The Golden Lily (Bloodlines #2)(104)

As soon as it started, however, it was clear this wasn't going to be as civilized as I'd hoped. Chris actually landed the first hit right away, nailing Trey so hard on the shoulder that I winced. Animalistic cheers and whoops rang out from the bloodthirsty crowd, echoed by hisses of dismay from Trey's supporters. Trey didn't even react and kept trying to hit Chris, but I could tell there'd be a nasty bruise there later. Both of them were pretty fast and alert, able to dodge a majority of the attempted blows. They danced around, trying to get through each other's guards. More dirt was kicked up, clinging to their sweaty skin. I found myself leaning forward, fists clenched in nervousness. My mouth felt dry, and I couldn't utter a sound.

In a remote way, I was reminded a little of the way Eddie and Angeline trained. Certainly, they walked away with injury too. In their situation, however, they were playing guardian and Strigoi. There was a difference between that and two guys striving to inflict the most damage on other. Watching Chris and Trey, I felt my stomach twist. I disliked violence, particularly this barbaric display. It was like I'd been transported back to the days of the gladiators.

The crowd's fervor continued to increase. It was on its feet cheering wildly and urging the cousins on. Their voices rang out in the desert night. Despite being struck first, Trey could clearly hold his own. I watched as he made hit after hit on Chris and wasn't sure which sickened me more: seeing my friend hurt or seeing him hurt someone else.

"This is terrible," I said, when I could finally find my voice.

"This is excellence in action," said Master Angeletti. "No surprise since their fathers are outstanding warriors as well. They sparred quite a bit in their youths, too. That's them, down in the front row."

I looked at where he indicated and saw two middle-aged men, side by side, with gleeful looks on their faces as they shouted encouragement at the cousins. I didn't even need Master Angeletti's guidance to guess that they were related. The Juarez family stamp was strong on these men and their sons. The fathers cheered just as avidly as the crowd, not even flinching when Trey or Chris got injured. It was just like my father and Keith's. Nothing mattered except family pride and playing by the group rules.

I'd lost track of the points until Master Jameson said, "Ah, this will be good. Next point determines the winner. It always makes me proud when the contenders are so evenly matched.

Lets me know we've done the right thing."

There was nothing right about this. Tears stung my eyes, but whether it was from the dry, dusty air or simply my anxiety, I couldn't say. Sweat was pouring off Trey and Chris now, their chests rising and falling with the exertion of battle. Both were covered in scrapes and bruises, adding onto old ones from days past. The tension in the arena was palpable as everyone waited to see who would land the final hit. The cousins paused slightly, sizing up each other as they realized this was the moment of truth. This was the blow that had to count. Chris, face excited and alight, acted first, lunging forward to land a hit on the side of Trey's torso. I gasped, jumping to my feet in alarm with most of the crowd. The sound was deafening. It was clear from Chris's expression that he could taste victory, and I wondered if he was already imagining the strike that would kill Sonya. Sunset bathed his face in bloody light.

Maybe it was because I'd seen enough of Eddie to learn some of the basics, but I suddenly realized something. Chris's movement was too rash and sloppy. Sure enough, Trey was able to evade the strike, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I sank back down to my seat.

Those who had been certain he was about to be taken out roared in outrage.

That left Trey with a beautiful opening to get in on Chris. My tension returned. Was this really any better? Trey "winning" the right to take a life? The point was moot. Trey didn't take the shot. I frowned as I watched. He didn't exactly fumble, but there was something that didn't seem right. There's a rhythm to fighting, where instinct and automatic responses take over. It was almost as though Trey had purposely fought against his next instinctive move, the one that said strike now! And in doing so, Trey left himself open. He took a hit from Chris, which knocked him to the ground. I rested a hand on my own chest, as though I'd also felt the blow.

The crowd went crazy. Even the decorous masters jumped up from their seats, screaming approval and dismay. I had to forcibly stay seated. Every part of me wanted to run down there and make sure Trey was okay, but I had a feeling one of the armed members of my escort would shoot me or knock me out before I took two steps. My worry faded a tiny bit when I saw Trey stagger to his feet. Chris clapped Trey good naturedly on the back, grinning from ear to ear as those assembled shouted his name.

Trey soon retreated to the crowded stands, yielding the victor's spot. His father met him with a look of disapproval but said nothing. The man who'd given out the clubs approached Chris with the sword I'd returned. Chris held it over his head, earning more applause. Near me, Master Jameson stood up and bellowed, "Bring out the creature!" Creature was hardly how I'd describe Sonya Karp as four heavily armed Warriors dragged her out across the dusty arena. Her legs barely seemed to work, and even from this distance, I could tell she was drugged. That was why Adrian couldn't reach her in dreams. It also explained why she wouldn't have used any magic to attempt escape. Her hair was a mess, and she wore the same clothes I'd seen her in that last night at Adrian's. They were bedraggled, but otherwise, she didn't seem to have any signs of physical abuse on her.