Gambling on Her Dragon (Charmed in Vegas Book 2) (12 page)

Kyrill made a slow lap of the arena, acknowledging the crowd as they broke into a frenzy of foot-stomping cheers.

“Ky-rill! Ky-rill! Ky-rill!”

Even from twenty rows up, Kaya could feel the ground shake.

A time machine couldn’t have spit out a truer image of a mighty gladiator. Built like an ox and oiled like an oversize engine block, the man strode forward on thick-muscled legs. His face was hidden behind a steel mask, and a blue belt flashed at his waist. One hand gripped the pommel of his sword, while the other brandished a shield so thick, it could serve as a battering ram. With the ornate helmet rising on his head, he had to duck to clear the eight-foot doors of the arena.

“A gladiator?” she asked.

“The Thracian!” a spectator called, pointing to a page in the program that illustrated various gladiator types.

Women squealed; men murmured statistics, and an aging shifter sitting not too far from Kaya’s seat — a hedgehog shifter, judging by his stature and scent — shook his head. “I’d hate to be the poor slob who has to fight him tonight.”

Right on cue, the announcer started a second introduction. “And now, Scarlet Palace introduces Kyrill’s opponent.”

The crowd whistled and clapped. Some even laughed.

“Our latest and greatest arrival in the pits…”

Across the arena, Kaya spotted Roric leaning forward in his VIP lounge.

“He’s mean, he’d lean, he’s raring for a fight!” the announcer gushed on.

Igor smiled smugly and glanced her way.

“The meanest, wildest wolf in the West…”

Kaya threaded her fingers together and held her breath.

“Black Fang!” the announcer screamed.

The crowd went wild, and Kaya jumped to her feet, shaking, watching the sleekest, darkest wolf she’d ever seen step into the ring.

T
rey ground his molars together, watching his opponent strut his stuff.

“Shift.” A big, burly guy behind the doors had snapped his fingers at him a second before another yelled, “Showtime!” and threw open the gate.

The place stank of beer and shit and blood, which only got worse the second he slipped into wolf form. The change came easily that night, as easy as pulling a cape off or spinning around. He’d barely kept his wolf in check all night, waiting for this moment to come.

His moment to fight for all their lives.

“And stay shifted, you hear?” the handler shouted as Trey took his first steps into the arena.

“Good luck, sucker,” a black panther, the victor of the previous fight, muttered as he exited the ring. Then the doors slammed shut behind Trey, and the crowd leaned forward, cheering for blood.

He looked up, trying to locate Kaya, but all he found was the ugly mug of a gargoyle staring down at him from the upper edge of the arena. The place was ringed with statues, and there was no telling which might creak to life to stab him in the back.

“Prepare to die.” The gargoyle cracked an eye open and chuckled, sending a puff of garlicky breath Trey’s way.

He grimaced and stepped farther into the ring. One thing at a time, right? One thing at a time.

Locating Kaya, much as he’d like to fill his tanks on those deep, shining eyes, wasn’t important right now. He had to focus on his opponent and take it one step at a time.

Which meant keeping his cool and playing it safe, because the only thing he had to prove tonight was that he could survive. More than survive — he had to win.

He narrowed his gaze on the gladiator. Let the edges of his sight fade away until his whole world tunneled down to that man. He started at the wide, sandaled feet and let his eyes roam past thick thighs to a really goofy loincloth thing, a boxy set of abs, and a football field of a chest. Well, what he could make of the man’s chest behind that blue shield and the glinting edge of the sword. The man wore a steel mask and a Roman centurion helmet.

Christ, did this guy walk right out of the pages of a history book?

The giant smirked, looking down at Trey — or rather, Trey in wolf form. Hell, he’d be looking down even if Trey had remained in human shape, because Kyrill was literally a giant. Not a shifter, just a bigass motherfucker who healed as fast as any shifter. Trey had seen the man carve a slice into his own palm earlier to test the edge of his sword, and the skin had closed up almost instantly.

Great. Just great. A fully armed, self-healing gladiator. Why couldn’t he have drawn that slow-witted moose shifter he’d passed on the way in?

A glance up at the cheering arena told him why. Somewhere up there was Igor with two female dragons who’d be facing a fate worse than death if Trey didn’t come through for them.

He gnashed his teeth.

The gladiator twisted his sword, showing off the glinting blade.

Trey circled right, growling under his breath.

“Let the fight begin!” the announcer shouted, and the crowd cheered.

The gladiator stood still, waiting.

Yeah, well. Trey could wait, too. He paced half a lap, then paced back, testing the sand, checking the exits. All of them locked and glowing with dozens of pairs of interested eyes of whatever backstage crew worked this crazy joint. He wondered who they might be. Shifting rattlesnakes? Wereturkeys, maybe? He’d seen more shifter species on the way through the catacombs than he had in his entire life.

And all he really wanted was to see one other shifter — Kaya — one more time. Damn it, he wanted to see her lots more times.

The gladiator rattled the edge of his shield with his sword. “Here, doggie, doggie. Come and get it.”

You come and get it, asshole,
 Trey snarled right back.

The gladiator grinned — Trey could just make out the curve of the mouth behind that expressionless mask — and stepped forward, swinging his sword in a figure eight pattern.

“Here, doggie, doggie.”

Trey bared his teeth, trying to concentrate. The giant’s arm span was so wide, it was hard to keep track of the swinging sword and the outstretched shield at the same time. Which, he supposed, was the point.

The shoulders — that’s where he had to focus, at the point where motion would be triggered.

He growled and held his ground. The closer the giant came, the less his peripheral vision could catch.

“Here, doggie, dog—”

The gladiator feinted with the sword then swung his shield like a battering ram.
Whoosh!
 The shield cut through the air half an inch from his nose. Trey leaped backward. He dove left just as quickly, because the sword followed up, slicing through thin air.

The crowd erupted into cheers and hundreds of feet stomped the floor in unison, calling one name.

“Ky-rill! Ky-rill!”

“Trey!”

His head snapped around, because even in that chaos, he heard Kaya’s voice. Maybe he heard it in his mind, where the sound echoed around and around.

The gladiator spun and advanced, and Trey studied him. One arm was protected with a leather gauntlet, but the other was bare. That was the weak point he’d have to concentrate on. That and the guy’s unprotected stomach and back, but to get in that close… How the hell would he ever pull that off?

The gladiator tried the same trick. Wide open arms, swinging weapons, taunting calls. A distant corner of Trey’s mind registered the fact that the gladiator was a lefty and tucked that tidbit away. The gladiator faked with the sword, smashed with the shield—

Trey timed his jump perfectly and clawed the man’s bare arm while jumping clear.

The gladiator roared, more in anger than in pain, and Trey figured that was the easiest blow he’d get in tonight.

Hate-filled eyes shone out from behind the mask.

They circled each other, ignoring the crowd’s cheers. The gladiator sliced the air with his sword and stepped forward again.
This time, you die.

Trey waited in a crouch. The gladiator only had so many moves, he figured, and sooner or later—

The giant came running at him, waving the sword. Same old move, right? Trey leaned left. Too late, he caught the gladiator’s shoulders drop. The shield went down, the sword came up, and—

Trey jumped, then staggered away as a searing line of heat cut into his brow. Something sticky dripped down his ear as he shook his head and rallied.

Blood. He licked his lips and snarled.

A line of ivory curled upward behind the gladiator’s mask.

Trey trotted around the ring, trying to reach the giant’s unprotected back, but it was no use. The gladiator obviously knew his ring well and was prepared for every trick in the book. A book Trey didn’t have, because all the fights he’d ever fought were savage wolf encounters that pitted teeth against teeth, cunning against cunning. This time, he was up against steel and oak.

The gladiator dipped his sword, pointed at Trey to take aim, and advanced again. Trey let him come, looking for his chance. If he could catch the giant at exactly the right moment—

The gladiator led with the shield again, crashing it down in a sweeping blow. Trey figured he was prepared, but this time, his foe backhanded the shield in the reverse path and sent him tumbling with a hard blow to the ribs. The gladiator followed up with ungodly speed that belied his bulk, swinging the sword. Trey rolled away a hair ahead of the whistling edge of the blade.

The crowd hooted and cheered. Trey roared into a counterattack, jumping onto the gladiator’s back, burying his teeth in a shoulder. The wrong shoulder, as it turned out, because that was the one armored in layers of leather. He barely drew blood even with his teeth gums-deep.

The gladiator inhaled so hard, Trey could feel his whole body lift. He clawed at the man’s exposed back, but it was no use. The gladiator spun in a circle and heaved Trey off. He went flying into the air and landed with a hard thunk against a stonework edge of one of the arched entrances. He lay there, stunned, until the stars twinkling around his head cleared and—

Shit! He leaped away, a whisker ahead of the slicing blade. The sword clattered off the stonework with an angry cling.

The weapon was in the gladiator’s left hand, the shield in his right, and he backhanded Trey with it. The hard metal frame struck Trey in the ribs, knocking all the air out of him as he rolled away. And rolled and rolled, because it was all his mind could figure to do. Get away. Just get away.

Trey!

Dimly, he wondered if hearing Kaya in his mind was good or bad news. Good, because it meant she was near. Bad, because what if it was the last time?

Trey rolled until he came belly-up against the base of a column built into the perimeter wall and scrambled awkwardly to his feet as the gladiator came charging in. His foe was unrelenting now, following every sliver of an advantage. Trey barely ducked past the crashing edge of the shield and under the gladiator’s arm.

He ran to the other side of the arena and stood there, aching and panting and wondering how the hell he was ever going to win this fight. The gladiator turned and came right at him, eager to splay the wolf’s innards all over the ring.

Trey was eager to finish the fight, too, but not like that. It couldn’t end like that. He shook his pelt so hard, his teeth rattled, trying to clear his mind.

Trey,
 Kaya called. It was a sad, desperate whisper now, like she didn’t believe he could pull off a win.

“Get him!” a spectator cried, egging the gladiator on.

God, his ribs hurt.

“Finish him!” a voice that sounded a hell of a lot like Roric’s hooted from above.

Blood from a gash he couldn’t pick out from all of the others dripped over his brow and stung his eye.

“Ky-rill! Ky-rill!”

The arena was roaring, but all he heard was a distant murmur. His back leg buckled under his body, and he winced.

Trey! God, Trey…

He blinked at his own front feet. Four of them, because he was seeing double now.

Trey!
 Kaya shouted in a whole new tone.
Get up! Get up now!

Didn’t she know how tired he was? Didn’t she know how much it hurt?

You can do it!

He’d never heard her sounding that fierce. That sure.

Get to your goddamn feet, wolf!

The order startled him onto his feet, snarling. Like hell, he’d let her down. Like hell, he’d lose this fight.

Trey lowered his head as the gladiator rushed in. He held his breath and told his aching ribs to shut up and let him concentrate for a change. Squinting, he shoved everything out of his vision but the narrow tunnel that mattered. Then he counted hundredths of a second, because his timing had to be that good.

Not good. It had to be perfect.

The gladiator led with the shield as he had every time, and Trey ducked, waiting for his chance. There would be a blink of an instant between the shield swinging wide and the upraised sword slicing down.

There! He sprang at the gladiator’s chest, flattening his ears to slip through the tiny gap that appeared. Like an opening in time, almost, because suddenly, it felt as if time stretched. He could feel the blood rush in his own veins and the gladiator’s gasp of surprise, drawn out over several slow heartbeats. Trey dove close — too close for the shield or sword to be of any danger — and every move ticked by in super slow motion. He bared his teeth, reaching for the gladiator’s neck. He reached and reached, straining through every millimeter separating him from his foe and knocking them aside.