He stepped boldly up to Graham—much more boldly than Alice suspected he would if Graham had not been chained—and pulled his head to look directly into the light, checking his pupil reaction. “You’re up next, your lordship,” he said with satisfaction. “A battle to the shift.”
“No...” Alice couldn’t stop herself from saying. If Graham, like her, couldn’t shift, that meant he had to win to live... and if he won... She remembered how he had looked at his hands, like they were stained with blood. He shouldn’t have to do that again, ever.
Cyrus gave her a slow smile. “You’d prefer to fight instead of him, I suppose? Oh, you poor, stupid girl. Don’t you understand? He loves this. This is what he was born to do. Has he tried to convince you that he’s changed, that he’s a better man now, that he’s happy growing watermelons and mowing lawns at a luxury resort? He’s no different now than he ever was. He still loves to hurt people. You can see it when he fights, how much joy he gets out of it.”
Alice watched the guilt and doubt bloom over Graham’s face, as hard as he battled to keep it behind his mask of stony anger.
“Don’t do this,” Alice begged, a note of panic in her voice. “I’ll fight instead, if you want. I’m a wrestling coach, and I’m strong and fast. I’ll give them a show.” Could she actually hurt someone enough to make them shift, she wondered? Was she skilled enough? Did she have the resolve? If she could pin someone long enough, would they call the fight a draw?
Cyrus laughed. “Oh, Graham, isn’t that touching. She’s willing to take your place, the sweet summer child. Are you chivalrous enough to let her?”
Graham was staring back at Alice, his blue eyes like rocks. “Don’t let her watch,” he growled at Cyrus.
“You don’t get to make requests, your lordship,” Cyrus said, a hint of his own underlying anger showing through. “She’ll get to see exactly what you are. She’ll get to see how much you haven’t changed.”
Cyrus, Alice was beginning to realize, enjoyed pain the way Graham only thought he did. It was partly that he was seeking revenge for Graham’s betrayal, but even more, he wanted the thrill of watching Graham suffer. He would enjoy Graham’s torture: every bruise, every shame, and every regret.
Even after stories of Beehag’s zoo, Alice had not really believed that such people existed. She looked back to Graham. She had not believed someone like him could exist, either: someone willing to draw a line of morality and sacrifice everything in order to prevent further horrors. Graham could have simply walked away with his winnings, and lived a comfortable life of freedom and never looked back. He didn’t have to turn himself in to take down the ring, and he had known exactly what he was giving up when he did.
“How can you look at me like that?” Graham asked in a low growl, making Alice realize she was gazing at him with foolish fondness.
“How could I not?” she asked him, and when she smiled at him, his mouth cracked the tiniest bit.
They were not playing appropriately to Cyrus’ need to see them miserable and tormented. Miffed, he gestured to the guards. “Unlock him, but keep him close. Bring her, too.”
Despite her assurances that she could fight, none of them considered her a threat. Alice recalled her dismal performance with the heavy bag and her easy capture and wasn’t sure
that they were wrong.
Chapter 34
The ruins of Beehag’s zoo had been transformed. At first glance, it looked like a creepy pop-up rock concert, with noisy generators running massive lights and huge speakers currently blaring music. In the warm darkness, it was aggressive and challenging, and the audience—not big, but big enough—was cheering and drinking and betting.
The only difference was that instead of a stage, there was a cage.
It wasn’t the burn-twisted remains of any of Beehag’s enclosures, it was a shining new cage, probably boated in parts and assembled the day before.
While they were still outside of the glitter and spotlight, the guards gave Graham a pair of shimmering gold shorts and an ermine-edged purple robe to put on, and let him wrap his hands.
Alice watched with amusement that didn’t quite mask her worry and despair. “I like how they expect you to beat the crap out of each other, but they want to make sure your delicate knuckles don’t get hurt,” she said mockingly.
She was so brave, so beautiful, so clever. Even dreading what she would think of the show, even knowing how this could destroy everything they had in so many possible ways, Graham was selfishly glad to have her there.
She gave him... hope.
They were in an impossible place. Graham could see no way out of here; even if he won this round, Cyrus would pit him against another shifter, and another; he wasn’t going to just let Graham and Alice walk away.
This was the dead end he’d always been ready for.
And somehow, against all reason, she made him feel hopeful.
Graham caught Cyrus glaring at him. Then the fight coordinator smiled coldly.
“You wouldn’t want to start fighting without warming up first,” he said with a smirk. “Boys?” He nodded at the guards, and Graham knew what was coming when someone grabbed him from behind and twisted his arms back.
It wasn’t a fight, it was a beating, and a careful beating at that. The audience wouldn’t want a rigged fight, they wanted the fantasy of fairness. So the blows were kept from his face, concentrated on his core, places that would cause damage, but not show bruises.
Graham didn’t struggle; his only goal was to turn to keep the worst of it from Alice, who gave a wail of agony when it started and then begged Cyrus and swore like a sailor as they held her back. The pain in her voice was the worst of the torture.