No.
The realization struck with sickening clarity.
He did not mean to dirty his own hands. He meant only to step in for the final blow. Was this not against every rule they claimed to honor?
Really, Reginald? You’re this much of a coward?
Percival leaned his head into Violet’s, and she jerked her head away before he could touch her.
“Look closely, my dear,” he said, unbothered by her slight and unnaturally tolerant. “Any man who dares lay a hand on what is mine will not see another dawn.”
The vile words slithered up her arm, leaving a foul imprint in their wake. If she were powerful enough... Fingers tightened on the railing until her palms ached. Every sin received its due.
The fighter shifted his weight, grinning.
Drake barely had time to lift his guard.
The blow came hard and fast, a brutal arc that caught him high on the shoulder and drove him sideways. A collective roar surged from the crowd as Drake staggered, his balance gone for a terrifying second.
“Drake!” The cry tore from her before she could stop it. Her body surged forward, ready to fling herself from the gallery and land beside him, clawing, striking, screaming if it meant placing herself between him and that monster.
A hard grip locked around her arm, digging into her flesh.
Violet flinched, twisting violently out of his hold. “Let me go, you coxcomb!”
Percival glared at her. “Do not humiliate me, Evangeline.”
You humiliate yourself, you oaf!
She glared back before her gaze whipped to Drake again. Her beloved brute straightened, but how could she not see the cost of it? The way his left arm lagged. The other man came at him again. Drake twisted aside, narrowly avoiding the strike, but the effort threw him off balance. He swayed, and the follow-up caught him square on the jaw.
The crowd roared.
She could not bear to watch what would come next.
She could not look away.
Drake reeled, fighting to stay upright. He shook his head once, as if he might clear the ringing from it by force of will alone, and lifted his guard again. His opponent advanced with ruthlessness. A fist slammed into Drake’s side. Another followed directly after. She didn’t miss his wince, his lips curving into a curse.
Still, he did not go down.
She allowed herself a small breath.
Drake finally lashed out a ferocious strike that clipped the other man’s shoulder, and for one wild heartbeat, hope flared in her chest. This was what he was. This, the refusal to lose even when diminished and clearly acting on nothing but pure stubbornness, this was the truest thing about Drake Fury.
His opponent laughed and answered with a blow that sent Drake staggering again, dropping to his knees. Violet swallowed a gasp as the roar around them swelled, hungry now, expectant. They sensed the end approaching. Her nails bit into the railing. Drake’s head hung, shoulders heaving. For a terrible moment, he did not move at all.
Get up!
You are the undefeatable fist. The Brighton Brute!
She willed the command into him across the distance, through the crowd, through the noise and the terrible helplessness of not being able to do anything for him.
Vaguely, she heard someone clear a throat from behind them, calling to Percival, but Violet couldn’t tear her gaze from Drake, but that voice... Why did that sound so much like... She cast a quick glance over her shoulder.
Rook? Rook!
“What do you want?” Percival snapped, irritation clipping his voice.
