Stars flash across my vision as a fist crunches across my cheek. I can taste blood and heat as the force makes me lose my footing. It's only for a moment, though. I dance away as my opponent swings at me again. He's a large man, muscular, burly, but new to the cage. I spit blood on the ground as the crowd screams at me-a roar of noise that blends to nothing as I focus on his shoulders.
"Come on, big boy, I know you've got to have more in you than that," I smirk. He probably can't hear me, but the threat carries through anyway. I see it in the change in his demeanor. He moves at me, eager to end the fight. He's big, but he thinks size alone will win. He's wrong. I move slightly to the left, and he takes the bait, making a wide hook that I easily duck under.
I get behind him and jump on his back, wrapping my arms around his throat and tightening my hold. He thrashes against my chokehold and I progressively tighten, a grin spreading across my face as his thrashing lessens and lessens. He can't breathe, and he will die if he doesn't tap out or pass out. I kick the back of his knee, hard enough that he moves to the ground.
"Give up while you're still awake," I order.
He doesn't listen.
He tries to fling himself backward to slam me on the ground, I release my hold a split second before I would've hit, swinging round to his front to punch over and over again. My knuckles burn with each hard slap against skin, sweat, and bone, coaxing blood from new wounds. Every inhale is like fire in my lungs, spreading through me. I don't stop till his eyes are closed and his face is a black and blue pulp.
It takes restraint to stop, especially when a fight has been as intense as this one. I move away from his body, dropping my fists to my sides, clench and unclench. I have to focus on slowing my breaths bring myself back from the edge. The referee- a pointless title as she doesn't actually do much- comes next to me. She doesn't touch me- she knows better when I'm fresh from a fight- and announces, "The winner is Celaena!"
I spit another stream of red as I lift a wrapped fist in victory. The adrenaline is fading, and I'm ready to take a shower pass out. But that's not an option. It's fight night, and the new members are eager to earn some money. The roar of the crowd, some curses, some thanks, are like the most blissful white noise I've ever listened to, apart from Pink Floyd. It almost makes the bruises blossoming on my body worth it. What pushes it over the edge is the reward, the wad of cash I know I'll get when it's all over. I leave the cage while they clean up and prep the next fighter to talk to Aedion.
He's at the bar, flirting with some twenty year old guy who's probably one of the new fighters, judging from his build and the clean, crisp wraps on his hands. Aedion is as usual, dressed like he should be walking down a runway rather than holed up in some fight club, watching grown men and women struggle to make money. Not that the outfit is much of a deterrent for the fighter. He's smiling at Aedion, touching his arm, and to all outside appearances, it's going well. So, naturally, I can't let it grow into anything more.
"Cousin!" I exclaim, my tone sickly sweet as I drape my sweaty body over his nice, white jacket. Suits him right for wearing the color to a place like this.
The fighter looks between us, his smile faltering, before becoming strained. "You're-ahem-related?" He asks.
"Oh, yes. So related," I gushed. Aedion smiles at me in a way that says he wants to kill me. It's worth it. "I hope he hasn't been telling any embarrassing stories. You're one of the new fighters, right? Hope Aedion isn't too fond of that pretty nose," I say.
He nods once, wishing Aedion goodbye while he registers as one of the next fighters.
Aedion watches after him wistfully before turning to me with a frown. "There's a reason the people call you the 'Fire-Breathing Bitch Queen'."
"Oh? Would it be because of my warm yet regal personality?" I leaned against the bar and signalled for a glass of water"You know we don't associate with the enemy," I say as I take quick sips.
"You get way too into this thing," Aedion said, rolling his eyes as he ordered a glass of whiskey. "And if anything, you should be more careful with that face of yours. I heard you got a new boy toy." I really needed to stop talking to Nehemia. As close as we were, she was equally close with Aedion and Aedion was infamous for how persuasive he could be when he wasn't acting like...well...himself.
"Jealous?" I ask.
"No, sympathetic. I don't think he's aware of what he's gotten himself into," He gestures to the abandoned warehouse the cage fight is being hosted in tonight.
I crack my knuckles and neck, sighing with relief.
"Charming," Aedion mutters before taking another sip of his own drink. "So, is he going to be a distraction?"
"I don't think so. Why?"
"I don't need you to end up with cracked ribs or another concussion because of some guy," Aedion replied.
"He won't be," I promise quickly, eager to change the subject.
"See any threats?" I ask.
"There was one, but I lost sight of him once the crowd went wild over you smashing that other man's face in."
"What did he look like?"
"A broody thug with a face tattoo. Cute though."
I shrug it off, remarking, "He'll go down like the rest of them. In a bloody, unconscious heap at my feet."
"Try to ease up on the blood, it's difficult to get out of whites," Aedion says as he looks at the spots of red I've left on him from my little show.
"I would, but that would mean doing something to make you happy, and we can't have that now, can we?" I ask before my name is called and I have to return to the cage. The sweat has cooled on my skin, and though there's a pounding in my head from the hits I've received already, I roll my shoulders, bounce on the balls of my feet, and focus. It's time to fight.
When my next opponent comes up the steps, I don't hear the sounds of the crowd. Everything is silent as I set my eyes on Rowan. He's dressed similarly to me-minus the sports bra, obviously-hand wraps, tight shorts, barefoot. I can see the scars that decorate his muscled body like mine do, and I feel a sudden rush of self consciousness like I've never known before. It's quickly replaced by anger.
"What in the name of the Beatles are you doing here?!" I hiss.
"I could ask you the same thing," He says with a cocky smile.
"This isn't a game, Rowan. I will hurt you," I say. On a normal basis this would be a statement of fact. I hurt people often and easily. Rowan wouldn't be any different.
He shrugged and smiled again. "Maybe," Was all he said.
Then the fight has started. Rowan takes up a stance that guards the sides of his head and is loose enough that he can block his chin. It's well practiced, but leaves his abs and chest open to anyone who's agile enough to take a quick shot.
I move in first, ever the aggressive one, and dance along the outside of his arm's length. His face is a mask, betraying no emotion or intent. I decide to test his impulse and reflex. I move into his hit zone, throwing a quick jab. He moves faster than I could've given him credit for, harshly smacking my hand away and delivering a kick to my ribs that sends me stumbling.
I grind my teeth against the pain in my side, struggle to regain my breath. He's calm, fast, and powerful. I can't play the long game, I've taken too many hits and I won't last against many more like that kick.
"You were saying something about hurting me?" Rowan asks. His voice is so husky and low in the taunt I can't decide if I want to kick his head off of his shoulders or kiss him. It seems to confuse me enough that he takes the window to close in, bringing his hands down slightly while he prepares a kick. Perfect.
I viciously uppercut him, delivering a swift two jabs to the right side of his face before he can recover. He loses his footing; I sweep a leg under him. He falls to the ground, and from there, I wrap my arms around his neck, going for another chokehold. I can almost hear Nehemia arguing against my use of the same move twice in a row, but I want this fight to end. I can feel his muscle deliciously strain against me, fingers curled with crushing force around my forearms in a desperate attempt to rend them apart. I squeeze just enough to let him know that I'm not ready to choke him, but I am able to if he doesn't listen.
"Give up or I will literally rip your throat out with my teeth," I say next to his ear.
"Don't threaten me with a good time," He grunts.
"Yeah! Panic! At The Disco!" Some random member of the audience exclaims.
"That guy gets it!" Rowan smirks. He elbows me in the spot he kicked before, the force sharp enough that my grip loosens fractionally. He breaks it, getting on his feet and elbowing me in the jaw before I can move away from him. Blood's in my mouth again, and Rowan is a wall of muscle that swallows my vision as he appears in front of me, picking me up and slamming me down against the marginally padded floor as gently as he can. It still hurts like hell. He twists me onto my stomach, pinning me down with a foot to my neck and both of my arms stretched backwards.
I knew this move- I'd done it many times. Hell, I'd had it done to me twice. If Rowan leaned back as he pulled, he could dislocate my shoulders, or at least cause a lot of pain. Either way wasn't pleasant. Rowan leans close to me and says, "Give up, Aelin."
I take a deep breath, waiting patiently for the blinding pain I was familiar with. Rowan drops my arms with a huff. "Stubborn," He says. I give the leg that isn't on me a kick with all the force I can muster. It renders him unsteady enough that I can climb to my feet and turn on him. He brings up his forearms, ducking his chin down as defense when I start to whale on him. I feel exhausted, but I'm not going to lose to Rowan of all people.
The next five minutes is a dance between us, a dance of swinging and missing. One of the more violent dances I've had to learn. I want to attack Rowan, but he ducks and dodges out of the way constantly. Even when I drop my guard he doesn't make a move to hit me again. And it's only when the ref calls a draw that I realize what his plan had been. He wasn't fighting me, because he wasn't going to try. The crowd gives a sharp cry of disappointment. I've only ever had one draw in my 'career', now two, thanks to Rowan. I glare at him as the ref declares that the fight is done and we'd be moving onto the next matchup.
I give Rowan a glare before angrily leaving the cage. I didn't know what he was doing here, and I didn't care. I head towards the bathroom that I keep my gear in, Aedion following me and locking the door behind us when we get into the cool, dark room.
"'We don't associate with the enemy,'huh?" He asked throwing my own words at me casually. Aedion was many things, but he wasn't stupid. He probably knew who Rowan was to me the moment he stepped in the cage.
I pace the width of the room like an animal, my skin buzzing with pent up energy and rage. "It's not a problem," I promise as I slam my open palm against the wall. I quickly regret it, because no matter how strong I am or how angry I become, concrete always beats hand. I let it fall to my side, ignoring the desire to shake it in hopes of stopping the hot tingling that was spreading over it.
"Aelin, maybe you should cut out early,"Aedion says.
"What?" I snap.
"Even with the draw you've earned a good night's work."
"No, I need to punch something-"
"And if you fight like this I'm ninety-nine percent sure you'll kill someone! We don't need that. Go back to your dorm, take some time to cool off. I'll tell you when and where the next batch of fights are and get you your prize money."
"What about the Skin Walkers?" I ask.
"I haven't seen any around-it looks like the whole thing might've just been a false flag. Go back to your dorm-sleep before you do something you'll regret."
He's right. A part of me can acknowledge it- I'm not so proud that I can't see where he's right and that I would absolutely kill someone. But as I move away from those thoughts, I realize for the fourth time this week that this and the radio show are the only ways I make money. The draw has decreased my payout significantly, and I need to make it up with at least one more fight. Aedion sees my argument before I can even make it.
"You aren't fighting for the rest of the night. Manager's orders," He says. I grimace and wordlessly began to unwrap my wraps and gather my things. Aedion says, "Look, if you need help with money, you can just ask me-"
"No. I can't. The only reason we're here doing this is because I don't ask people for money!" I hiss. "Just go," I say, a new kind of exhaustion sinking into my bones. Once my bag is all packed, I collect my pay and use the back door to get out. Rowan is waiting on the outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed like it's some crappy noir flick.
"Good fight, though your footwork could stand for some improvement," He says with a smile, like he didn't just wipe the floor with me and cost me a payday.
"You got lucky," I huffed, moving faster. Rowan, damn his long legs, just lengthens his stride, easily moving beside me.
"You could slow down. I'm not in a rush, and it's such a nice night," Rowan says.
I stop, a thought occurring to me. "Why were you there in the first place?"
"To make some money," Rowan says it so convincingly I could almost buy his lie. Even if he was telling the truth, I would still be pissed. Where was my swivel chair when I needed it?
I stop and ask, "Could you just leave me alone?"
Rowan looks at me like a puppy being scolded for no reason and it would be the most adorable thing I'd ever seen if I didn't feel like punching him. More than I already had, anyway. "Why? Is it just about money?" He asks.
Yes. And No. Maybe. Nothing was ever straight in my mind around Rowan except for my growing emotional conflict towards him. And the novelty of that was wearing off very quickly. At first, I would admit, the fights had been about money and blowing off steam. But they'd quickly evolved into something more. I'd built a reputation as Celaena. One Rowan now threatened to send toppling down in addition to the possible Skin Walker threat. I realize that I haven't answered his question and am literally standing in place, staring at those green orbs again.
"Yes," I say. Without a second thought, Rowan extends his hand, holding his own money out with a straight face. I look down at it, back at him, and say, "No. I'm no one's charity case."
Rowan sighs. "It's not about that. Look, I don't want you to resent me just because we fought."
I sigh and throw up my hands. I'm punch drunk and he isn't understanding what I need him to. I head off towards my dorm room and shout over my shoulder, "Keep following me and I'll call campus security!" I swear I can feel him roll his eyes.
I get into my dorm room around seven. My roommate, Lysandra, is sitting on her own thin bed with her legs crossed, a massive textbook about business management across her lap, her younger sister Evangeline sitting on the floor, playing a game. She looks up at me, a smirk crossing her lips as she said, "My ghost of a roommate. And here I thought you couldn't get any uglier." She is, of course, referring to the forming bruise on my cheek and face.
"Aw, Lysandra, did you get shot down again?" I ask with as much mock pity as I can put into my voice. A bullshit claim. Even I can begrudgingly admit the brunette is one of the prettier girls on campus. Lysandra snorts. We both know that she never got rejected. Then again, perhaps the fact that she never asked anyone out aided in that. Asking her out was equally impossible-she'd shot down so many unsuspecting souls that I'd given her the title 'The Red Barron'. She marks her page to stand up and look at my face, gently touching each of the sore spots. "Were you hurt anywhere else?" She asks.
"Since when did the Business Major become a doctor?" I joke.
"When you decided that becoming a flesh punching bag was a reasonable alternative to taking out loans or applying for more scholarships. Now, were you hurt anywhere else? Did you get hit on the head extremely hard? How many of me are there"
Ignoring the fact that Rowan slammed me on the ground-which was simultaneously horrible and exciting for some reason-I answer,"Ever the mother goose. I'm fine. Some bruises on my back and throat, but I should be okay, one, I hope. And if anyone asks, I'll just say Evangeline did it," I say, ruffling the little girl's hair affectionately.
Lysandra smiles at me and says, "Yes, we all know how vicious my little sister can be. Which reminds me, I found you something." She moves to her bag and takes out a few CDs. Led Zeppelin, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Pink Floyd, my eyes widen at them. "How did you get these?" I whisper.
"Not a big deal. I charmed some senior who was getting ready to throw them away. He's bringing by a box of them tomorrow for you, so...this is the part where you say thank you," Lysandra said, smugly.
"Thanks," I say. "How can I make it up to you?"
"Well, I was thinking about getting some ice cream," Lysandra says with a glance at Evangeline.
The small girl drops the game to wrap around her leg and say, "I wanna go with."
Evangeline is like Lysandra in the way that she doesn't ask, she demands, and usually gets what she wants. Especially if Lysandra has any say in it. While I would've loved ice cream normally, my body was screaming at me to lay down, at least for a minute.
Lysandra understands and says, "You can come next time. Let's go, Evangeline."
She doesn't need to say as much, the little girl is up and moving before her name tumbles out of Lysandra's mouth. The last few things she gets are her beanie and scarf, the items sending a pinch in my chest when I watch her carefully put them on to cover the scars on her cheeks. Lysandra had told me that Evangeline had been in a car accident when she was younger-one that had given her the deep whisker-like scars on her cheeks. It had been a point of mockery among some of the younger kids, and from what I'd seen, Evangeline was still hesitant to go anywhere near a car. She waits by the door for Lysandra, twitching with excitement and impatience.
" We'll be back in a few. Try not to pass out or die," Lysandra said.
I pass her ten bucks for the ice cream as I roll my eyes. "I'll do my best," I vaguely promise.
With the excited little girl and her companion gone I make for the community shower, moving fast and turning the water as hot as it'll go. It's a good day for the shower because it actually gets past lukewarm temperature, the steam easily washing away any tension from my battered body. My thoughts are sluggish, and I barely have the decency to pull on a decent pair of clothes before doing exactly as I had predicted I would do earlier-namely, passing out the second I hit my mattress.
