Worth the Fight

by SF Benson

  “After we finish this shit with the PFC, we’ll do it properly. In the meantime, just keep right on loving me,” he answers with a smile on his lips.

  My eyes narrow. “That’s it?”

  “Well, there’s a little ceremony.” Hank smiles, but his eyes hold a little mischief.

  I let my lips lift and say, “Ya know I might bite back.”

  “I hope so.” He pulls me into his arms as we seal our commitment and celebrate our upcoming union.

  It’s noon when someone knocks on our door. Tugging on his jeans, Hank answers it while I pull on the nightshirt.

  “What’s up, Baldovino?” Hank says.

  “The Master wishes for ya ta join him downstairs.”

  Hank glances back at me briefly.

  “Vin, tell Kragen we’ll meet him shortly.”

  “Very well, Edwina.” He closes the door.

  “I guess we should hurry up and shower,” Hank says as he gathers up clothing for the both of us. “I get the feeling Kragen doesn’t like to wait.”

  “He doesn’t,” I admit and grasp his hand. “Come on. I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

  Hank lifts an eyebrow. “Angel, maybe taking a shower together isn’t a good idea.”

  “Even if I promise to behave myself?” I give him a playful smirk.

  His eyes soften, and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Now what fun would that be?”

  Kragen’s tight jaw and crossed arms let me know we’re on his bad side. Not a good place to be. “When I summon ya, I expect not ta be kept waiting.”

  Hank and I sit across from the coven leader.

  “I’m sorry,” I offer, crossing my legs. “Can’t quite blame us for enjoying each other.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what ya do with each other. When I call for ya—”

  Hank holds up a hand in surrender. “My sincere apologies, Kragen. What did you need to discuss?”

  Kragen’s dark eyes shift between Hank and me before he speaks. “There’s news from Ace. We have a location and a time for this ev’ning’s brawl.”

  “Good. I should probably meet with Ace,” Hank suggests.

  “He’s here.” Kragen points toward the windows. “On the veranda.”

  Hank leans in to kiss me before standing.

  “Don’t do this,” I plead with him.

  “Angel, I’ll be fine. We’ll take down the PFC, and I’ll save my brother.”

  I watch Hank walk out, hoping it’s not the last time.

  “Ya love him that much?” Kragen asks once Hank closes the French doors.

  This morning’s blood bubbles in my stomach. “I do, Kragen. I can’t lose him.”

  “Then I suggest we work ta make sure that don’t happen.” He stands and takes the seat vacated by Hank. “Can I give ya some advice, my dear?”

  Of course Kragen can give me advice. He’s at least a century older than I am. Makes him potentially the wisest being I know.

  “I’m glad ya found love, but ya know the problem with it, right?”

  Slowly, I nod. It’s a thought I’ve been trying to ignore ever since Hank admitted he loved me.

  “At some point, that beast is gonna die and leave ya for the rest of eternity.”

  I open my mouth to protest.

  Kragen raises his hand. “Let me finish. I’m glad ya will let his beast claim ya. But ya need ta find out if he’s willing ta accept ya gift of immortality.”

  My heart sinks. “I’ve never asked Hank.”

  Kragen pats my knee. “Find out, my dear. If things go south this ev’ning, he might need ya gift sooner than later.”

  Chapter 25

  Hank

  Before he’s visible to me, I sense the alpha. Ace steps out of the veranda’s shadows as the doors shut behind me. He lifts a beefy finger to his mouth and jerks his head toward the stairs. I follow him to a dirt path away from the house.

  Facing me, he says, “Can never be too careful with vampires, especially Edwina. I guarantee ya she’s listening in. She’s never known when to butt the fuck out.”

  There’s no malice in the pack leader’s voice. It’s simply his honest assessment of my angel. My beast recognizes there’s no need for defense and settles down.

  Besides, I saw the troubled look on Edwina’s face. She would have followed me out here if it hadn’t been for Kragen. In order to finish this shit with Ryder and Duchamp, I need Ace on my side. Beating the shit out of this wolf might destroy any chances of that happening.

  “Whatcha got for me?”

  “Ya sure ya want to do this?” Ace folds his arms over his broad chest. “There are other ways…less risky ways to handle the situation.”

  If I’m being honest with him—and myself—I’d rather not take Tyson’s place, but I swore an oath to protect my little brother. Besides, this is my mess. If I’d never killed Jackson, this shit wouldn’t be happening.

  Be honest. If your father hadn’t insisted on a match between Jennifer and Jackson, this wouldn’t have happened.

  It doesn’t matter who’s to blame. I have a duty to take care of Tyson. If there’s a way to keep him safe and bring down Ryder, I’m willing to entertain it. I’m sure Edwina would appreciate it too.

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “For starters, Morgan and her mother are skillful witches. They’re willing to help keep Tyson safe in the ring.” Ace, assuming I’m good with his suggestion, removes his phone and starts tapping out a message to someone.

  I interject. “Ryder needs to be taken care of, too. He’s crooked, and the worse choice for police chief in Falls Creek.”

  “Ryder’s ya problem,” Ace affirmed. “Do with him as ya please. My pack will make sure it’s just the two of ya.”

  A one-on-one challenge with the old cat? Cracking my knuckles in anticipation, I say, “I’m down with that.”

  “Good. We have eyes on the little one and Duchamp. Ya ready to rescue him?”

  “Yeah. We need to get Michael some place safe.” Right now, I’m not sure where that place might be. All I know is it can’t be with that backstabbing mother of his.

  Ace removes a set of keys from his pocket. “I’m on my bike. Follow me.”

  There are places even supernaturals don’t like to go. Cemeteries are at the top of the list for me. They’re scary as shit. Spirits leave me alone, and I choose not to rustle their bones. Unfortunately, Duchamp decided that Lafayette Cemetery, not far from Kragen’s home, would be a great place to bring a kit.

  Ace and I walk carefully down a narrow lane with tombs on either side. Raised concrete squares and bits of grass growing between the stones challenge our steps as we stalk across the broken pavement. Up ahead, Duchamp and Michael stand before a crypt with fresh flowers in vases on its stepped ledges.

  “My great-grandfather is buried here,” Duchamp says without making eye contact. “I like to visit him at least once a week. Like to think he’s watching over me. Approving of the choices I’ve made.”

  I’m ready to walk over and snatch the kit when Ace puts his hand out. My eyes rock over to him, and he shakes his head. Fine. I’ll wait.

  Duchamp continues, “Contrary to what you people believe, the PFC isn’t a bad organization. Its purpose is pure just like the old gladiator games. My fighters entertain the crowds, and those who need justice served can have it.”

  “My brother doesn’t deserve to be part of that shit. He’s got a future with the AFC,” I spit out.

  “He’s fooling himself.” Duchamp kneels down and pulls Michael closer. “The AFC will never give him the title he covets. If Tyson stays with me, I’ll make sure he becomes the champion he should be.”

  “Not gonna happen, Duchamp,” Ace says.

  The fight promoter straightens up but keeps a hand on Michael’s shoulder. He finally makes eye contact. “I know why you’re here. Unfortunately, I can’t let you take the boy. Would you honestly split up a family just to get revenge?”

  Family?

 
; My gaze darts between Michael and Duchamp. At first glance, the kit looks like a miniature version of Sheila—big brown eyes, the same creamy skin, and curly hair. But on closer inspection, I see Duchamp in the kit, especially in his mouth and the set of his jaw. I despise the man and the shitty organization he runs, but I suspect he really does care for his son.

  Duchamp bends down and lifts the little one. Michael’s arms go around his father’s neck, and he rests his chubby cheek on Duchamp’s shoulder.

  “You’re wondering how this happened?” he offers.

  “Something like that,” I say.

  Ace taps my bicep. “I’ll give ya some space.”

  “Thanks,” I throw over my shoulder. Ace’s heavy boots thumping against the concrete mirror my heartbeat.

  Duchamp adjusts his grip on Michael. “Do you recall the trips Sheila used to take?”

  “Yeah.” Toward the end of our marriage, Sheila would take off every weekend. She used every excuse possible—girls’ weekend, spa dates, class reunions—and like a fool I fell for each and every one of them.

  “Every time she left your sleepy little town she came to me,” he admits with a smug grin.

  Duchamp better be glad he’s holding his son. Otherwise, I’d put my fist through his arrogant face. “How did you meet?”

  “Elijah made the introductions. He thought I was a better choice for his niece.”

  My fists clench. Hard. I imagine beating the shit out of both Duchamp and Ryder, but then my hands slacken. It’s common knowledge that Sheila played me, but she got what she deserved, and I found my mate. Time to bury my demon.

  “One question,” I say. “Why did Sheila run off with Tyson?”

  “Your brother became a convenient excuse for your wife. Tyson freed Sheila from a marriage she never wanted. Problem was your stupid brother fell in love with her. She couldn’t easily extricate herself from the situation, so we worked his weakness.”

  “Gambling.”

  “Exactly. It gave her an excuse to leave him.” Duchamp rubs the back of his sleeping son. “Between the two of us, Detective Richards, we have no problem.”

  “I’m no longer a detective.”

  “True ‘dat. But now I have a problem with your girlfriend.”

  My beast grumbles. “Keep your filthy paws off Edwina.”

  Duchamp purses his lips and shakes his head. “Don’t worry, it won’t be me touching her. She should have never harmed Sheila.”

  I recall Edwina telling me about the dragon shifter. “I believe Sheila created that situation herself. When she’s in heat, you should keep her locked up.”

  “Now, now, Richards. No self-respecting male would lock up a female just because she has urges.” He turns and starts to walk away. Suddenly, he stops and swings around. “You can carry the message back to Miss Devereaux. I will be watching and waiting. Eventually, she will answer to me regarding what happened to Sheila. My love will be laid up for at least a week after what that shifter did to her.”

  My beast sits up as I watch Duchamp pick his way over the rough ground and disappear from view.

  “Don’t worry,” Ace says, coming up to me. “I heard his threat. The pack is watching over ya mate.”

  “I haven’t claimed her yet,” I tell him.

  “Semantics. If ya beast is anything like my wolf, ya will take care of it as soon as this is over.”

  Damn straight. And Damien Duchamp is a fool if he thinks I won’t come after him.

  Chapter 26

  Edwina

  People are packed inside the two-story warehouse off Jefferson Highway like it’s a fire sale during the holidays. The large crowd, unfortunately, intensifies the heat around me. Loud music overhead adds to the throbbing atmosphere. No one would have convinced me that this many humans and supernaturals cared enough about underground fight clubs.

  The eager faces trouble me. It’s an indicator that if the PFC is presented correctly, it would easily be accepted. Thrill seekers would lap up the fights and venues without hesitation. From the outside, the dwelling looks like any nondescript warehouse in any random office park. Thanks to backers with deep pockets, the interior is a display of lavishness. A high-end restaurant and bar grace the lobby. Elegant, state-of-the-art restrooms are scattered throughout the building. Patrons can place bets and watch from either the ringside bleachers or one of the VIP suites overlooking the two octagonal rings.

  On the way to the site, Morgan and her mother, Deianira, filled me in on the plan cooked up by Ace and Hank. Although Hank won’t be taking Tyson’s place in the ring, I’m still not satisfied. Relying on witchcraft to guarantee a victory for Tyson is asinine. What if their spells aren’t strong enough? Hank will be ready to rip someone apart if anything happens to his little brother. I do admit Hank’s zealous desire to protect his loved ones is an endearing quality. He’s such a strong, caring being.

  The worst part is Hank’s plan to confront Elijah. I realize he wants to make sure the old panther can’t threaten him again, but does Hank have to fight Elijah to do so? And if Hank must fight, shouldn’t I be with him instead of sitting in a rank-smelling arena with people and beings I abhor?

  “Will you calm the fuck down?” Morgan says. “Your thoughts are giving me a headache.”

  “Then stop listening!” My fangs descend. This is not the time to test my resolve or show this little girl who she’s dealing with. And I don’t care that her mother sits beside me.

  The timeless sorceress is the epitome of elegance and woefully out of place at this event. Her swanlike neck, tapered and manicured red nails, and dark hair tucked into a bun would fit in at the opera or some other high-brow affair. Who the hell wears a black suit and sky-high stilettos to a fight?

  The statuesque sorceress focuses her sapphire-colored eyes on me and leans in with a thin smile on her unlined face. “I will only say this one time, so pay attention. I will not tolerate obnoxious behavior from either of you. Morgan, I advise you to watch your language around me. And Edwina… Threaten my daughter again, and you’ll find yourself staked and in my basement until the next century.”

  I blink owlishly at the mind-reading witch. There are times I really hate this bitch.

  Disapproval gleams in Deianira’s eyes. “The feeling is mutual, my dear.”

  Enough of this. I stand but her hand wraps around my wrist. Through clenched teeth, she says, “Sit your ass down.”

  My free hand balls.

  “Stop testing me, vamp. My magic is much stronger than yours,” she warns.

  Slowly, I retake my seat. “I don’t like to be bossed around.”

  Deianira faces me. “That is not my concern. As long as my husband and your former leader run this town, you will be bossed, and you won’t complain where I can hear it.”

  With great difficulty, I swallow the retort dangling on my tongue.

  “Good decision, my dear.” Deianira removes her hand. “You and your so-called mate brought this problem to our town. You will work with us and solve it to our satisfaction.”

  Morgan sports a cocky smile. “Thank you, Mother.”

  “Don’t gloat, Morgan. It doesn’t become you.” Deianira turns back to the ring where a couple of fighters are being introduced. “Edwina, if you wish to leave, you may go.”

  Dismissed like a fucking kid. Standing, I get a grip on my anger and leave the bleachers. It’s time to find Hank. Halfway down the stairs, however, my path is blocked by Kragen. My head jerks back, and I shout over the noise, “What are ya doing here?”

  “Apparently saving ya ass. Come with me,” he instructs and rushes down the steps toward the exit.

  “Let me get this straight,” I begin while pacing in the night air. “Sheila and Damien Duchamp are an item and the kitten is his?”

  “Correct,” Kragen says tightly.

  I run a hand through my hair. This can’t be happening. How the hell did Hank get mixed up with such a trifling female?

  Did you take a good look at Sheila?
She could convince Ashmedai that it’s not hot in Hell.

  “And now Damien’s pissed off because of Sheila’s behavior with the dragon?”

  Kragen nods.

  A deep, gratifying sigh comes out of me when I think about how I set her up. “That’s her own damned fault.”

  The ancient vampire leans on a walking stick. It’s not something he requires, though. Kragen, a former musician in another life, moves better than any being half his age. The tip of the cane, sporting a pewter Gothic bat spreading its wings while holding up a red crystal, conceals a poisoned dagger made from Damascus steel. It’s rare for Kragen to use the antiquated weapon. In all honesty, he has no real need for it, but the item does provide some level of security.

  “My dear, I have warned ya repeatedly about ya temper. Ya got the information ya needed from the jaguar. Why was it necessary to torment her?”

  Pushing my shoulders back, I say, “She laid the trap for Hank. I also discovered her cousin was the cat Hank killed years ago. The bitch has been helping her uncle. All of this has been a fucking game to her. She needed to know I don’t play games.”

  Kragen bares his fangs. “Be it as it may, ya didn’t have the right to set her up.”

  My jaw drops, and I stop pacing. Is he siding with the tramp?

  “I am not siding with anyone,” he barks. “Edwina, I will take care of ya little transgression, but I want no more of this.”

  I cross my arms and tap my foot on the asphalt. “Anything else ya want to jump on my back about?”

  “Morgan and Deianira. I overheard what happened inside. We need the three of ya ta work together. This female version of a pissing contest ends now.”

  Pissing contest indeed! Females don’t do that sort of thing. “I’ll stop when—”

  Kragen holds up his weapon, effectively cutting off my train of thought. “I’m not above using this on ya.”