Page 57 of Crown of Death
Cyrus smiles as he watches the blood spray across the stage. “Each House has its own politics and inner workings. Some Houses band together for financial reasons. Like the House of Sidra.” The women on the stage pummel one another. “Others evolve out of manipulation, like yourmother’s.”
I internally recoil atthat.
“And others simply like to be associated with power,” Cyrus continues. “Like the House of Valdez. This is business andcompetition.”
A woman collapses to the ground after an exceptionally hard blow. She’sout.
“None of them are family, then?” I ask, disgust settling into my stomach. “None of them really care about eachother?”
Cyrus’ eyes flick over to mine and he takes me in. “Just because there is money, manipulation, competition, doesn’t mean they aren’t family. What family isperfect?”
The next competition is over in one perfect blow that sends the man flat on hisface.
Family. This is nothing what my family looks like. Nothing like what I envisioned my future family to looklike.
By the time the first round ends, there isn’t a single inch of the stage that isn’t covered in blood. The losers sit on one side of the arena, bandaging wounds, hissing and groaning and casting dark looks at theirKing.
For hours, the fightscontinue.
A fist meets a face, the hit so fierce that a spray of blood splashes me across the face. Flecks of it spatter across Cyrus’neck.
I was wrongbefore.
They don’t deservethis.
Cyrus is enjoying it far toomuch.
But he is the King of vampires, and I am just a little, humangirl.
I can feel it, as the sunsets and the hour grows late. I’m tired, exhausted. But finally, the final two contestants step onto the stage. Edmond, and a man with long blond hair and a wicked scar down his face. Bloody. Battered.Exhausted.
They ready themselves. And even though they’re exhausted, I see the preparation in theireyes.
“To the last man standing,” Cyrushisses.
Edmond takes the first swing, though the other man quickly deflects it, spinning with impossible speed, taking a swing at Edmond’s side, andlanding.
The thud of metal on bone cracks through thearena.
Edmond twists, ducking low, kicking a leg out. The other man stumbles but with lightning speed, briefly puts some distance between the two ofthem.
On. And on. And on, theybattle.
They are both covered in blood from head to foot. It drips down into their eyes, coats their teeth. They slip on thestage.
They are equally matched. And this could go on allnight.
My fingers curl around the armrests. My jaw clenches. My blood boils toohot.
“That isenough, Cyrus,” I say. Not loudly. But with finality. “You’ve punished them enough. You have taken this too far. End this.Now.”
Every eye turns to me. Edmond and his opponent pause, though neither lowers theirweapon.
They all keep looking at me like that. With shock. And maybe a little bit ofreverence.
I look over at Cyrus, and slowly he looks back atme.
“I can’t take another second of it,” I say, looking at him with stone cold eyes. “The fact that you are enjoying this so much makes mesick.”