by Pearl Foxx
“Gags, huh?” He’d only meant to mock her, but his skin pulled tight across his bones at the thought of the ice queen strapping him down to a big bed. “You promise?”
“I’ll kill you. Right here. Right now.” Her fists clenched, and two bright red spots flushed her cheeks.
He liked the look of fury on her. It livened up that icy facade. His mind wandered to how she would look beneath him when he buried himself deep inside her, that pale skin flushed pink against his.
He should have her thrown out. He really should. But damn him, he liked her smell. He liked her blue fire. Worst of all, he liked feeling like White Horn again.
“If you want to fight so badly, then fight.” He lifted his chin toward his cage, where a flyweight fight was just coming to its brutal end. “You win, we talk. You lose, you leave and I never fucking see you again. Deal?”
She glanced over her shoulder at the cage. When she looked back at him, an amused expression brightened her face. “I’ll kill a human in a fair fight. By accident, of course.”
“Of course. But you won’t be fighting a human. At least, not completely.”
Her face turned a pickled shade of green. “A cyborg?”
He shrugged. “You wanna talk or not?”
“Fine. But if I get grease on me …”
“You could use a little dirtying up. Go change. Find Chance in the back rooms. Tell him Tane put you on the card and you need something better to wear than that scrap of material you have on. You’re up next.”
She folded her arms beneath her pert breasts. “Tane, huh? How cute.”
He closed the distance between them in one stride, his chest brushing against hers as he breathed her in deep, filling his lungs with the scent of home. He was close enough to feel her nipples harden through that skin-tight dress. But she lazily craned back the long column of her neck and looked up at him, accepting his challenge like she lived in that place where violence butted up against passion. He knew, right then, that she reveled in it.
This female breathed life in through her nose and exhaled sheer power. She would be a force to be reckoned with in bed.
He went dizzy with the notion of her.
“And you? What’s your name, Ice Queen?”
The corner of her mouth pulled into a smirk. “Kinyi,” she purred. “Don’t worry. You won’t be forgetting it anytime soon.”
Tane got the flyweight fighters off to the cynker for repairs. He oversaw the cage clearing, the payouts, and the crowd management, which included his girls going out with fresh pints on the house. Cyborgs and humans weren’t that different to Tane. They both needed lubrication to operate. Grease or beer, sometimes both, he really didn’t care.
He propped a shoulder against the doorframe leading to the back offices. After a quick scan of the crowd, he knew they were ready. They were hungry for more. They wanted blood. And they still had credits to spend. A good way to end the night.
“She’s human?”
Tane looked up. Chance came over to lean against the wall beside him. Few dared to act so casually around Tane, but Chance was his second, the one who helped run this place, whether it was slinging drinks behind the bar, bouncing at the door, or paying off the cops to look the other way. Chance was a good man, and if Tane was being honest, one of his only friends.
Chance flexed his metal wrist, his jointed fingers flashing blue in the dim light at the back of the room. He had a newer Mod 5 model arm that went all the way up to his shoulder. He’d once told Tane he’d gotten the appendage solely to work the wall. Tane knew there was more to the story. There always was. And for Chance, the story of his cyborg origins revolved around a female.
Tane rubbed his chin, eyes on the empty cage. “She can handle herself.”
“You know her? She acted like she knew you.”
“We come from the same place.”
Chance’s questioning gaze lingered, but he didn’t push the subject. He only nodded. There was a brotherhood of sorts at the Ball & Joint, and their code of honor centered around ask no questions, tell no lies. They were a secretive bunch out of necessity, but it worked for them.
“I saw you bet against her,” Chance said with a crooked grin. “If you’re trying to get laid tonight, that’s a shit-poor way to go about it.”
Tane laughed, just once. A harsh sound. But it came from his belly and it felt good. “I honestly feel sorry for the bastard who tries to catch that woman.”
Chapter Three
Kinyi
“In this corner, we have the undefeated, undisputed champion, Steele Snatch!”
Kinyi snorted a laugh as the woman across the ring bounced on the balls of her cyborg feet. The joints hummed, and the ropes of metal contracted and flexed all the way up to her hips with every movement. She was a newer model, and her parts were clean and well oiled.
Chance, the cyborg who’d helped Kinyi prep for the last-minute fight and given her fighting clothes to wear, had said Steele had gotten the cybernetic enhancements just to compete in the underground circuit. Good money, he’d said, could be made down here. Then his eyes had lingered on the side of her face.
She wasn’t here for money. She was here to save her planet.
“And in this corner, we have Kinyi! It’s her first fight, but don’t let her size fool you.” The announcer lowered his voice and pressed his mouth close to the mic hanging down from the ceiling at the center of the ring. “She’s an alien from another planet, sold into the fights by her Frenoidian master!”
Kinyi froze. Her eyes swept the crowd, but the humans only cheered, clearly not believing a word the announcer said. She released a breath.
She peered over her shoulder between the tightly woven cage junctures. Tane stood like a shadow at the back of the room. His eyes locked on hers, and even from this distance, Kinyi could see the eerie violet tint to his irises, like two gleaming jewels set against his dark skin. His white teeth flashed as he spoke to Chance.
He stared back, his eyes unnerving.
The bastard.
She turned back to the ring. Across the stained mat, Steele continued stretching, rolling out her neck, and bouncing all over the place like a newborn Skax. She was wearing herself out before the fight even began.
Good, Kinyi thought as she eyed those legs. This wouldn’t be like sparring with the other unmated females on the ice field. She’d fought plenty of flesh-and-blood monsters, but never anything with metal parts and grease for blood.
Her stomach dipped as if she were riding on the back of a great male, swooping low over the western ridge. Excitement, bright and vital, flared through her. She’d never known true flight as a rider—she’d never actually flown before—but she imagined it would be like this: the moment before a fight when she didn’t know if she would win or lose, when between one breath and the next, an entire lifetime of doubt, fear, and anticipation was lived.
The announcer dropped the mic, and it ascended into the ceiling.
The referee called the fighters into the center of the ring.
Steele bounced forward, her mouth guard distorting her lips as she barked and snarled at Kinyi.
Kinyi strolled forward, her feet bare, her toes pressing into the mat. She wore tight shorts that showed more than they covered and a bra made of a few well-placed straps that anchored her small breasts into place. Intricate braids fell down her back, keeping her line of sight clear, and she’d forfeited the mouth guard Chance had offered her. If she took a punch, she wanted to feel it.
She bumped her wrapped fists against Steele’s.
A bell sounded, and the referee skipped out of the way just in time. Steele instantly swung her fist at Kinyi’s stomach.
It connected with a wallop that rocketed up Kinyi’s sternum, stealing her breath. She grunted but didn’t fall back. She raised her fists, ducking a right hook so powerful it likely would have broken her jaw, and moved cleanly around Steele. She kept the cyborg in the center of the ring. Steele had to pivot on her metal
legs to face Kinyi as she danced around her. It kept Steele on her heels and unable to kick those powerful, bone-shattering legs.
Had they been fighting on the ice, Steele would have fallen straight through the mountain lake and sunk to the bottom from all metal in her body. But this wasn’t Kladuu, and watching the cyborg jig in front of her, Kinyi felt far, far from home.
Steele threw another combination that Kinyi narrowly dodged. She tucked down and twisted beneath Steele’s arm. She jabbed the cyborg’s side with a punch powerful enough to break the woman’s ribs. Instead, Steele barely grunted and turned to Kinyi with burning eyes. An artificial red light glowed behind her natural brown irises.
Kinyi danced backward to the cage’s edge. Her stomach sank.
Is this human entirely cybernetic? Does she have any human parts?
A whirring filled the air—Kinyi’s only warning. On instinct, she threw her arms over her head and braced for impact.
Steele kicked straight for the side of Kinyi’s head. Her cyborg foot glanced off Kinyi’s shoulder, hit her forearm, and sent her flying back. She crashed against the cage wall with a bone-jarring rattle.
The crowd went wild, jeering and shouting and shaking the cage with their fists.
Kinyi slid down the wall and slumped to the mat, feeling boneless. Her head swam from the indirect hit. A garish bruise already bloomed across her arm. She shook her head, but the mat tilted before her. She couldn’t feel her legs.
She’d never taken such a hard hit.
Steele wrapped her hands around the straps of her top and jerked her off the ground.
Her head fell back, and through her fluttering eyelashes, she saw Steele bring her fist back, ready to finish her with one blow.
Kinyi grabbed Steele’s wrist with one hand, and with her other, she slammed her open palm upward against the bend of Steele’s elbow. A sick crunch filled the air, and Steele stumbled back, howling.
Kinyi was too relieved to smirk in satisfaction. She’d found one human part. Maybe the other arm was human too.
She darted in while Steele recovered. Moving in on an injured opponent was a dirty move on Kladuu, honorless and cowardly, but Kinyi was out of options. Plus, on Earth, the rules for combat didn’t follow the same code she had grown up with, and she would be whatever she needed to be to complete her mission, even an honorless coward.
Steele glanced up from cradling her elbow. Her eyes stretched wide as Kinyi rushed her.
Kinyi unleashed a flurry of punches to Steele’s face and neck, ripping the plastic flesh to reveal metal that oozed grease. The cyborg backpedaled to the other side of the cage and screamed with fury. She dropped her elbow, the injured arm dangling at her side, and raised her other fist.
Hating herself for it, Kinyi ducked Steele’s punch and swung beneath her outstretched arm. She grabbed Steele’s injured wrist and twisted, dropping to the mat to put all her weight and strength into the brutal motion.
The torque to the cyborg’s arm flipped her. Multiple cracks in her collarbone snapped a staccato beat through the nearly silent room.
Steele hit the mat and didn’t move. Her face had gone pale and clammy. Beneath her closed eyelids, her eyes moved back and forth, her mouth hanging open around a silent wail.
Kinyi stood over her, panting, as the referee rushed over and called out the final count.
“Six! Seven!” He paused, his hand hanging in the air. “Eight!”
The crowd erupted.
Feeling sick, Kinyi stood in the center of the cage, staring back at the humans’ rabid eyes as they cheered for her, their fingers sticking through the cage and shaking it for all they were worth. The announcer appeared by her side, lifted her arm, and said something Kinyi couldn’t hear above the ringing in her ears.
Her arm fell back to her side. Blood welled in the back of her mouth. She spat it onto the mat and watched the fine spray of red splatter on the already rust-stained surface.
“Come on,” a deep voice said from beside her.
She turned and found Chance standing in the opening of the cage. He lifted his chin toward the back of the room, his eyes watching the crowd as another cyborg with dark hair and pale skin crouched beside Steele.
With a nod, Kinyi followed Chance out of the cage, her legs wobbly like a sparkling’s, her head aching from the crowd’s cacophony.
The patrons parted around Chance as if he had a force field pushing them back. Kinyi kept close, knowing she’d just defeated a sure bet and most of the humans here had lost money thanks to her. The last dregs of her adrenaline made a heightened awareness crawl like worms along her skin.
Chance opened the back door and led her into a dimly lit hall with rows of doors along the sides. As soon as he closed it behind them, the noise of the crowd fell away, muffled and distant.
“He’s in the back room on the left,” Chance said. Without another word, he disappeared behind a second door.
Kinyi lifted an eyebrow at the door, but she faced the dark hallway with a single swinging bulb and sighed. She’d known the White Horn would be a pain in her ass, but she hadn’t known he would be this bad. She walked down the hall, trying not to wince as every step jarred her bruised arm.
The back room’s door was closed, but she strode right in without knocking. Tane looked up from the open books on his desk in front of him. He lowered his pen. The worn brown leather chair squeaked as he rocked back in it, regarding her with those cool violet eyes lit by a single green lamp on his desk.
“You lost me some money tonight.”
She sank into a metal chair opposite him and sprawled out her long legs. “You shouldn’t have bet against me.”
“I thought she had you with that kick. Looked like she rattled your noodle a bit.”
Kinyi blinked at him. “What the fuck did you just say?”
He waved her off. “A human expression. You wouldn’t know it, I guess. So tell me, what’s so important to make you come all this way, track me down, and fight a cyborg to win my ear?”
“It’s Kladuu.”
“No shit.” Tane rocked forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. His massive shoulders pulled at the worn threads of his black shirt, barely a shade darker than his skin. Kinyi pictured how easy it would be to tear that shirt from his muscular body. “I didn’t expect that you’d come across the fucking universe to talk about the weather. But you should know, that place isn’t my home anymore. You”—he flapped a hand toward her—“aren’t my people.”
“And these cyborgs are? These disgusting humans and this water-soaked bar? This city is sinking, White Horn. You think that little wall out there will keep the ocean at bay much longer? You’ll drown down here with the rats.”
Tane straightened in his chair as if she’d offended him. “The Deluge is more than a wall, and it will keep the water back.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “And there aren’t that many rats. We had them exterminated last week.”
Kinyi barked a laugh. “You’re the greatest, most feared fighter Kladuu has ever seen. For fuck’s sake, we tell bedtime stories about you to scare little ones straight. And here you are, sitting at a desk in a swampy city, talking about rats. Rats!”
Tane went very still. His expression slackened into something hollow, detached. The air in the tiny room—had she noticed it was this small before?—turned electric like right before a great static storm erupted over the hive’s mountain range. His eyes went black in a partial shift.
Her heart rate spiked. Fear spider-walked down her spine. An ache, warm and delicious, simmered between her legs.
“You know nothing about that day. You think you do. You all think you do. And you tell fucking stories about it like it’s some great tale. But you have no fucking idea.” Each word snapped off his tongue like a whip’s lash, making Kinyi flinch with each strike. A growl built deep in his chest. His body vibrated as he unfurled from behind his desk, and she smelled the madness brewing in the air. “If you knew, if you really knew, you wo
uldn’t have come at all.”
She swallowed and stared up at him. Careful not to move too fast, she stood from her chair. Though every instinct told her to back away, she held her ground. “Then tell me. Tell me what happened. Because we need you. Kladuu is in trouble. The humans—”
He swiped a hand across the top of his desk, sending papers flying like a snowfall. The green lamp shattered against the wall.
Kinyi leaped back, hissing.
“Do you think I’d give you my story?” he roared. “Do you think you deserve it? Fuck you. And fuck Kladuu.”
Chapter Four
Tane
Long after he’d had the Draqon female thrown out, Tane’s body hummed with energy.
He’d been this close to losing it. To unleashing and shifting. He hadn’t been that close to losing control in years. Nearly a decade. And a few words from her, from Kinyi, had threatened his white-knuckled grip on sanity.
He could have killed everyone in the entire building. Perhaps everyone on the street. One shift, one tiny lapse in control, and everyone would have burned.
The images came unbidden, flashing through his mind like the neon signs in the lower city advertising warm women and cold beer. He saw his people falling through the fire that shouldn’t have hurt them, but defying all logic, it had. The fire—his fire—had burned so hot it had consumed even the Draqons. He saw them burning. Screaming. Dying.
His fire. His madness.
His fault.
He sagged onto the ground, the dustpan and broom he’d used to sweep up the broken lamp falling from his hand. He let his head loll back onto the wall as he stared up at the water-spotted ceiling. Outside his office, the crowd was long gone and the night was wrapping up as his men counted out the winnings, tallied the marks in the books, and laid out everyone’s cuts. He should have been out there helping. He couldn’t risk someone coming in and seeing him sitting on the floor. He couldn’t risk looking weak. One small hint of it and Garvan, Ball & Joint’s mobster owner, would have him thrown into the ring.
