Silence fell, then Ice and Bram both faced her, wearing almost identical questioning expressions. What the hell were you thinking? they asked. About the future. About Ice living to see the next sunrise.
“Why call Shock?” Bram barked. “of all people, the one we can least trust—”
“You don’t know that. I think he may have aided Ice’s escape from Mathias’s dungeons.”
Bram paused, then turned a glare to Ice, who shrugged.
“It’s possible. I don’t recall much, except that he left my chains loose and my door open. Whether by oversight or design … I don’t know.”
“Right now, Shock’s loyalty isn’t my concern,” Sabelle reiterated. “Ice is. I must be there in case he needs me. Bram, we can’t afford to let him lose energy and thus the challenge.”
Her brother sighed, worked his jaw. “I don’t like it.”
“No,” Ice protested. “There is no force on earth that will induce me to put you in that bastard’s path.”
His protective nature had often been both tender and sigh-worthy. Now, she just found it exasperating. “There is no force on earth that will induce me to stay away. Come prepared to fight dirty, Shock said.”
“I will fight and be watchful for Mathias’s treachery, but I cannot break the rules. The Councilmen in favor of Mathias will be looking for any way to discredit me. I will not cheat.”
Sabelle swallowed. Yes, Ice had a noble streak an ocean wide. He would not want to win any way but fairly. Unfortunately, Mathias wouldn’t be quite so picky.
She wished that solving the matter was as simple as wrapping her arms around Ice and using her love and siren abilities to dissuade him from fighting, but Ice was relatively resistant to her gift of emotional suggestion.
She was going with Ice. Already, she was devising a scheme. And she would be prepared to fight dirty.
Fog rose in eerie drifts, curling around the huge wrought iron gates of Blackbourne’s estate. The Council elder and his family thought everyone else beneath them and shut themselves off from the world. Ice wondered briefly if a Deprived had ever crossed these gates as anything more than a servant.
His insides knotted as he, Bram, Tynan, Sterling, and Sabelle all sent their magical calls requesting admission. Moments later, the gates slowly parted. Blackbourne himself walked across the brown grass, through the ghostly white mists.
“You’ve arrived.” He looked over the group with a sharp eye. “I wondered, Rion, why you brought your sister, but I see from Rykard’s signature that he Called to her. You claimed he was no ally of yours.”
Bram stiffened. “I can hardly stop him from babbling pointless words. You’ll notice that my sister has not Bound to him. Nor will she.”
“But—”
“Carlisle,” Sabelle stepped forward and wrapped her hand around his arm.
Ice wanted to snap something in half at the sight, but swallowed the urge to do violence and forced himself to watch, listen.
“Do you imagine that my brother is eager to see me mated to Rykard?”
Ice’s pride stung. Yes, he understood that it was in every-one’s best interest for Blackbourne to believe there was no chance that he and Sabelle would unite. But the careless ploy still made him eager to prove to everyone else that Sabelle was, and would always be, his.
“Eh … no.”
“Bram is still my guardian, so … Is your son Sebastian still unmated?”
“Indeed.” Blackbourne relaxed, smiled at her.
Sabelle returned the gesture and Ice gritted his teeth. He wanted to kiss her in front of them all, put his arms around her, and demand she Bind to him instead of intimating that she’d welcome attention from Sebastian Blackbourne.
“The others are on the lawns behind the house,” the elder directed. “Come with me.”
Had Spencer, Camden, and Mathias all appeared together? Battle lines had been drawn, he supposed. Purposely, he hadn’t spent a great deal of time thinking about exactly what magic he’d use to defeat Mathias. He’d prayed last night, asked himself what would most set Gailene’s memory to rest, hoped that he could find an honorable way to win this seat, and someday, Sabelle.
Fear jangled inside him. Not fear of Mathias, actually. Fear of failure, of letting Gailene down again, of leaving this battle unfinished. Of never holding Sabelle again. Fates too terrible to contemplate.
All too soon, Blackbourne led them to the back of the massive stone estate. The bloody rambling place looked centuries old and had so many chimneys that Ice lost count. Windows everywhere. The smell of old power and corruption clung to every brick.
At the back of the large manor, Camden and Spencer sat sipping tea and eating scones, as if they hadn’t a care in the world. And at the moment, they didn’t. Who would believe Mathias could lose a battle to a common wizard?
Shoving the thought aside, Ice rounded the corner, which brought the rest of the back lawn into view. He braced himself for the jolt of anger, the urge to kill. But nothing could stop the visceral need that pumped through his body when he laid eyes on the wizard leaning indolently against a wooden pillar with a deceptively youthful appearance, golden hair whipping in the wind, looking somewhere between absent and bored.
Mathias d’Arc.
Ice fisted his hands so tightly his arms trembled. The corners of Mathias’s mouth lifted in amusement. Smug. The son of a bitch had gleefully taken Gailene’s innocence and life, then acted as if Ice’s anger entertained him. How dearly he looked forward to the opportunity to kill the bastard. He might fail—and miserably—but Mathias would feel pain before he went down.
“My esteemed opponent. We meet again.” Mathias eased away from the pillar, mischievous blue eyes clapped on him as he approached, hand outstretched. “Your last visit ended very abruptly, indeed. Let’s see if we can settle in for a nice long … chat, shall we?”
No fucking way he would talk to Mathias more than necessary or shake his hand.
Bram intervened, ignoring Mathias and leading Ice to the far side of the lawn where a big concrete slab sat, surrounded by something that looked like a plastic bubble.
“A force field,” Bram supplied. “The elders, Tynan, and I erected it a moment ago. Whatever spell either of you throw, it should not penetrate those walls and unwittingly hit someone else.”
Slowly, Ice nodded. Right. Hitting someone with a blinding spell or unleashing a corporeal form of their inner demon would be bad, indeed. Best to keep the slaughter contained.
“And you must be Miss Rion,” Mathias drawled from behind him. “Pity we’ve never met. A very lovely girl, indeed. After today’s challenge, your brother and I should be working together more. It would be my pleasure to know you better.”
Ice whirled on Mathias. To hell with waiting for the challenge; he wanted to fight now. Bram clapped a hand on his shoulder. Tynan darted over and grabbed the other.
“Steady. He’s taunting you.”
Bram was right, Ice knew. But he should have tied Sabelle to a chair—whatever necessary—to keep her away from the challenge ring. The thought of Mathias putting even a finger on Sabelle made his stomach curdle and rage pound.
“It seems I’ve made your would-be mate a bit jealous,” Mathias said in mock dismay. “oh dear.”
“We have nothing to say to each other, Mr. d’Arc,” Sabelle told him.
Sensing Mathias on the move again, Ice tugged and pulled at Bram’s and Tynan’s grasp until he could see Sabelle. She held her own, chin lifted, an expression of well-practiced hauteur on her face. Even in jeans, trainers, and a fuzzy sweater, she managed to look like a princess.
Mathias sent her a false pout. “Has Rykard told you terrible lies about me?”
“I don’t believe so, no. Since I saw the aftermath of your attack on Thomas MacKinnett’s household, I’m inclined to think that what I’ve heard is fairly accurate.”
With an affronted expression, Mathias sauntered closer to Sabelle. “Dear lady, you wound me. Rogue factions within the Anarki, I assure you.”
“It took you no time at all after the discovery of Thomas’s death to finagle a nomination for this Council seat.”
“Indeed. I feel quite bad about the old chap’s fate. How better to control these unauthorized elements of my former society than to make new governing policies and enforce rules?”
“By telling them to stop killing in the first place.” Sabelle smiled sweetly. “Then there’s the fact I saw the nasty business you performed on Ice’s back with a whip.”
Something in Mathias’s eyes shifted, and Ice’s heart dropped to his knees.
“Be careful what you accuse me of, Miss Rion. I do know more than one very intriguing way to stop a pretty mouth like yours from talking.”
That was it, all he could take. Ice shook free of Bram and Tynan and charged at Mathias. Sabelle’s hand curled around his biceps as he stormed past, but she couldn’t hold him back with her grip. Her voice, however, stopped Ice where he stood.
“Please. It serves no purpose but his to allow yourself to be provoked. You’ll look bad to the Council and likely violate some rule about this challenge, besides. Don’t forfeit before you’ve even begun.”
It also served to tell Mathias exactly where he was weak, Ice knew: Sabelle. Mathias had the advantage of superior age, experience, and evil. In Ice’s favor, he was bigger and more determined. If he could be the smarter of the two, that might tip the battle.
Ice took one deep breath, then another, swallowing his anger, internalizing it. The force of it wended through his body, down his arms and legs, into his fingers and toes.
“I’m fine,” he told Sabelle.
She watched him, checking his expression. With a nod, she dropped her hand, stepped away, having sensed his deadly calm.
“Are we ready, gentlemen?” Blackbourne called.
As if this were a bloody croquet match. Ice resisted the urge to curse and nodded.
“Indeed,” Mathias drawled. “Quite.”
Blackbourne directed them to the challenge ring and its force field. With a wave of his hand, an arch appeared. The elder motioned them through it, inside. With a jaunty step, Mathias breezed by, turning to examine the clear structure from all directions. When he caught Sabelle’s gaze, he waved. She looked away, and Mathias laughed.
“Pretty thing,” Mathias said to Ice, still staring at Sabelle. “After you’re dead, I wonder how she’ll feel underneath me. I do hope she’s a screamer.”
Ice tamped down fresh fury. Mathias was still goading him. He could see Ice’s magical signature, knew he had Called to Sabelle. Even he, monster that he was, understood how protective a wizard was of any female he sought to mate, whether she answered in kind or not. Ice forced himself not to rise to Mathias’s bait.
Camden waved an arm, and around the clear structure, plush chairs appeared. Three on the east side, which he, Blackbourne, and Spencer each occupied, and four on the west, which Bram, Tynan, Sterling, and Sabelle took.
“Before we start, there are a few rules,” Blackbourne said. “The first, if anyone should wish to forfeit or withdraw their name from consideration, the challenge ends immediately. Any other spells cast by either nominee will be considered an act of aggression and treated accordingly. Also, should you believe that you have killed your opponent, you must signal me and pause the fight. I will establish the veracity of your claim. While I’m doing so, any spells cast will be treated as an act of aggression, as well. If you are still fighting in four hours, you will be granted a rest period, during which you may reacquire power by any means at your disposal. I see Mr. Rykard has brought Miss Rion. Mr. d’Arc?”
“The fight won’t last that long, Carlisle,” Mathias drawled. “If it does, Rhea awaits me upstairs.”
Blackbourne nodded. “The rest period is fifteen minutes.”
“Duly noted.” Mathias nodded with the utmost civility.
Blackbourne resumed his announcements. “Should the fight extend another four hours, we will take a mandatory rest period for food and sleep. There is no limit to the sort or amount of spells you may cast, except that the release of any corporeal form you create must be contained within your challenge zone. It cannot move outside or above these walls. No one can leave these grounds until the fight is over for any reason. I’ve locked them down; teleporting is impossible. We will assume that any combatant who attempts such intends to cheat and will forfeit the challenge by default. And last, we will declare a winner once someone forfeits, withdraws their name, or dies. Any questions?”
No one moved or spoke. Ice heard only the revving of his heart as he studied Sabelle, who represented all he had to live for. Then he dragged his gaze over Mathias, who stood for all the evil he could squash.
“Ready?” the Council elder asked.
Ice simply nodded. It was time.
