Rise of the Gryphon (Belador #4)(9)

Evalle slowed her step at the sound, taking in the creature making that noise at the same time Storm did.

That thing stood eight feet if an inch, and had a head covered in spiked horns and a jaw wide enough to snap a man’s leg in half. Dull skin the color of dried mud and dotted with pink warts the size of Storm’s thumb sagged on its body. Thick legs ended at feet with opposing joints, similar to a monkey’s. But Storm had never seen a monkey or ape with curved claws like that or fangs as long as his fingers.

Or the batlike wings that just flapped into view.

Two arms hung past the creature’s waist. It lunged against some invisible leash, long arms stretched out with the razor-sharp claws. All it had to do was get something in its grasp to slice off the head and win a match.

His master was an average-height man who had the unassuming look of a bland office worker, with his thinning hair and a beer gut stuffed inside a pale gray business suit.

But he controlled the thing without an obvious show of power. Another mage or wizard? Was that thing on the invisible leash some type of golem? The master waved a silver disc in his hand and called to Evalle in a surprisingly deep voice, “You have dual form. I have dual form. Only three here so far. We should talk. I’m Zymon.”

Unease fingered along Storm’s neck.

What the hell did that thing shift into? Storm had yet to fight something he couldn’t kill if he didn’t face majik more powerful than his. If this thing had the benefit of a mage or wizard’s majik, Storm might lose. Zymon would be disqualified if he was found out, but if that thing on the leash was a golem, Zymon would just make a new one.

And Storm would be dead, leaving Evalle’s back unprotected.

In direct conflict with the couldn’t-give-a-shit mask she’d dropped into place, anxiety shot off Evalle like lightning bolts that Storm gritted his teeth against. She had to be thinking along the same lines as he was, but she stressed over his possibly dying.

Zymon prodded harder, his strange accent coming through. “Come, come. We must deal or Domjon will choose a match. Hard to find fight and I need win tonight.”

Evalle put a finger to her cheek, studying. “I’ll need plenty of incentive to waste getting mine dirty killing yours.”

That’s my girl.

Stepping out of the shadows, Zymon studied her with a glimmer of appreciation in his flat gray eyes. “Confident, eh? Tell you what. I will sweeten pot. You win, I will throw in a demon.”

Ah, hell. If Evalle turned her nose up at a bonus wager, she’d look suspicious. Storm began assessing Zymon’s beast more closely, preparing to fight the thing.

Evalle laughed, clearly buying time to figure a way out of their situation. “A demon? That’s your best offer?”

A woman called out, “Don’t be so hasty when you haven’t seen all the dual form competition.”

Storm and Evalle turned in unison to find Imogenia standing twenty feet away with her chained fighter.

To Evalle’s credit, she didn’t show the relief that Storm felt coming from her. She gave Imogenia a look of disbelief. “What does it turn into? A badger? Mongoose?”

“Nothing quite so attractive, but he’s a strong fighter.”

Now there was a stroke of luck.

He’d take Imogenia’s skinny bastard over Zymon’s creature that very likely harbored majik or poisons in its claws.

Evalle cocked her head with the arrogance he’d told her to exude and studied the witch’s fighter. She gave a dismissive snort. “I won’t insult mine by expecting him to fight . . . that.”

What? Now would be a great time to have the telepathic ability Evalle shared with her Belador friends.

Storm’s fault. He should have coached her better, because he had no way to tell her to accept this fight without blowing their covers. If Zymon was right, Evalle had only two options, and she had just shot down Storm’s best chance at a win if Imogenia walked away.





THREE





Watch Storm get ripped to pieces by one beast or stomp a puny one into the ground?

Either way, Evalle couldn’t see this evening ending well. If Storm fought the witch’s guy and Storm held back, he’d raise suspicions. If he fought too hard, he’d maim or kill the guy.

But she didn’t want him fighting Zymon’s beast either.

Imogenia’s lips curled, tightened, then with some effort softened back into a taunting smile, as if the witch struggled to hold back her reaction. Short-fuse temper?

Evalle had blown off the witch’s offer in order to buy time to figure out a move and because accepting too quickly might not look good. Right? But irritation had wicked off Storm, meaning Evalle had probably just screwed up by refusing the witch.

Could she change her mind?

Imogenia shook off the anger that had appeared to grip her and cocked her head at Evalle with a smile. Light from the torches ignited a glow on the golden mask hiding her forehead, cheeks and nose. She nodded toward Zymon’s howling beast. “If your pet wins our fight, you’ll be able to raise the ante with Zymon for a match.”

Pretty determined to have Storm fight her guy. Did she really think Storm would lose?

If he did, the witch’s demon would still face Zymon’s . . . thing.

Zymon’s monster roared.

Evalle gave him one more glance in time to see blood drool from his lips. Sold.