Vulgar neon signs were tacked to every inch of the walls of the hallway. Everything from middle fingers and naked vampire silhouettes to phrases likeDon’t Be a Dick, It’s Witching Hour Somewhere,andDown to Suckflitted through the corners of his vision like fireflies.
When they reached the end of the hallway, one sign that was burning a bright white passed directly over their heads.
It was only a dream.
Darien drowned out the sound of Loren and Dallas conversing in near-frantic whispers behind him, always so close that they were nearly stepping on his boots. He followed the Butcher into the arena, where they were soon swallowed up by an audience that was slamming shoulder to shoulder with abandon.
A new match had started. The raised octagon platform below was blocked off from the screaming audience, not with ropes but with a cage. The canvas-covered platform was black with blood and guts. Seven people were brawling within the enclosure, wielding everything from wooden bats wrapped in barbed wire to knives and saws with curved and serrated edges.
Casen had to shout to be heard. “I hear you like to fight. The four in black are the best champions I’ve had on my Block all decade. Kill them and their opponents and I’ll forget about the money.”
Darien’s fingers twitched, adrenaline sparking in his veins.
Dallas bit out,“All of them?”
As a last thought, the Butcher added to Darien, “Bare hands only.”
A low chuckle rose in Darien’s throat. “You’re sick.”
“So are you,” the Butcher replied. “From what I’ve heard.”
Loren stepped to Darien’s side and made to say something to him. But Darien was already pulling his shirt off, leaving only the muscle shirt he had on underneath. White and practically brand new—for another few minutes.
“Hold this please,” he said, offering the long-sleeved shirt to Loren. She was staring at him, her eyes imploring. He had to force himself to look away from her, to not let her face distract him. It was to the Butcher that he said, “Get them out of here or it’s no deal. And get some of your boys to watch them until I’m done. If anything happens—”
“Quit your fretting, Cassel,” Casen said. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to them.”
“Good.” Darien said. “And you’ll tell me the next time you strike a BP deal.”
Darien knew all about the kinds of potions and chemicals that were sold through the Terran Blood Potions Syndicate, and he believed once they deciphered more of the Dominus Volumen, they might be the same chemicals necessary for creating the Arcanum Well.
And if they could find out who was ordering them by the vat, they would be able to catch them. To turn them into the law enforcement and not only make Loren safe again but bring Sabrine back home. The next time the Butcher received a large order for Blood Potions and chemicals would be their chance to strike.
“Done.” The Butcher signalled to two of his men.
“Darien.” Loren’s voice was a panicked whimper, but he made himself block it out. He had to focus.
And he was itching for a fight.
Loren’s fingers had barely closed around the fabric of the shirt Darien had offered to her before he began jogging through the audience, shoving people out of his way.
It wasn’t until he reached the cage and launched himself over the steel wire that he realized he was smiling.
—
“Did you seriously put your chewed-up gum in my pocket?”
When Darien had disposed of his bloodied-up muscle-shirt after slaughtering every contestant in the ring, he’d put the long-sleeve back on, along with the jacket Loren had offered him once they were clear of the Umbra Forum. Two of the Butcher’s men had escorted her and Dallas back outside, where the warlocks remained with them until Darien was finished with the fight.
“I didn’t see a trashcan,” she mumbled. The gum had turned rock-hard and tasteless as clay from her frantic chewing; she had been desperate to get it out of her mouth.
Darien laughed. “That entire shithole is a trashcan, Rookie.” He flicked the gum that was rolled up in foil to the sidewalk. The vast river snaking along the side of the road glimmered like liquid silver in the moonlight, the musty waters scenting the cool night air.
“So, if someone is dealing Blood Potions on their own agenda,” Loren mused as they made their way back to the car, “where do we go from here? What’s the plan?” Her mind had spun as she’d tried to keep up with the conversation in Casen’s office, though she’d gleaned enough to know that dealing Blood Potions on the Butcher’s turf was just as frowned upon in the world of illegal trade as Darkslayers who worked soil that didn’t belong to them.
“We wait until the Butcher calls with information about a new deal,” Darien replied. The mercury-vapor streetlamp they passed under gilded the sharp line of his jaw with eerie light. “And then we take whatever information we can get from the buyers and their middlemen and solve this case.”
They were getting warmer. She could feel it.
