Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
I push up from my chair and shove the girl who was dancing to the side of me away. She stumbles to the ground but quickly collects herself, swiping the coal off her pants.
Legend looks between her and me, chuckling through a cloud of smoke. “Changed your mind? You do wanna dip your fingers into some new pussy?”
I ignore him, envisioning myself leaving the flat surface and floating. Before I can catch what any of them are saying, my feet lift off the floor and my body drifts higher and higher until I’m passing the ring of Jupiter and opening the cage entrance door.
“Wow, wow! What do we have here, ladies and gents?” the referee announces, and I bypass his shirtless figure to look up at the chairs filling the colosseum. Concrete pillars line the outside of the octagon, with bench chairs leading upward, farther into the sky. From below in The Dungeon, it didn’t look like much, if anything.
The referee circles me slowly, swiping his red painted lips across his cheek, his eyes sparking with gleam. Peasant. No doubt excited that someone like me has stepped into the Blood Chamber.
“Say, it’s a Royal…” the crowd up above roars so loud it would almost be piercing had the blood rushing behind my ears not been so deafening. He takes the mic away from his mouth, tilting his head when he inches closer to me. “My Lord, you and I both know that I can’t put you in here. You’ll kill any and everyone, and as much as we all love bloodshed…” his voice lowers as he leans into my ear, “it isn’t good for my pockets, you feel?”
I snatch the mic off him, bringing it to my mouth and looking up at the bright lights beaming down on us. Old and new blood stains litter the area, the smell of sweat and saliva heavy in the air. “One million gold bills to the first person who can knock me out for one second.”
Silence. Motherfucking crickets. And then a stampede.
The referee snatches the mic back off me, laughing nervously into it. “Just so you know, you all willingly agree that your life is on the line to participate in this debacle.”
I grab my shirt from the collar and tug it off my chest, tossing it onto the ground and swinging my arms out wide as I crack my neck.
Turning to the entrance, I follow the line that leads up to the stadium chairs. Man after man, desperate for money. Hungry for it. Can’t blame them. Most of them have families, and if I gave a fuck, I’d pretend to knock myself out to every single one of them that needs it, but I’m not a fucking Argent, and I need the fight more.
The blood.
The carnage and distraction.
When a bond burns as hot as the one I share with London, it takes equal amounts of chaos to put that shit out.
Before I can turn to face my first opponent, a fist connects with my cheek. Crack! I don’t even flinch. Not a fucking single hair lifts from my head when I slowly turn to face whoever it was that took the first shot. An Ordinary, standing around the same height as me, chews on his lower lip, flicking his hand in the air like it hurt.
It would have.
“Really?” I deadpan, before reaching forward and flicking his forehead. “Stop!” I call out as soon as his body hits the ground. I stare around the place at every person that’s in the line, waiting for their chance to fill their empty pockets with a mill cash. “This is not for the weak. I will fight back—I need it. No Ordinaries.” I watch as the line thins down until there’s only half left. Maybe twelve, or twenty. Couldn’t fucking care.
The next guy that steps forward flashes me a devious grin, the pointed tips of his fangs flaming against the moonlight. “Well shit. I’m here for a good time, not a long time, Knight!”
I don’t recognize him. I don’t know who any of these fuckers are, but they sure as fuck know me. I take in my next fight. Bigger shoulders, dried blood crusted along his lips. Vamp. For sure. And a messy one at that since he can’t even clean last night’s meal off his mouth.
He materializes in front of me at the speed of light, but before he can take his hit, my hand is on his invisible throat and slowly, the rest of his body surfaces back into view. He stares down at me in shock, and I raise a brow.
“Nice try. Kind of.” Lifting him off the ground, I toss his body up into the crowd and choke on my laughter. “Okay, it’s getting more interesting. Still nowhere near enough.”
In combos, hands fly at my face and chest. Punch after punch as the next person comes in. I didn’t even see him. The hits feel good, but not enough. I want to feel pain drip from bare wounds if only to make whatever the fuck is going on inside of me feel miniscule.