Page 160 of Echoes of the Banshee

I sit against the cold wall and tuck the nail behind an empty can, my fingers trembling slightly. I force myself to look up. I need to appear unaffected.

The door slams open, and Grunt’s hulking figure stands in the doorway.

“Doll, come with me.”

“What about Benson?”

“He’s too weak,” he growls, his grip closing around my arm like a vise as he yanks me to my feet. I glance over my shoulder, watching as Benson struggles to stand, before the door slams shut with a final, resounding bang. A strange, sick feeling coils in my gut, but I force myself to turn away and let Grunt drag me down the hallway.

“You got a weak spot for that one, don’t you?” Grunt snarls.

“You need to take that cuff off him before it kills him,” I retort, my voice steady despite the unease settling in my chest.

“They won’t kill him,” Grunt mutters, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

“Really?” I snap, incredulous. “Do you not know that witch-cuffs kill goblins? Seriously, where did they find you, bargaincriminals.com?”

Anger flashes across his face.

“You’re just lying to get me to let him free so he can save you.” He stops abruptly, spinning me to face him with a violent force. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? You’re in my world now. And if you think your boyfriend matters, then you’re dumber than I thought.”

He drags me down another corridor. The sounds ahead grow louder: shouting, grunting, the unmistakable smack of flesh meeting flesh as we approach a barred door. Grunt yanks it open with effort, revealing a small arena on the other side.

The stench of sweat, blood, and aggression hits me like a slap in the face. The floor of the arena is stained with dark blotches: some blood, some sweat, some both. Two goblins are fighting, their bodies twisting and slamming against each other with brutal force. Fists are flying, teeth bared in snarls of rage. Each blow is delivered with calculated precision, the pain in their growled expletives adding fuel to the chaotic chorus around them.

“Watch and learn,” Grunt leers, pushing me forward to make me see better.

I watch it unfold with a sense of detachment. I don’t know these goblins, and while Grunt is pretending this is some sort of goblin-specific activity, I recognize it simply as a cage fight. Lazlo once told me about a shifter cage fight he went to, where a dragon shifter caught a wolf shifter on fire, leaving a burned-out corpse. This is nothing, just bare-knuckle boxing.

I glance at Grunt, who’s surveying me with enthusiasm, waiting for some kind of reaction.

“You like what you see?” he snickers.

“Yes,” I say brightly. “Looks like you took my advice about the ironic bloodstain.”

I can practically hear his eyes roll.

“This what you want to get involved in, spell-doll?” Spreading his arms wide.

“That’s it!” I say in sudden understanding. “You’re trying to scare me away from goblins.”

He falters for a second, clearly not expecting that, but recovers fast.

“This is how we settle things. This is how we survive. We’re brutes.”

“A cage fight?” I arch a brow. “This your big, scary goblin lesson? Intimidation through mediocre entertainment?”

His laugh is low and mocking.

“Keep talking. Soon enough, you’ll see things my way. Just wait until you’re in the ring.”

I meet his gaze, undaunted.

“Promises again,” I taunt. “You need to learn to deliver.”

His breath comes heavier, like he’s choking on the weight of his own failure. With each punch thrown in the cage, each bloodied goblin limping off, his irritation sharpens and his amusement fades into something darker.

Finally, with a snarl, he grabs me by the scruff and hurls me into the ring with two goblins. They both look at him.