Rise of the Gryphon (Belador #4)(31)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

“I have headache.” Lanna sat back against the base of the stadium seating.

Storm had his back to them, keeping Evalle and Lanna shielded. He glanced around at Lanna. “Stop trying to cross the spellbound area and you won’t have a headache.”

Ignoring him, she argued, “I am rested. I can cloak myself. Let me out and I’ll help you.”

“No.” Evalle had all she could handle keeping Storm from interfering. Lanna’s middle name was Meddler. “Just sit tight. I’ve been called to my second round. As soon as I finish the third round, we’ll go.”

“If you win,” Lanna started saying, then quickly amended her words. “When you win, they will offer you immortality. I have heard this. You will not accept?”

“From the Medb? No, of course not.”

Dame Lynn’s voice interrupted, announcing, “Moonlight Warrior takes on Sandspur in five minutes. Place your bets.”

“What is Sandspur?” Lanna asked.

Evalle considered the match she’d just seen and answered, “Have no idea, but with any luck it won’t be twelve feet tall with an arm span just as wide.”

Storm said over his shoulder, “People are noticing that you’re over here.”

“I’m coming.” Evalle told Lanna, “I’ll be back soon. Okay?”

Lanna pulled her knees up tight and sent Evalle a teenage glower for an answer.

What made Quinn think I had a clue about how to deal with Lanna? Evalle returned to her holding room just as the guard came for her. Storm gave her arm a squeeze and left.

Her wounds had healed. She was as ready as she could be and reached Gate One as Dame Lynn announced, “Moonlight Warrior the Alterant versus Sandspur.” But this time when both gates vanished then reappeared, no opponent stood on the other side.

Evalle stepped into the battle dome, surprised when her boots sank into sand as fine as sugar. She searched the stands on her right for Storm and found him close enough to see the lines in his frown.

Maybe she was getting a pass or . . .

Energy entered the dome.

Evalle spun her attention back to the far side where a knee-high lump pushed up from underground at the mouth of Gate Two.

Displaced sand bulged as a fat, cylindrical creature five feet long burrowed forward.

Evalle didn’t move as her opponent continued to worm its way to the center of the theater. Shouting quieted to a low rumble of murmurs. Excitement mounted as everyone waited to see Sandspur.

When the critter finally burst out of the sand, Evalle had her dagger in hand, ready.

Sandspur pushed its head up first, two horns bouncing, as if rubbery. Lifting half its body upright, Sandspur was a caterpillar version of the Michelin Man, but this overgrown bug didn’t have the little legs wiggling along the underside. Tigerlike black stripes reached around the aqua-colored body with the wide bands narrowing as the tips almost touched on its belly. Sandspur’s head resembled a daisy, with three white petals fanning out and huge pink eyes with blue centers.

Cute, in an odd way.

Feenix would love that for a playmate.

How was she going to hurt, much less kill, something that didn’t even have legs? How did fighters come into these rings—theaters—and attack something that had never threatened them?

She could see how boxing was a major sport, but beast battles weren’t sport.

This crowd demanded dismemberment and death.

Smiling at the cute little devil would send the wrong message. She’d try to scare Sandspur into begging for relief. Storm wouldn’t be happy with her, but he’d just have to get over it. Flipping the dagger end over end and catching the grip, she moved into a crouch attack position.

Sandspur opened a maw of finger-length sharp teeth and let out a yell that might be impressive for a caterpillar, but was too thin and high-pitched to be anything scary. Laughter bucked through the crowd.

Evalle had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Poor thing. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long. She didn’t want to see Sandspur humiliated.

“Come on, buddy,” she called over quietly, her words shielded by the roar of laughter. “Let’s rock and get you out of here.”

Sandspur’s eyes went from pink to hot blue flames. Six black tiger stripes wrapping its body unleashed, stretching ten feet out on each side. Along the edge of each stripe, tentacles spiked up like shark teeth and sharp pincers clicked at the tips.

Crap.

Sandspur moved forward as if on a supersonic railway.

One tentacle whipped at her.

Evalle pushed off the ground with kinetic force and landed on the opposite side of the dome.

Sandspur spun in place like a whirligig, tentacles flying in all directions.

So that’s where it got the name.

Getting close enough to stab the fat body would be tough.

Sandspur spun toward her with amazing speed. Its pincers clicked close to her face as she dove away once again. A row of teeth along the tentacle caught her left shoulder, ripping open skin and tearing muscle.

Fighting harder only pumped the blood faster.

No choice.

With a quick roll away from the flying tentacles, Evalle shoved to her feet. She called forth her Belador battle form that she could use without sanction. Her arms bulged with muscle. Cartilage broke through the skin, then her shirt. Her neck thickened and her legs split the jeans.

Her Alterant beast wanted to surface, but she kept her control locked down tight.

Cartwheeling away from another attack, Evalle landed with her feet planted, facing the overgrown worm. “That all you got?”

Sandspur paused, its flowery head tilting to one side, then the thing actually laughed.

I’ll show you funny, you miserable . . .

Big mistake. The fat little turd’s action had been meant to distract her. And it worked.

A tentacle lashed out fast as a whip.

This one stretched way longer than the other five and sliced her calf, jerking her off balance. She bent around and slashed the tentacle with her dagger.

The three-foot piece of appendage whimpered as it crawled off, its pincer snapping at air.

Another tentacle shot out from Sandspur’s body the same length, but this one went for her face.

She dropped her blade to use both hands to catch the black arm just below the pincer. Rubbery skin over rigid cartilage or bone inside. Jagged one-inch spikes along the edge cut into her palms. Her shoulder was losing strength. She struggled to keep the slashing pincer away from her face.

Could Sandspur stretch only one tentacle this far at a time? Looked that way, but now it was using her hold for leverage to inch its fat little body across the sand with the other four arms reaching for her.

Not as fast when a tentacle was caught?

Blood oozed through her fingers.

Two spikes pierced all the way through her palm and stuck out the back of her hand. Pain wrenched her mind in different directions from her hand to her shoulder and leg, but she would not lose to a freakin’ worm.

Dizziness washed over her. Bile rushed up her throat.

Could those spikes on Sandspur’s tentacles be fangs that injected some kind of venom?

Gritting her teeth, she clenched harder on the tentacle, tightening to cut off any blood flow, if blood ran through this thing.

Sandspur trembled, then emitted a crunching and growling sound. It started whipping sand into a cloud.

If Evalle lost her glasses in this bright arena or that much sand hit her in the face, she’d be blinded. But she couldn’t release a hand to grab her dagger, or the pincer would take a piece of her skull.

With the sand tornado circling its body, Sandspur drew its remaining tentacles back around itself and started growing larger.

But it stalled out and wobbled.

Pressure eased from the tentacle Evalle wrestled. She risked a look to glare at Storm, warning him to stop helping her. He gave her a What? look in return.

Ignoring him, she arm-wrestled the tentacle toward the ground. The pincer bent back on itself and bit at her wrist, cutting a gouge.

She rallied everything she had and pressed down with her forearm. That freed one hand to snatch up her dagger. She stabbed the tentacle, pinning it to the ground.

Sandspur screeched and jerked.

Didn’t like that one bit, huh?

The little bastard spun harder to reach her.

Evalle shoved up her hand, palm out, and blinked to clear her vision. Sandspur crashed into a kinetic wall of energy.

Whispering to her dagger to stay where it was, Evalle pushed up to stand. She staggered but kept shoving the kinetic barrier at Sandspur. Forced backward, Sandspur keened as it stretched the stabbed tentacle.

When Evalle held the creature trapped against the ground, Sandspur had the audacity to laugh at her.

Nice try.

Evalle wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

Extending her trembling, bloody hand toward the lopped-off tentacle still making angry clicks as it crawled around, she called the appendage to her with kinetics. It flew to her hand. Gritting her teeth, Evalle gripped the angry pincer that snapped viciously at her face and swung it around to face down.

Sandspur stopped laughing.

With one last burst of energy, Evalle released the kinetic wall for a second and stabbed the pincer right below Sandspur’s three-petal head.

Its toothy maw opened and squealed.

The pincer had no loyalty beyond ripping at whatever it touched. Murky red flowed from the ripped wound. Sandspur’s hot blue eyes turned pink, then changed to a dried-up brown as its head fell away from the body.

Evalle left the pincer stuck there and turned around. The tentacle her dagger held in place had begun to shrivel.

Swaying toward the Gate Two exit, she called the dagger back to her hand, catching it as she stumbled down the hall.

She exited the hallway limping badly and lurching from side to side. Storm was running toward her.

When he reached her and made a move for her legs, she gave a wobbly shake of her head. “Don’t even think about picking me up.”

Cursing, he opened the door to her holding area.

The minute Evalle stumbled into the room, Storm kicked the door shut and lifted her in his arms, heading toward the shower area. “Don’t start with me.”

She didn’t have it in her to complain. She moaned at the movement and didn’t want to look at her hand, which throbbed as if it had swollen to the size of a baseball catcher’s mitt.

She wanted to calm Storm down. “I’m not dying.”

“Really?” Icy sarcasm dripped from his one-word question, but she heard fear beneath all of it. He was afraid for her. “You left a trail of blood that looks like a carotid artery’s been slashed, and you’re dragging your leg.” He lowered her to a bench outside the showers and slipped her boots off, then her socks, lifting one that dripped red, then tossing it aside. The coppery smell of fresh blood soaked the air.

He ripped her jeans apart with his bare hands, removing the denim in pieces.

She fumbled with the ragged shirt, trying to drag it over her head before the blood dried to her back. Storm took over, lifting it gently even though he was so tense that lightning should be popping all around them. He tossed the bloody shirt over with her socks. That left her in panties and a bra.

She had to get up and shower on her own. “I’ve got it from here.”

When he didn’t move, she said, “Please.”

Storm stood up and backed away, arms crossed and frustration pouring off him.

She could do this and would, just as soon as the room leveled itself out. Pushing up, she felt a moment of arrogant pride that she could stand on both legs. Then she took a step, and her gashed leg buckled.

Cursing, Storm caught her under the arms. “Your skin’s turning green. Probably a poison in your bloodstream.”

“Bathroom.” She barely got the word out before he swung her around and into the bathroom stall, where she unloaded her sour stomach.

Her head spun. She sat back against the wall.

Storm handed her a cup of water she used to rinse her mouth. Anything sent south would come right back up.

With that done, he helped her up until he could put his arm around her and walk her to the shower stall, where the water jets already gushed water.

Cold as ice.

She jerked at the shock to her hot skin.

“Easy.” Storm started speaking in the strange language she’d heard him use before.

Heat swirled inside her chest just above her br**sts. She looked down at the emerald, a blurry green shape. The stone glowed a little, then got brighter the longer he chanted.

She could feel the venom receding.

Pausing briefly, he told her to use her Alterant beast to start healing herself, then kept chanting as he held her under the cold water. She managed it again, but this time took longer. Not an encouraging sign when she had to face off with an Alterant next.

Strength slowly returned to her arms and legs. Her shoulder stopped aching and her vision cleared. “Think I’m good now.”

“I’m not.” He turned her around and held her against him. He reached out and shut off the water, then his hand pressed her head to his chest. “Watching you fight is torture.”

She’d feel the same way if he had fought instead of her. “I understand and I appreciate what you did, but you can’t do that again.”