room burst open.

  “Holy shit,” Lyre exclaimed, grinning ear to ear and looking shell-shocked at the same time. “That was inspired. Whose idea was that? That is the hottest kiss I’ve ever seen—if kiss is even the right word. I don’t know if kisses count on that scale—and I would know, wouldn’t I?” He laughed.