The Ravenous Dark, page 8
Bailey growled. "Don't mind if I do the same."
Animalistic instincts flooded Bailey's system as she opened to her lycan nature fully. Supernatural strength ignited in her muscles. The urge to dominate was a hunger she couldn't deny. Bailey bared her teeth in the semblance of a smile and moved.
The shifters acted in kind. A burst of excitement made Bailey's bruised and bloodied smile more genuine as she dodged the woman's swinging fist and put herself opposite the three shifters to better her viewpoint. The crowd hustled to the edge of the pit, elbowing each other for the best spots as the jeers turned to roared approval.
Shifters’ and lycans' strength and speed walked the same spectrum, though lycans, on average, tended to come out on top in a fight more often than not. Bailey attributed it to her wolf spirit. They were intertwined. Inseparable. Her animalistic nature was ingrained in her soul and it was that connection that gave lycans the edge. Shifters didn't share a connection like that with their animal spirit.
But that didn't mean they lacked advantages, especially when putting into consideration what animal form they took. A pack of lycans against a bear shifter, the wolves would win every time. A lone lycan against a bear shifter… well that was another story.
I hope the bulky guy isn't a bear.
Bailey dodged another flying fist from the female, swinging herself under her arm and into the path of the lanky gentleman. He charged, just as she anticipated. Feinting right, she sidestepped his attack and whirled back around him. Using his momentum against him, Bailey shoved him into the pit's wall.
The move left her open to attack. She wasn't fast enough to escape it and staggered sideways as the bulky menace delivered a searing jab to her side. Bailey barely blocked his second blow, an uppercut, but his second swing caught her chin and sent her careening to the floor. Habit made her drive through the jarring pain and roll herself back up onto her feet. She wasn't upright for long.
The female fighter pounced, tackling Bailey to the ground. The audience crowed its delight as they flipped and traded blows.
"You're a pretty decent fighter," the female commented, spitting blood off to the side of Bailey's head as she pinned her with her hips. "For a wolf girl."
"Thanks." Bailey bucked her off and landed a punch to her ribs that delivered a savage crack. "You're a pretty decent fighter, too, for whatever you are." The girl wheezed as she caught her breath off to the side of Bailey.
"A serval," she managed to gasp.
Bailey barely registered the admission as she popped back up and immediately began dodging a windfall of fists from the lanky man. His grin was malicious and his eyes were alight for blood.
"Let me guess," Bailey said, dancing in a circle to avoid the lightning-fast delivery of her opponent while frantically keeping tabs on the other two. The serval was pushing up to her feet and the bulky fellow was channeling his inner minotaur, readying to prove his worth and circling her from behind. Bailey returned her attention to her current assailant. "You're a weasel."
The lanky man halted mid-strike. "I'm a diamondback," he hissed vehemently. Bailey had no response and offered him a halfhearted shrug. Her response only enraged him further, and with a hiss, he started to lunge—and shift.
Bailey yelped and dove out of the way. The snake practically flew through the spot she vacated. Unable to adjust its trajectory, it found a new target in the form of his large friend.
The man screamed as the diamondback's fangs lodged into his chest. Bailey cringed and turned away, only to put herself directly in the line of the serval's fist. She jerked to the side and into the nearest wall as it struck.
"Smooth move," the serval congratulated before hitting Bailey in the stomach with her foot. She glared at the woman, but inside her, anticipation roiled. With the men subtracted from the equation, it was only Bailey and the serval. "But you'll have to do better than that."
Bailey's mouth twisted into a smirk despite the pain lancing through her body from the myriad of hits she'd taken. "No problem."
Pushing off the wall in a burst of speed, she dove at the serval. The wild cat jumped up with remarkable dexterity to avoid Bailey's grasping arms. Grunting, Bailey tucked into a roll and landed in a crouch on the other end of the pit. The serval spun to face her, and the women exchanged heated glares.
Without a word, the serval took two bounding steps before hurtling herself at Bailey with a battle cry. A flare of premature victory tore through Bailey. It must have shown on her face, for the serval's fearsome expression exchanged for one of swift dread.
Bailey's tuck-and-roll maneuver placed her right by the remains of the marble raven. Her fingers curled around its cool, smooth body as the serval closed the distance between them. With a cry of her own, Bailey backhanded the raven across the serval's face. The woman dropped like a rock, still knocking into Bailey with her unconscious body.
A loud whoop exploded from the crowd amid those of disappointment.
Bailey found the source easily enough. It was Emmanuel. He was one of the few still hovering along the fighting pits edge, whereas the rest of the Wildings circled the bulky man's writhing body. Bailey pushed the female's dead weight away with a groan and crawled to her feet.
"Don't forget the other piece," Emmanuel called. Bailey gave him a short salute as she trudged over and snagged the statuette's base. How am I going to explain this to Jakob?
Bailey hauled herself out of the pit and limped to Franklin. The owl shifter was beaming.
"Here." Bailey shoved the broken statuette into Franklin's lap. She crossed her arms over her chest, standing defiantly before her.
"Damn," Franklin said, running her hands idly over the raven's body. "For someone who just earned their spot in the best running shifter gang the Dark Court has ever seen… you don't seem too excited."
"Three against one?"
Franklin shrugged. "You managed Neal and Ransom well enough. Nia was the toss-up. She might be on the small size compared to others, but she busts her ass as hard as them in training."
"It shows," Bailey said dryly. Franklin snorted.
One of the dormice from earlier came up to Franklin's side. Without a word, the owl shifter handed them the broken statuette.
"What are you—"
"Don't worry about it," Franklin interrupted, slipping off her seat and tossing an arm over Bailey's shoulder. "Everything's taken care of, even Neal over there." Bailey glanced at the bulky man. Someone was pouring water into his mouth. Another tended to the wound on his chest. His friend, Ransom, knelt by his side, his hand resting on Neal's shoulder and face lined with regret.
"Where are we going?" Bailey asked. A handful of the shifters extracted themselves from the downed shifter and trailed behind them, talking excitedly. "Another gauntlet?"
Franklin laughed, guiding Bailey into one of the low-lit corridors that fed into the room. "Gauntlets over. You're one of us now." Franklin squeezed Bailey's shoulder and smiled winningly at her. Little creases framed her eyes. "Now, we celebrate."
A tentative smile crept onto Bailey's face as she allowed herself to be led away to their next destination and celebrate her victory. She'd speak with Franklin about finding a replacement for the statuette after she had a pint of beer or two.
V
"Another round!" someone shouted. A gay chorus of yeses sprinted after the exclamation. Bailey wormed her way out of the group before she could be counted by the bartender. Drinks already occupied both her hands, and she wasn't keen on being involved in another round of sambuca shots.
Her mouth twisted in displeasure from the licorice flavor lingering on her tongue. She took a sip of her beer to wash it away. They'd been celebrating Bailey's victory for hours, starting in the Styx gambling hall, breaking for lunch, and then heading straight for the Cellar Bar where they currently resided.
Bodies crammed nearly every available space in the newly renovated bar. Gone was the vintage twenties glamour, replaced with sleek lines and bold accents that were twenty-first century approved. The back bar was stocked with every kind of liquor imaginable and dressed in a simple walnut herringbone pattern. Patrons occupied every high chair and space in between. Glimpses of the cerulean tiles finishing the bottom half of the bar peeked out from behind the wall of bodies.
The style reverberated around the rest of the bar, with warm woods playing backdrop to pops of arresting blue. Bailey maneuvered past the last cluster of bodies standing between her and her table.
"Finally!" Franklin cheered.
Bailey slid into the booth until she was pressed up against Quinton's side. Q accepted the second pint from Bailey with a gruff nod. He was a man of few words, partly because he was still on the mend from a nasty broken jaw. But that didn’t stop him from adding his feelings or thoughts to the heavy flow of conversation with exaggerated eyebrow movements and calculated looks. Each one was more ridiculous than the last, thanks to the never-ending supply of alcohol and pulling smile after smile from Bailey.
She was surprised at how much fun she was having with the Wildings. They were rowdy and coarse, but it was clear they were thick as thieves. To Bailey, they picked on each other like brothers and sisters. Like a pack, her lips twitched upward, and I'm a part of it.
"Shit," Nia said. She sat on Franklin's left, opposite Q. She tracked the movement of someone making their way through the bar. "And here I thought those two were too good for the Cellar."
The crowd was surging apart to create a path for the newcomers. The bombardment of discussions from all around veered to dramatic whispers. Bailey craned her head to see what all the fuss was about. Kamara's half-shaved head and reddish-hued skin, clean of its usual adornment of blood splatter, came into view. Bailey scowled as she spotted her brother, Kane, a step behind her. His unruly black curls jostled about his shoulders as he scanned the crowd leisurely.
The leopard shifter twins were well-known debt collectors who worked for the demons who ran the Styx Gambling Hall. The Wildings might rough up people and settle scores for the right price, but the Fawzy siblings put them to shame. A low growl wormed its way out of Q's throat as he eyed the pair with disgust.
"Chill out. The Cellar is neutral territory. Even those two know when to play nice," Franklin admonished. She eyed the pair coolly as they reached their destination at the far end of the bar. The volume of voices increased as they were attended to by the closest bartender. "I mean it, Q," Franklin snapped when the grizzly man's glower remained. Franklin leaned forward; her forearms braced on the table. "We stick to our lane, and they'll stick to theirs, got it?" Q grunted and tore his gaze from the pair. Satisfied, Franklin slouched back. The ghost of a smirk tipped up the ends of her lips. "As much as I love a good fight, I think there's been enough of that for one night. Don't you agree, Nia?"
The pretty serval shifter flushed, then laughed. "I don't know," she teased, her eyes glossy from her sixth cocktail and potentially the head wound she'd suffered earlier. "I'm always up for a rough and tumble."
"Yeah…" someone snorted from the back of the booth. Bailey thought his name was Trevor or Travis. "…in bed," he chortled. The rest of the table joined in the following laughter at Nia's expense, including the serval shifter.
"Whatever," Nia declared, her voice rising above the laughter and music bumping through the speaker system. "At least I'm not panting over a sorceress, Travis." The table burst into another round of laughter while a deep red flush enveloped Travis's face.
Bailey tossed her head back as her laughter joined the others, her gaze absently skimming the crowd as she wound down to a chuckle. A shock of white hair caught her attention; Stella. She was weaving her way through the crowd toward the back of the bar. A tumbler of something green clutched in her hand. Her amusement immediately fled at the sight.
A green drink could be one of two things: absinthe, which she highly doubted, or rhodiola.
Bailey frowned, examining the exhaustion written all over her friend’s face from afar. Guilt bubbled up in her. She was so wrapped up in her own drama the past week and a half that she'd neglected her friendship with Stella.
If it was rhodiola in her hand, it must have been a bad night for the banshee.
Stella claimed rhodiola was the only concoction that could relieve her mentally and physically from her job at court. But Bailey and River had witnessed the come down from a long night of indulging in the green concoction. It wasn't a pretty sight.
Bailey pushed up from her seat and readied to suffer the drunken crowd to steal Stella's drink.
"Hey." Franklin tapped her glass against the table, snagging Bailey's attention. She gestured for Bailey to sit. She did so with reluctance. Franklin's eyes swam with delight. "Having a nice time?"
Bailey nodded, her gaze darting back to Stella, who was being chatted up by a pair of sorceresses in sapphire robes.
"That's what I like to hear. You know, we don't often take new members with a skill set like yours that don't want to use their more obvious strengths for better paying jobs." Bailey's half-hearted glare prompted Franklin's hands to fly up in defense. "I know, I know, that kind of work doesn't interest you. But…." Franklin leaned forward, eyes sparkling. Bailey couldn't tell if it was from her drink or genuine excitement. She liked to think it was more from the latter. "If you ever want to be a bigger player in the group, you'll have to get your hands dirty eventually. It's the only way to prove to the others you can handle your shit. I might be saying this prematurely, but I got a feeling you'd be a great leader."
Franklin's blue eyes flicked to Q, who nodded along and tipped his glass in salute to Franklin's words. Bailey swallowed as a flush of appreciation crawled up her neck. Compliments on leadership were considered high praise in the lycan community. For Franklin to suggest she could be a leader gave her immense pride and pleasure, despite her stomach twisting at the thought of getting her hands dirty
"Pack life runs deep in your veins," Franklin added, "and it shows."
"Yeah," Bailey agreed softly, "it does."
"To the pack," Q rumbled. He held out his pint.
Franklin's glass knocked into it without hesitation, and then the two angled their glasses to Bailey. Bailey offered a smile and clinked her glass against theirs. She took a languid drink of her IPA, gaze inching back to where she last saw Stella.
"Got any plans for the full moon coming up?" Franklin asked before she could set her sights on her friend again.
Bailey sighed and offered Franklin a grimace. "I do, actually, sorry."
Franklin shrugged and made herself comfortable against the cushioned booth once more. "Don't worry about it. No hard feelings. Maybe the next one?" Bailey couldn't tell if it was her imagination or not, but either disapproval or disappointment underlined Franklin's voice. Or her beers were catching up with her. Either way, her stomach was doing that weird twisting thing again.
"Thanks for understanding. I don't like to flake out on things I've already committed to."
Or steal, but that didn't stop you today, did it? Bailey's molar clenched at the little voice in her head. Franklin smirked, gazing at her through half-lidded eyes that managed to make Bailey shift in her seat.
"I get it," Franklin offered. "Next time."
Bailey nodded. "Sure, and if I finish up early, I'll try to catch the end of whatever your plans are." Franklin's smirk transformed into a genuine smile. Q lifted his fist for Bailey to bump and nodded his approval. The odd pressure and winding in her stomach abated.
"We're running at Lake Neusiedl, but we'll meet back at the old pits around 3 a.m. for provisions."
A short shriek sliced through the air before Bailey could reply. All heads turned toward the back of the bar where Stella and the two sorceresses stood. Bailey blanched, but to her relief, it was one of the sorceresses who screeched, not Stella.
Said sorceress had both hands up and stared at her ruined robes, stained a sickly green, in rage. Then her fury snapped to Stella, her empty glass still held aloft in front of her.
"Oh shit." Bailey's ass was up and out of her seat in under a second and then pushed back down roughly by Q. Bailey whipped her head to the side and growled, but his stoic expression didn't falter. "Let go of me," Bailey ordered. Her voice was pitched dangerously low.
"Cool it, B. The banshee can take care of herself—see?"
Bailey looked as Franklin bade and watched in shock as Stella stepped up close to the two sorceresses, a furious scowl on her face as she said words too soft for Bailey to possibly hear over the music. The sorceresses paled as they took in her words.
By the time Stella said her piece, her face was bright red, chin held high. Bailey caught Stella's eye momentarily as she fled the scene, but the banshee was quick to look away.
"I heard she turned down an invitation from the Roux last week," Nia said once the elevator whisked Stella away. "And did you see what she threw on Delta?"
"Rhodiola," another female at the table quickly confirmed. "I heard someone say she's trying to quit."
Travis snorted. "Yeah, right. Do you really think she'll stop? Every night she's busting up her vocal cords to announce some poor sucker's death. There's no way she's quitting."
"She can and she will." Bailey punctuated her statement by downing the remainder of her beer and slamming the glass against the table. Travis went wide-eyed before a sleazy smile crossed his lips.
"Oh, yeah, I forgot you were friends with her."
"Clearly," Bailey scoffed.
"Maybe you should forget about being friends with her altogether," Franklin suggested lightly. Bailey's back went ramrod straight.
"Excuse me?"
The music seemed to beat in time with Bailey's pulse, speeding up as her temper rose at the ludicrous suggestion. Franklin was unperturbed and leveled her with an unimpressed look.
"It might just be me, but I think that girl is hiding something. We might not have eyes and ears on the court like the Corvinas, but we hear things too." Bailey returned Franklin's unimpressed expression, her lips tipping farther down to exaggerate her point.
