“Your support means everything to me,” he murmured, placing a tender kiss to her lips.
Dimming the lamp, Grace curled next to Drago, slipping into sleep before her prayers had finished.
Chapter 21
Crocus and tulip blades emerged from winter's slumber, eager to unfurl their leaves and display their blooms. Drago sat in the early morning rays of spring sunshine that penetrated the kitchen, sharing pleasant conversation with Grace over a simple breakfast.
Her presence grounded him, her gentle advice steering him when he reached a plateau in his training and frustration or discouragement threatened. He had come to rely upon her in a way he could not explain, even to himself. It was as if she had become a part of him, and he was no longer whole but within the meshing of their lives. He wouldn't change it if he could.
“Only five weeks remain until the fight,” he interjected softly.
The statement caused a pause in their interaction, and his wife allowed him the moment to collect his thoughts fully without pushing him.
“I am ready for Souva.”
Drago settled into silent reflection again before he continued.
“Grace,” he said thickly, “I have worked for much of my life to become the champion. It is my dream, and I've given everything, and so have you, milovany, in pursuit of it. What if my everything isn't enough? What if I've hinged our lives around this moment only to discover that I'm second best?”
Her hand upon his quieted him.
“Don't give a foothold to self doubt, love. Did your dream stop calling you after defeat, or did it only grow stronger?”
He pulled her from the chair and into his arms.
“You know the answer, moja žena.”
“Drago, you won't be defined by a single moment in time, but by the sum of your life's moments. You're a champion in here,” she said, pressing her hand to his chest. “And you'll never be second best to me.”
He clasped her against himself.
“Do what you love, husband, and do it with everything you are. There are no regrets there.”
God, but he loved her. She was his rock, offering her strength freely to him, unmoving in her belief in him. Picking her up in his arms, he carried her into the bedroom and loved her with all the passion for life her words had stirred.
* * *
No one at First Strike had seen a more motivated fighter in the weeks leading up to the title fight. Camera crews milled about with no choice but to wait for the interviews for the AMMAO pre-bout build up. Guy permitted only basic workouts to be filmed, and his fighter was less than generous with his time or words.
An ongoing dispute with Derek Sloba strained Guy's relationship with the president of that organization. In an effort to gain a larger audience base, Sloba wanted segments done of the two fighters at home with their families. Both Drago and Elian had flat out refused, prompting breach of contract threats from the AMMAO, and the two mixed martial artists had spoken numerous times over the phone to consider a compromise to this situation.
In the end, Drago and Souva stood firm. They may be under contract, but their wives and children were not, and neither would parade their families in front of the camera. They, however, had to submit enough material to fill a full hour of programming, and it remained a point of contention with Drago even after filming was underway.
“Hey there, movie star, ready for round two?”
Drago arched his eyebrow at Ike.
“I'm ready, but be glad you are not coming in this ring with me.”
Both Ike and St. Clair harassed him about the film footage they themselves had participated in, but it gave the men a fun diversion from the repetitive routines of the gym.
“Ah, Zadrovec, be glad I'm not thirty years younger or I'd submit you and steal Gracie right from under your nose! I was a handsome devil, I tell you.”
Drago snorted, and a wide grin crept across his face, his reply muffled from the mouth guard he wore.
“I believe it, Ike.”
Slapping Ike's broad back, Drago ducked and climbed between the ropes. An hour later, a soaking wet Drago emerged from the ring, having bruted his way through two grappling partners and leaving a third exhausted in his wake. Ike came alongside him, feeling the pulse in his neck while staring at the second hand of his stopwatch.
“Fifty-two seconds!” he crowed. “We're at fifty-two seconds and your heart rate is back to normal. St. Clair will be pleased as a stuffed pig!”
The salty taste of sweat mingled with the cool water he downed, sitting ringside, and he wiped his head with his shirt.
“I'm going to shower and change. Will you let the Friar know if he comes looking for me?”
“Go on, son,” the older man encouraged. “The Friar should be spared the smell of you.”
Drago chuckled, heading for the locker. Despite his tiredness, he would spend an hour with Yves working on jujitsu technique and another hour on his Maui Thai footwork with Guy. The countless hours spent with Ike and St. Clair had fostered a deep friendship between them, but Guy and Yves remained Drago's closest relationships within First Strike. He had grown to love Guy like a father, and Yves was as close to him as a brother could be. Above and beyond the others, these two had offered him their friendship, and Drago knew he could never truly repay them for the knowledge and time they gave, nor would they accept it if he tried. In a world where money and prestige were many men's gods, Drago had been led to First Strike and team Anto-Engage by providence.
Six days from now, every drop of sweat lost, every pain, every sore muscle would be the propellent for his explosive performance in the cage.
* * *
The clear, starlit sky domed Mandalay Bay, Las Vegas, the spectators unaware of its true brilliance beneath the electric glare of daylight from inside the man made venue. Among the sea of nameless faces Drago knew his wife watched, waiting expectantly for the twenty-five minute war that would dominate the cage to begin. But he would not look upon her until it was over, for his mind was focused on the necessary. Squatting near the meshed metal barrier separating him from Anto and the Friar, Drago sprang upward, his heart rate increasing, coursing oxygen-rich blood through his system more quickly. He inhaled deeply, augmenting the effect as he rolled his shoulders and neck, limbering his heated body in preparation.
The flashes of light glittering across the crowded arena in random sequence, the myriad of voices converging into a singular roar, were distant and foreign from the familiar reality of the blue mat beneath his calloused feet and calm instructions exhorting him to execute with perfection. He saw only the octagon, heard only Guy's voice as he advanced toward the cage's center at the referee's signal. The man he faced was not the Elian Souva he respected as a friend, but a worthy opponent to engage in the battle for supremacy.
Touching gloves, each retreated to their respective corners, coiled and ready to assert themselves. Gesturing inward, the referee commenced the clock's first five-minute countdown.
“Bring it on, gentlemen.”
Confidence in his body's strength and endurance, in his fight strategy, his trainers, in himself, compelled Drago to press forward. Controlled aggression acquired the position he desired – perfect striking distance. Firing off his punishing jab, Drago's left hand collided with Souva's cheek. Before the Brazilian could answer, Drago was gone.
One takedown attempt after another was stuffed as Drago denied the jujitsu black belt the luxury of taking the fight to the ground, continuing to execute the strategy Guy Antolini had drilled into him. In and out he worked, firing off jabs and combinations in rapid succession while evading his opponent's counters. Sublime clarity came into focus as his body obeyed instantly the patterns of foot and hand work practiced for months.
Drago planted his lead leg, setting up the angle needed to unleash his devastating and powerful left leg. Explosive power, fueled by adrenaline and desire, ripped through his body as Drago's kick arced through the air, slamming brutally into Souva's te
mple.
His infamous kick of death.
Pressing forward in his advantage, Drago Zadrovec took another confident step forward in his quest for the belt.
* * *
A few hours later, showered and fresh, a exuberant Drago emerged from the building, his arm wrapped around Grace. Her smile was infectious as she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling in the neon glitz of night, and Drago responded with the broad laughing smile that only Grace could elicit from him.
But tonight was made for smiling, he thought, tucking her more snugly against his side.
A late, but quiet dinner after the evening's excitement and the night stretching before them, Drago intended to savor the claiming of his most valued prize.
Afterword
Claiming The Prize © Nadja Notariani, 2011
Claiming The Prize is the result of years spent in countless gymnasiums across Pennsylvania and New Jersey watching my sons participate in the sport they love, wrestling. As training took on the added arts of boxing, jujitsu, and judo, I watched, gaining knowledge and respect for those that hone their craft well, and the idea for the novel was born. I hope you enjoyed a glimpse into the life of mixed martial arts, one glimpse, for there are countless stories yet untold.
The author's next work, a novella entitled Her Dark Baron is due out in October, 2011.
Her Dark Baron © Nadja Notariani, 2011
Scottish marauders, incensed at England's King Charles I and emboldened after achieving the upper hand in the Bishop's War of 1640, wreak havoc on the inhabitants of Northumberland, England, and Lady Mariel Hayes finds herself at the mercy of the land hungry Baron Harold Flanders after her father is killed in a border raid. Powerless to save herself from being forced to wed the vile Flanders, Mariel prays for divine intervention. But when her salvation comes, it proves more terrifying than comforting as Mariel learns that by order of the crown, she is to wed the dark and mysterious Baron Gervace Daltry, known far and wide as the Hound of Hell.
Mariel seeks to accept this new life with her dark Baron, a man whose secrets haunt her even as
his touch inflames her body. But before her mind can reconcile the sinner she knows him to be
with the seductive lover she willingly surrenders to, Mariel must confront the fears that whisper
to her as evidence mounts that her life may soon be forfeit and decide whether to trust the man
she begins to love, or betray the man rumored to be the Devil's instrument of destruction.
About
Nadja Notariani lives in northeastern Pennsylvania with her husband, three sons, and faithful German Shepard, Zutchka. She also has two wonderful, grown daughters. In addition to writing, she enjoys entertaining her large family and wonderful friends.
Nadja loves hearing from readers. Find her at:
http://www.nadjanotariani.blogspot.com/
[email protected]
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Nadja-Notariani/207762699237066
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Afterword
Claiming The Prize Page 24
