Rise of the Gryphon (Belador #4)(10)

She shrugged at Zymon. “I’ll entertain your offer while I let my fighter warm up on hers.” Then she swung what she hoped was a haughty look at Imogenia. “I accept.”

Imogenia’s teeth sparkled when she smiled. Too confident.

Evalle scrutinized the witch’s fighter more closely. His hand trembled.

Was she missing something about those two?

With the mash set, Evalle walked over to stand outside the circle of torches marking off the fight ring. Storm stepped up on her left, jaw as rigid as his body, eyes focused on the fight starting between a nine-foot-tall troll and the orange lizard-body guy.

Imogenia stepped up on the other side of Storm and tugged the chain hooked to her fighter, pulling him to stand behind her. She leaned forward, speaking across Storm to Evalle. “How many do you own?”

“One.” Evalle snapped that out too quickly, but she detested the idea of owning anyone.

“One?” Imogenia chuckled derisively and murmured, “Amateur.”

Was the witch putting up a good front or trying to psyche her out? Evalle figured Imogenia had pressed for the fight with Storm rather than risk her little guy getting eaten by the crazed beast that belonged to Zymon.

She looked down her nose at the witch, who was a good five inches shorter, and considered several scathing replies until she caught herself. The better I play my part, the safer for Storm. Plus, she had to figure some way to talk to Imogenia, which wouldn’t go well if Storm killed her fighter.

Staying in character, Evalle lifted a finger, which she stroked along Storm’s cheek in a proprietary way as she loaded her voice with what she hoped sounded seductive for Imogenia’s benefit. “If you had one like him at your beck and call, you’d understand why one is all I need.”

Storm cut his gaze over to Evalle, and the heat that flared in those dark eyes turned her stomach into a circus act of backflips. He gave her a wink that promised he’d remind her of the suggestive comment later. Evalle gave him a “behave” look, and he just smiled until he returned to watching the fight again, stone mask still in place.

“Oh, really?” Imogenia asked with catty sarcasm. Her fingers curled halfway with a slight tremble as if she fought to keep from fisting them. She drew a long breath and that phony smile popped up on her face again. “In that case, if I can keep mine from killing yours, I may use this one”—she paused, stroking a slow glance over Storm—“to stud if we can reach an agreement.”

It took all Evalle’s will not to lunge across Storm and choke Imogenia for daring to think she’d ever own him. Or touch him.

Too bad the sponsors couldn’t have a go in the ring.

Storm was doing his part, not showing a flicker of interest over Imogenia’s comment, so Evalle arched an eyebrow at the witch. “Enjoy your fantasy for the few minutes it lasts.”

At the sound of a guttural growl, she turned her attention to the current fight. The troll circled orange lizard guy, whose two sets of arms dangled. Lizard guy snapped wide jaws at the troll, who jumped back and forth, dodging until the wide lizard jaws spewed a dark cloud of air that stank like a sulfuric gas.

Evalle covered her mouth and nose with her hand when the smell drifted outside the ring.

While the troll coughed and flayed his arms to break up the nasty cloud, lizard guy swatted his tail, knocking the troll’s feet out from under him. He landed facedown. The lizard guy used his four arms to fold the troll in half—backward—with a loud crack that had to be the troll’s backbone.

The Domjon called out, “Trolls out by a backward fart, demons still winnin’ and lookin’ sharp. Duals up next to give it a go. Let’s hope they shift and make it show.”

Evalle met Storm’s gaze and saw nothing but ruthless determination in his eyes as he started shedding clothes. His leather jacket landed on the ground first, then he yanked off his shirt, boots and socks.

She’d never seen him shift with clothes on, but she had no doubt he could rip out of his jeans.

Imogenia hovered too close for Evalle to say anything to Storm besides, “Don’t disappoint me.”

Understanding lit his eyes. He caught her meaning that he’d better walk out of there alive. Giving her a curt nod, he stepped into the circle, then crossed to the other side and turned, waiting on his opponent.

Evalle watched with everyone else as Imogenia unclipped the collar around her fighter’s neck.

Fear shanked off the little guy so strongly Evalle could practically smell it. She felt sick over what was going to happen and glanced at Storm, who had his arms crossed, face empty of any emotion.

When Evalle turned back, Imogenia pulled her fighter around to face her and the crowd, his back to Evalle and the fight ring. “Ready for a new challenge, beaniepole?”

“No.” The word whispered through the black cloth that trembled.

“Don’t be shy. We both know what you’re capable of.” Imogenia lifted off his hood.

Gasps ricocheted through the air.

From where Evalle stood, all she could see was a partial side view of his scruffy red beard. He had short curly hair the same color, but without seeing any more she’d guess he was no older than twenty-three or four. Close to her age.

Just a young man. Could this get any worse?

Imogenia told him, “Showtime, beaniepole. Where’s your spirit?”