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I didn’t glance over my shoulder to see if Kol watched us go. I could feel his eyes well enough. Layla pulled me right up to the front of the cage. Kraven stood on the opposite side near the entrance gate, talking to Conn. The fighters were already down in the Pit.
“Hey, Drom,” said Layla, pulling on the arm of one of the Morgons I instantly recognized as one of the horde hanging in the shot corner. “This is Moira. We go to GU together.”
I offered to shake his hand, despising the arrogant tilt of his mouth and his sad attempt at smoldering eyes. Then it hit me. Layla might well have been the one squealing with laughter on the body shot table underneath this guy. He took my hand. Rather than shaking it, he pressed his lips to my knuckles, leaving a wet kiss. Gross.
“Hi.” His eyes roved freely down my body. He pressed a little closer, releasing my hand, placing the other on my back, letting it drift low. “Where have you been hiding?”
I wanted to say, from disgusting plugs like you, but my goal tonight was to fit in. Blend. And see if I could find the guy who got Maxine Mendale drunk right before she disappeared. I gave him a semi-flirty smile, making me want to retch.
Kraven’s bellowing voice drew everyone’s attention to the Pit. He stood at the bottom, his arms raised with swords in both hands. As he used to officiate the fights a few years ago, it wouldn’t appear odd if he entered the Pit for old times’ sake.
“The pledge of the Obsidian Games apply,” he bellowed. “Fight until one yields.”
He tossed a sword to the Storm-gale player, the other to the Saber. At once, they went after each other in a clamor of steel on steel.
I wanted to ask what the Obsidian Games were. I hadn’t heard of it before, but I refused to give Layla’s “friend” a reason to get any closer. No need. One of his hands snaked around my hip as he pressed too close. Then Sorcha’s warning clicked. Before she left the dinner party, she’d given me a hug and said, Just know that violence amps up the libido of Morgon men. Those after-parties are ripe for sex and violence.
Before his hand could drop any farther south, and his mouth could make contact with my skin, I slipped out of reach against the cage, giving him an apologetic smile. “My date is waiting for me.”
Indeed, Kraven was scanning the crowd. Layla replaced my position, giving the slimy guy’s hands a new victim. She didn’t seem to mind.
Skimming along the inside of the cage, I pretended to be interested in the fighters in the Pit as I scanned the crowd for Bennett Cremwell’s guy. Still no luck. I had to force my way through the bodies, pressing my own against others to make it to the other side. I squeezed in between Kraven and Conn, letting out a sigh of relief.
“Did you find him?” Kraven asked.
“No.” I gripped the bars, feinting interest in the fight. “So tell me about the Obsidian Games.”
“I figured your sister would’ve told you.”
“Jessen withholds information sometimes.” I blew out a frustrated breath. “I think she still thinks I’m ten years old.”
Kraven smiled, giving me a nod, while watching the fight as I did. “The Obsidian Games is a rite of passage for Morgon men. The Games are held in Mount Obsidian near Drakos once a year.”
I winced as one of the opponents barely dodged a fire-ball shot from the mouth of the other. The crowd ooed in unison.
Kraven blew out a low whistle. “That was close. As I was saying, all Morgon men compete at least once. That is, if you want to uphold your clan’s honor. Young Morgon men, coming of age, battle against a champion of the Guard.”
“The Morgon Guard?”
Kraven smiled. “Yeah. They’re more than law enforcers.”
I knew that already. The Morgon Guard had a reputation as the international Morgon police. No crime went unpunished, and there was nowhere a Morgon criminal could go without an MG officer hunting, finding, and dragging him before a Morgon Tribunal. Justice was swift and final. Punishment was immediate. No appeals. They had their ways of determining a criminal’s guilt or innocence which remained a mystery to us. The mere mention of the Guard carried an air of trepidation for both races.
“I see.” I finally acknowledged Kraven. I bit my lip as one opponent in the Pit pummeled the other guy in the face, gaining a roar of applause from the crowd. “So if a Morgon loses against a Guard champion, they lose their family honor? That hardly seems fair.”
Kraven shook his head. “As long as the challenger doesn’t yield, he still wins. A Morgon man, a true Morgon man, never gives up whether he’s beaten or not. That’s the lesson of the Obsidian Games. A lesson Morgons live by.”
Another roar erupted from the crowd. The Saber was unconscious beneath his opponent. The Storm-gale held his arms up in victory, a trickle of blood sliding down his face, his teeth bared in a vicious grin, dark purple wings flared out in a powerful stance.
Kraven arched an eyebrow. “See,” he said before opening the gate and entering the cage. His wings beated twice to bring him to the floor, so he could raise the arm of the victor.
I shook my head. I did see, but I didn’t understand the relevance of letting someone beat you into unconsciousness for pride. The male ego—a dangerous force.
I sighed and glanced across the ring, my heart stuttering. Directly opposite me was a black-haired, black-eyed Morgon, gripping the bars. Something was different about him, the way he scrutinized the crowd, not enjoying the entertainment in the Pit as others did. I watched him with an unwavering eye. Then I saw it. His right eye blinked, his mouth twitching on the same side. My pulse pounded, a cold shiver crawling up my spine. He did it again, exactly how Bennett Cremwell had described.
He slid away from the Pit, vanishing into a sea of Morgons.
I pushed through the throng, weaving away from the cage. The music started again now that the fight was over.
