by Tanith Frost
“A chance to enjoy these surroundings even if they don’t have the power to become one of us. The thrill of violence. And as to the prize if they win… well, you’ll see. Just watch.”
Leila quickly grows tired of pacing. She leaps at her opponent, who dives out of the way. A nice move, but the match is every bit as uneven as it first appeared. In moments, Leila is on her prey, pinning her down, punching her face until her pale blood flows freely. I close my eyes, but I can still hear when bones crack—a sound that’s quickly drowned out by the approving crowd.
I remember what Randolph said about Lachlan noticing everything. Sure enough, when I look up at him, he’s got his eyes on me.
No weakness. I have to watch.
Leila stands and turns back to her audience, encouraging another cheer. Her opponent rolls onto her stomach and tries to crawl away. I don’t know where she thinks she’s going.
The void, pure and sharp as I’ve ever felt it, rises in every vampire in the room as we watch. As it moves through me, some deeper aspect of myself rises to the surface—one I’ve suppressed if I was ever aware of it at all.
I look down on the weak creature who calls herself a vampire and see how pathetic she is. I should feel horror, pity. But I almost hate her.
Ava hates her, I tell myself, feeling for the hard edge that should separate me from this persona. But it sure feels like me.
Leila spins and leaps into the air, landing on her opponent’s spine with her full weight. The smaller vampire cries out. Leila lets her crawl away again, dragging herself by her arms.
It’s horrifying. There’s a part of me that still hates Leila for acting like a cat playing with a mouse and wishes she’d just get it over with. But I also understand. I want more pain, more blood. It seems every other vampire here has embraced that aspect of themselves. They’re cheering for Leila, jeering at the broken creature at her feet, screaming for more.
Except for one vampire in the front row, that is. Tears stream down her face, and she falls to her knees, crawling into the ring before one of her companions hauls her back into her seat.
Her display of emotion disgusts me, and the disgust feels right. It lifts me, places me above her, separates me from that weakness.
Someone tosses a pair of wooden stakes into the ring, and it’s suddenly clear what the winner’s prize is.
Survival.
The weaker vampire tries to reach the weapons. Someone lets out a cackling laugh, and Leila joins in. She kicks one of the stakes closer, helping her already defeated foe. Soon most of the room is laughing at the joke the nameless vampire has become. Others are angry, or maybe bored now that the best of it is over, hollering for Leila to finish it.
Leila waits for her opponent to grab onto the stake before she stalks closer and drives her own weapon down into her enemy’s back, piercing her heart from behind.
I have to control my thoughts. I can’t think about anyone I’ve seen destroyed this way. I can’t have that past. That emotion. Can’t let affection for a vampire every bit as helpless as this one cloud my reactions here and now.
The past won’t help me survive the present. Lucille is gone. I’m still here.
The vampire soon crumbles to dust, leaving her clothing behind. The blood that coated Leila’s fists vanishes as well, leaving them clean when she lifts them in celebration of her victory, blows a kiss to Lachlan, and walks back out the doors, which slam closed behind her.
Everyone seems pleased. Even the vampire who wept so dramatically before is laughing, apparently having achieved whatever emotional catharsis she was looking for.
Randolph stands and stretches. “Intermission,” he explains as I get to my feet. “Don’t go back to your room yet. This was just the warm-up. If you’ll excuse me, I have a wager to collect on.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Some fools can’t help betting on the underdog.”
I glance back up at Lachlan’s seat, but he’s gone.
“Looking for someone?”
His voice startles me, but it’s not the unpleasant reaction I’d have expected. I turn to find Lachlan standing on the floor next to me. I’m looking down at him, but his presence is enough to make me feel small. I sit on the edge of the riser and lean down so we’re face to face. “You have quite the view from up there.”
“I have. Would you care to join me? Randolph won’t mind.”
He wouldn’t dare mind, I’m sure.
I hop down and follow Lachlan back to his seat. “When I realized there was going to be a fight, I felt overdressed,” I say as we sit in chairs that are far more comfortable than the bleachers below. It’s an odd mix—hard wooden seats, dust floating in the air, and everyone dressed in satin, lace, and velvet. “But I guess I fit right in.”
Lachlan smiles. “Casual clothing is for working vampires. Anyone who’s powerful enough to be here is happy to separate themselves from that, and any excuse to dress up and show off is good enough for them. Tell me, what did you think of the match?”
Don’t lie. Don’t lie. Don’t lie.
“Honestly? My first instinct was to find it distasteful. I’ve seen plenty of fights since I died, and been involved in most of them. Violence was never a spectator event where I came from, though. We certainly didn’t execute vampires for sport.”
“No. And to what end?” Lachlan leans closer, keeping the conversation private. “Maelstrom coddles weakness, allowing unfit vampires to survive and drain resources instead of replacing them with individuals who could make the clan stronger as a whole. Here, everyone strives to be worthy of the power we’ve been given. Look around you. We’re better off with her gone.”
I have a better view from up here, but what I see hasn’t changed. Every vampire here looks strong. Healthy, if such a thing can be said about animated corpses. They’re enjoying their existence, embracing violence and chaos—perhaps not believing themselves immune to any of it, but understanding that this is what we were made for. They’re not denying what brings them pleasure.
“A clan is the sum of its parts,” he adds. “Do you agree?”
I press my lips together and take a long breath. “I don’t know. When I was in Maelstrom, I wanted to protect what you call weakness, but maybe that’s because it’s what I wanted—what I thought was right—when I was human and weak, myself. I understand what you’re saying, and what I feel and see certainly supports it. There is incredible strength here.”
Lachlan rests his elbows on his knees and gives me a hard look. “You’re evading the question.”
“I’m trying to be honest. I think what I’m saying is that my eyes are open to what Tempest offers, but it’s not easy to walk away from old beliefs.”
He shakes his head. “They fucked you up properly, didn’t they? Weakening a vampire with so much natural strength, overlooking you, making you doubt yourself so they could control you.” He looks deep into my eyes. It should feel uncomfortable but doesn’t. “I won’t do that to you. Not as long as you remain honest and loyal to me.”
I glance away. “Those seem like surprisingly light-oriented traits for a vampire to value.”
Lachlan places a hand on my forearm, letting it rest there until he has my full attention again. “I value what serves me. The light doesn’t own honesty or loyalty. Don’t give it that power. What matters is how you use those tools and that you don’t let them make you vulnerable.” A roguish smile tugs at his lips. “You have my permission to stab anyone else in the back or lie to their faces. Just don’t do it to me.”
And there it is—the other half of the secret to his power. Not just knowing who will screw him over, but allowing them free rein to do it to each other as they jostle for power and position beneath him. They’re so busy watching their backs that they have no chance of ever joining forces against him.
Lachlan’s eyes narrow, but the smile doesn’t leave him. He’s still touching me. His power—his strength—is threatening to drown me, but that doesn’t seem like a bad thing. It was never
like this with Viktor, who I hated from the moment I met him, whose void power never drew me in, who I understood instinctively was the enemy. I’m supposed to hate Lachlan, but I’m not sure I remember why.
“What were you thinking about just now?” he asks.
That you’re some kind of Machiavellian genius but also fascinating and gorgeous and what the hell is wrong with me?
I clear my throat, giving myself a second to choose better words. “I guess I was just wondering what it would be like to feel as secure as you seem to in your position.”
He’s about to answer when the doors open again. Everyone hurries back to their seats as the largest vampire I’ve ever seen stalks in, stomping and roaring. He’s a fucking mountain, stripped from the waist up to show off muscles that defy logic—as do the pants he’s chosen to wear.
“Who the hell fights in jeans?”
Lachlan chuckles. “He chose the name Monstro for himself after death, and no one could talk him out of it. That should tell you everything you need to know. Puts on a good show, though.”
I lean forward. Monstro’s eyes go wide as he roars and flexes, whipping the crowd into an excited state that even Leila didn’t manage. Pale eyes for a vampire though darker than mine. He’s probably been around for a few decades, and if this is all he’s fit to do, he must have survived a lot of fights. He doesn’t strike me as powerful in anything but a physical sense, though. An island of brute force in an ocean of supernatural power. Still, it seems unfair to whoever is unfortunate enough to be going up against him.
Lachlan leans back in his chair, one ankle crossed casually over the other knee, watching the door.
“Will this match last any longer than the first?” I ask.
“I certainly hope so.”
The opponent enters, and the rest of the room—its sights, its sounds, its smells—fades away.
Another vampire. Shirtless, barefoot. Lean and hard, chiselled like a goddamn statue, but far smaller than Monstro. He keeps his head down. No chants, no bravado. Just pure focus and grim determination.
Any connection I felt to the crowd and its bloodlust disappears, and I clench my jaw until pain radiates up into my temples just so I won’t scream and give myself away.
I want to run. I can’t stay here. But Lachlan is watching me.
I have no choice but to pretend I don’t care as Daniel steps into the ring to face certain oblivion.
12
“Are you displeased?”
My heart is in my throat. It makes it hard to speak, but somehow I manage. “I’m surprised. And I’ll admit that I’ll be disappointed if Daniel loses.”
Lachlan’s barely looking at the ring now. “Why is that?”
He sounds so fucking casual, but I understand how much this matters. He’d be an idiot not to assume Daniel and I could be working together. Even if he believes we mean nothing to each other, we’re still two vampires from the very clan Lachlan is working to invade. A strange coincidence if I didn’t come to rescue him.
I force myself to lean back in the chair instead of perching on the literal edge of my seat. It feels unnatural. “I know I shouldn’t need the comfort of a familiar face in a strange land, but Daniel is a fine example of an outsider surviving here.”
For now, anyway. Daniel’s in the middle of the floor. Monstro’s still stomping around the perimeter, performing for the crowd, but the fight will begin any second.
Lachlan looks from me to the ring. “So far, I’d say you’re doing far better than he is.”
“Why is he fighting?” I ask. “I thought he was part of Bethany’s project.”
“Bethany can do whatever she wants with him, but she has to share her toys.” He frowns down at the fighters. “Some vampires—most vampires, in fact—need to be reminded every so often who’s in control. I’d just as soon have seen him executed, but Bethany was so insistent that he could be an asset to her project… this is our little compromise. Every time he wins, Bethany gets to enjoy his company a little longer and Daniel is reminded of who truly holds the other end of his leash. If he loses, problem solved.”
My body feels as if it’s turned to ice. On a purely intellectual level, though, I understand what he’s saying. And whether he intended it or not, I caught another message: I’d better make sure I don’t need a similar reminder if I don’t want to find myself in that ring.
Lachlan keeps his eye on the combatants but leans toward me. “Maybe you’d be better off, too, without that link to your past.”
“I guess we’ll see what happens.”
That’s as much truth as I can offer him.
On the surface, the match below looks even more one-sided than the previous one. But as the fight erupts, it becomes clear that Lachlan might get the longer fight he wished for.
It starts with words.
“Stupid, cowardly sack of shit,” Daniel calls, just loud enough that we can hear at the back. “Are you planning to orbit until sunrise?”
Monstro turns, fangs bared, and rushes at him. Daniel dodges easily, and Monstro crashes into the front row of vampires.
The crowd loves it. Daniel’s still talking, but I can’t hear any of it over their shouts. Too bad they’re cheering for Monstro.
I’m fighting to keep my body still and my emotions in check. I’ll deal with them later when it’s safer. It’s hard, though. Everything in me is screaming for me to go down there and intervene, even if it means Daniel and me against the entire crowd.
I don’t owe him anything. He’s made it clear that he wouldn’t save me if our positions were reversed. I wonder whether it would hurt him as it hurts me to sit and watch it.
Monstro is surprisingly agile for someone of his size, but Daniel is quicker and perfectly focused. He hasn’t so much as glanced at the crowd. But he can’t run forever. The spectators want blood, and they’ll have it. Once the fists start flying, he’s at multiple disadvantages with his smaller mass and shorter reach. I try not to wince as Monstro throws a punch that lands on Daniel’s jaw—an instant knockout in a human fight, but here it leaves Monstro open to a kick to the solar plexus. It hardly fazes that wall of muscle, but it at least gives Daniel time to roll out of range again so he can come back in with a better angle of attack, throwing all of his weight behind a blow to Monstro’s left temple.
The crowd jeers and stomps. Lachlan seems irritated. “Weapons!” he calls.
Someone tosses a broadsword and a battle-axe into the ring. Both land near Monstro. He picks up the sword and seems to consider the axe as well but settles for taking a swat at Daniel as he goes in for it. Daniel’s almost fast enough, but not quite. The blade cuts a gash across his lower back.
“Wasn’t interesting enough for you without blades?” It’s hard to force my lips to move and my voice to remain steady. But if I don’t say something, Lachlan will—and I don’t want to answer questions.
“This will only make it more interesting, believe me.” Lachlan leans forward, and the fingers of his right hand twitch as if he wishes he could be holding a weapon himself. “If I wanted to watch vampires dancing around, I’d host another ball.”
Daniel holds the axe in both hands and circles Monstro, who turns to follow his movements. Daniel’s still talking. Even when the crowd settles, I can’t hear what he’s saying. Whatever it is, it’s just for Monstro’s ears.
My gut twists.
Don’t think about it. For fuck’s sake, don’t remember what you’ve seen him do. Not now.
Daniel makes a sudden move, raising the axe and rushing forward, feinting to the left and darting right as Monstro prepares to take a defensive swat at him. The axe swings, lower than I expected, cutting into the tendons at the backs of Monstro’s legs, hobbling him. The mountain of flesh crashes to his knees.
He’s still fighting, but I swear he’s moving slower than he was before, with less determination. He roars, and the crowd roars back. But he looks uncertain. Lost.
It’s just a fight. Strength versus spee
d. Nothing more. I have to believe that.
The axe lands again, hitting Monstro’s abdomen with a sickening, wet thud before Daniel wrenches it free. Monstro drops the sword and grabs at him, but Daniel’s already out of reach. And as Monstro’s poorly judged momentum lays him out on the ground, Daniel brings the axe down once more, this time aiming for his opponent’s thick neck.
I look away. This is the outcome I wanted, but I don’t need another reminder of what awaits me if I fuck up.
Disappearance. Complete nothingness.
I only open my eyes again to see whether Daniel’s okay. He’s won. He’s survived. He’s used to battle—he’s been hunting rogues and other supernatural enemies as a vampire for longer than he was ever alive and human. But never like this. He’s never had to execute an artificial enemy or act out of anything but necessity for the good of his clan. Daniel may not be an emotional or compassionate creature, but he has a weirdly strict sense of honour for a soulless monster. This has to hurt him.
If it does, he’s not showing it. His face is the grim mask he’s worn since I got here, showing no sign he feels any joy or remorse over his victory. He looks over the crowd for the first time, and they fall silent. Again I want to run, but I can’t. His gaze locks on mine for a second before moving on to Lachlan, and the dead flatness in his eyes frightens me as much as the fight itself did.
Daniel lowers his chin without shifting his gaze, which I guess is as much acknowledgement the clan’s leader is going to get from the night’s champion. He drops the axe into the sawdust and leaves the ring.
The vampires remaining in the room become more animated again when he’s gone. Several scuffles break out, presumably as those fools who bet on the underdog attempt to claim their winnings.
“Come with me,” Lachlan says. “The fights are over. The rest of the night will just be more of this.”
Wagers and rage and instant conversational replays aren’t enough to distract anyone as we pass. No one says a word to us, but between the curious looks, the cutting glances, and the outright jealous stares, everyone’s eyes are on me and Lachlan. Malice burns in some of them, directed at me—the undeserving new pet. The favoured enemy. The cheater.
