Nightbloom (3 page)

Slade dodged the fire just in time. Braden rocketed through the air toward him. They slammed into each other mid-air. Through a flapping of wings and grappling toward the ground, I could tell Braden was the stronger of the two.

Paxon inched closer as he leaned down to me. “Then why are you here?”

I shrugged, wishing I had some brilliant retort to that question. In the end, I could only say, “You know? I have no idea.”

His eyes weren’t on me, but on Clayton. “If you were mine, I wouldn’t waste a minute of our time together bringing you to a place like this.”

Like a bird beating against a cage, my heartbeat fluttered frantically as I stared at him. His gaze dragged from Clayton back to me. He wasn’t just flirting or playing the pretty gentleman as men did to try to impress a girl. The sincerity in his grave expression and voice struck me speechless. I could hardly breathe as I tried to unscramble my thoughts.

“Mr. Nightwing.” A slim rust-winged Morgon with a grave expression stood at his shoulder. He was a Rowanflame like Conn and Corbin. “There’s an urgent matter that needs your attention at the call desk.”

“Yes, Horus. I’ll be right there.”

The man gave a tight nod and slipped back through the crowd.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“My manager of the stadium. I apologize.” His hand brushed my lower back. “If you’ll excuse me.”

The crowd parted as he made his way after the manager, his large wings tight against his back, drawing my attention once more to his attire. He stood out among the leather and denim-decked crowd. In a starched, button-down gray shirt with silver cuff links winking under the lights and tailored business slacks, he looked sharp and authoritative.

A shout drew my attention back to the arena. Another Pike came to Slade’s rescue, flying and slamming a punch into Braden’s side. Knocked loose, Slade banked hard left, then skimmed straight up the side of the tower, jerking the torque free from the tower’s spire.

A roar of applause shook the arena. All of the Sabers joined Slade in the air as he held the torque overhead, then braced it around his neck—the privilege of the winning stealer. The Pikes, panting and somber, looked on. Those in the air landed on the arena floor near their teammates.

“The Gladium Sabers win the game!” shouted the announcer as heavy drums pounded a victory beat.

Fireflies, the cheering squad, flew into a circular formation around our winning team. Their short skirts and tight halter tops glowed vibrant orange under the lights as they shook their hips and breasts to the beat.

Corbin clapped his hand on Clayton’s back, swilling down the rest of his beer. “Now that’s what I call a victory dance.”

Clayton laughed, downing his own. “You got that right.”

Really?

Clayton must’ve somehow remembered I was there. His eyes shifted to me before he pulled me closer, an arm around my shoulder. I suddenly felt uncomfortable. I glanced over my shoulder, hoping to find Paxon nearby. But I didn’t. A sinking sensation gripped me hard, leaving me feeling hollow.

Corbin grinned, patting Clayton on the shoulder. “Hey! Why don’t you two join us for the after-party?”

Conn nudged his brother. “You sure that’s a good idea.”

“Of course. I see humans there all the time.”

“Sure,” slurred Clayton. “Where’s it at?”

Corbin leaned in conspiratorially. “Under the arena.” He pointed down.

I tilted closer. “What kind of after-party is this?”

Corbin grinned. “A Morgon one.”

“It’s more of a continuation of the games, actually.” Conn came to my side. “Have you ever heard of the Obsidian Games?”

“Yeah. Sorcha told me.”

“I figured she would,” Conn mumbled.

Corbin blew out a breath and shook his head. “Don’t know why I let that one go,” he mumbled, slamming his beer mug on a counter.

I could’ve replied, “Well, you didn’t. She told you to go away and took up with a fine-ass Nightwing,” but that would’ve been cruel and sassy, something Sorcha would say. Never me.

Conn cleared his throat, ignoring his brother. “Well, these are sort of like mini-games.”

“Hell, yeah,” said Clayton, beer-breath in my face. I wiggled out of his hold. “We’re game. Let’s go.”

Thanks for giving me a choice in the matter.

I was led away, following Corbin, Conn, and a few others heading into the stadium’s corridors. While most Morgons took flight straight out of the dome’s oculus and side-balconies for Morgons, humans wound down the ramps that led to the streets. We bumped and jostled with the crowd, but where the others exited the stadium, Corbin guided us down a flight of stone steps.

Clayton held my hand, but it wasn’t much comfort. He was so drunk, stumbling and dragging me down with him every few steps. I finally pulled away to guide myself along the stone wall. We descended deeper and deeper until the only light we had was from the torchlight, the stadium lights far behind us.

“It’s okay,” Conn assured me. “There are no monsters in the dark down here.”

“You sure about that?”

He laughed.

After three flights down, I started to hear the noise of overlapping voices and club music.

“What is this exactly?”

Sorcha had told me the Obsidian Games were a rite of passage for young Morgon men passing into adulthood, some sort of honor game. Drakos hosted the Games annually, but it was for Morgons only. I figured the event was just another reason for men to punch the crap out of each other. One more ridiculous, testosterone-infested pastime. But I was curious. I wanted to go. I wanted to see a secret part of the Morgon world.

“The Obsidian Games are a long way off and upcoming contenders like to practice, test their skills.”

“Like a rehearsal.”

“Yeah,” he snorted. “Sort of like a rehearsal. But more like pre-matches. And then some guys fight just to blow off steam.”

“Men.” I shook my head. “You know? There are other ways to blow off steam.”

Conn angled closer. “Yeah? Like what?” A wicked grin cracked his face. “Care to show me?”

I thought of what I did in charcoal and glass, realizing quickly that wasn’t even
close
to what Conn was thinking. I swallowed hard.

“Don’t worry. I’m just teasing.” He glanced over at Clayton who stumbled alongside his brother and shook his head. “But if you ever break free of that one, I’m available.”

I smiled and shied away, knowing my face was flushed pink.

The fifth flight of stairs led us down into a vast room with a circular pit of stone at its center and a surrounding iron cage. House music pumped a sensual beat. Torchlight cast a golden haze on the Morgons and the few humans mingling and dancing in a mass, their bodies moving as one. I’d been to clubs before where sex reeked from every corner, but there was something more about this downstairs party. A seductive energy snapped in the air, as if an intoxicating potion filled the room.

Corbin led us to a throng in the far corner. Slade, the proud victor, wore the iron torque and downed a pewter tankard of beer among his groupies.

“Nice steal, Slade!” Corbin slapped him on the shoulder.

He laughed, still shirtless, revealing well-toned muscle. The other players down here were dressed—or actually undressed—the same way. I don’t know why it made me so edgy. My family and I visited the beach in the Nebea Province once a year where I was surrounded by men and women wearing little to nothing under the hot sun. Here, the ratio of men to women was staggeringly uneven, about five to one. And from where I was standing, I couldn’t see
one
human female.

“Thanks, man. Glad you could make it.”

I literally stood in Corbin’s shadow, hoping no one would notice me. Too late.

“Hey, you’re Jessen’s friend, right? Is it Ella?”

Eyes swiveled to me.

“Yeah. Jessen and Sorcha are my best friends.”

Slade’s grin widened. “Then you’re welcome to the party.” He winked. I remembered Slade from the night my two best friends and I had ventured into a Morgon club. He had seriously tried to attract Jessen’s attention. To no avail.

I glanced around. Clayton and Conn had disappeared to find another beer. Great.

I was suddenly shoved into Corbin from behind. As he righted me, I saw why. The hulking figure on the Pike team, Braden, marched right up to Slade. Two other Pike players flanked him.

Braden glared at Slade, a fierce scowl darkening his face. “Why don’t we go one more round?”

“Don’t be such a sore loser, Pike. Just enjoy the show tonight.”

“What? Too tired? You all burnt out? I thought Gladium boys had more stamina than that.”

Slade puffed up his chest, but his eyes narrowed. He wore the expression of someone trapped.

“What’ll we play for? I’m not giving up the torque.”

“You’re so sure you’ll lose, eh?” With arms crossed over a massive chest, Braden scanned the silent crowd, eyes landing on me. “Fine. Let’s play for something sweet.”

The one time I wanted to be invisible, I wasn’t. Braden’s smile gave me the shivers.

“We’ll play for a kiss. From your human fan.”

The way he said human, as if I were a foreign object, threw me off. Then I remembered he was from Drakos. No humans lived there.

Again, all eyes swiveled to me. I opened my mouth to protest when Slade gave me a haughty wink.

“Sure. That’s fine by me,” said Slade. “What do you say, Ella?”

I glanced around, finding Corbin and Clayton reappearing with mugs of beer in hand.

Clayton wrapped an arm around my waist and crushed me against him. “What’s going on?” he asked, sloshing his beer over the lip of the mug, which dribbled onto my blouse.

“Just a friendly wager,” said Slade. “The victor in the Pit wins a kiss from Ella. That okay by you?”

“Fine by me,” he slurred with a shrug.

I gasped and glared at him. “But Clayton, I—”

“Come on, baby. It’s just a kiss. Everyone knows you’re coming home with me.”

“It’s a match then,” said Slade, gulping his beer and handing it to a doe-eyed, white-winged girl next to him. He clasped forearms with Braden, sealing the deal.

Pulse hammering a hard beat, my mouth went dry. How did that just happen? I couldn’t say a word. Braden snorted a laugh and turned to head toward the Pit when a dominant voice broke over the throng.

“I’ll fight in Slade’s stead.”

I knew who it was before I turned around.

Paxon Nightwing.

Gorgeous and large-as-life, but gone was his charm and devilish smile. Instead, grim darkness hung over his chiseled features, a storm waiting to break.

Slade hadn’t opened his mouth to stop him. Paxon wasn’t asking. He was telling. The white-winged girl next to Slade gasped, hand over her mouth. The entire crowd fell in a hush, all eyes on the man in charge, seemingly above the fray of drunken games. But he’d just offered to replace Slade and lower himself into the Pit.

Braden paused to measure his new opponent, then nodded and continued toward the Pit. Apparently, he just wanted to fight. With anyone.

Paxon’s fuming gaze grazed over me as he followed the Pikes.

“Wait.” I stepped away from Clayton and grabbed Paxon’s arm. “Why are you doing this?”

He unlatched his silver cufflinks with sharp movements and stuffed them in his pants pocket before unbuttoning his shirt, his gaze capturing mine. I gulped, fixated on his hands moving down the column.

“Unfasten the back-flaps.” His voice had deepened to nearly a growl. When he turned and opened his wings partway, I couldn’t do anything but stare at the strong ridges and swirling pattern of veins.

“The back-flaps, Ella,” he commanded.

That’s when I realized what he wanted. Directly under each wing, there was a line of small buttons tucked behind a seam lining to the bottom of the shirt. Hands shaking, I unbuttoned both sides as quickly as I could, very aware there were bystanders gawking at this display.

“And why are you so angry?” I asked as he turned.

He whipped his business shirt off his back and tossed it to the bartender. “Put that in my office.” Then, he literally ripped the white undershirt over his head, not bothering with the back-flaps, revealing an expanse of beautifully toned and bronzed chest. I sucked in a breath, unable to hide my awe.

He didn’t seem to notice. His expression still fixed in hard lines, he opened his wings just enough to block out Slade’s posse over his shoulder and moved into my personal space. “I’m not angry. I’m
furious
.” His brown eyes darkened nearly to black.

“But, why?”

Steel in his voice, staking me in place. “What are you doing here?”

“We—we were invited.”

“That doesn’t explain why the hell you’re putting yourself up for a prize in a Morgon blood match.”

“I’m not. I mean, I didn’t. They did.” I stammered, breathless from his intense gaze, close proximity, and gorgeous body. “It’s just a harmless kiss.”

He pushed closer, one hand gripping my waist. Heat poured over me. “And tell me, Ella. Did you happen to specify where this harmless kiss would be placed?”

“Um, excuse me?”

He scoffed. “Morgon games. Morgon rules, angel. If you don’t specify
before
the match is set, the winner gets to choose himself. And though those pretty pink lips are tempting, I’m guessing Braden Woodblade from the Drakos Province would take the opportunity to taste a human woman someplace more intimate.”

Heat flushed my face so fast I thought I’d faint. I lost the capability of speech altogether.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” His eyes drifted to my
pretty, pink lips
. “Don’t worry. Slade would’ve lost, but I won’t.”

With a snap of his wings to his back, he stormed toward the Pit. His unmarred chest and back might’ve made me worry, for the other bare-chested men had nicks from frequent scuffs and fights. But this was Paxon Nightwing. There didn’t seem to be anything he couldn’t do.

The crowd cheered as he strode with ease and determination.

Someone behind me said, “Was that the owner, Mr. Nightwing?”

“Yes!” squealed a gray-winged girl as she brushed past me, her wing knocking me in the face.

Smaller than every person here, I pushed through them to the front. I gripped the bars of the cage, heart in my throat, eager and terrified to see who would win this match. But more importantly, who would win my kiss.