Aureate Fates

5

The chanting quieted after Reese's fight, meaning he didn't have to scream to talk to Drew, but he wished he could have. For being completely brainless.

It was suicide for someone like Drew to enter a pit like this.

Drew's attention lingered on the cuts on Reese's face. The fading ones.

"Did you win?," Drew asked, ignoring Reese's venomous tone. Reese wondered how he managed to deflect the off-putting comments he received. It was like he was engineered to only be civil and composed—most times.

Reese released Drew's arms, which he had been holding onto to haul him up. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

Under the dim light, he couldn't be sure, but he swore he saw Drew's face heat. "Right, of course. Sorry."

"Leave," Reese said, tone clipped despite Drew's good intentions. "Next time, I'm not going to pick you up from that fucking—"

"Loialai," a voice addressed him. His last name, one that did not exist, not really. "I see you've found my boyfriend."

As if the night could only worsen. As if Reese was not already close to shattering his own skull just so he'd be granted an escape.

Drew's boyfriend, with a posh face and neatly combed hair, put an arm around Drew's slight shoulders. They were classmates, they all were—in a school created for Reds. The pair seemed displaced in a crowd full of Mid-Way delinquents, rightfully so.

No one came underground unless they were prepared to fight, inside or out of the ring. Reese did not trust Fenton to defend Drew, either because he truly wasn't capable or because he didn't have the gall to challenge a crooked crowd.

"I have found him, yes," Reese answered, never breaking Fenton's stare. "However, I've been growing concerned, considering that I've been seeing him a lot more lately." Fenton bristled, but kept his mouth shut.

Reese continued, his sharp smirk growing. "You might want to maintain his attention with something stronger, unless you want him to wander too far. Perhaps my bed."

Fenton looked both outraged and incapable of speech. His mouth gaped open, then closed. Gaped open again. Drew crossed his arms and turned his face away from Reese's sight. He didn't miss the slight pinking of his ears.

"Good evening, boys," Reese said as his departure. Let them suffer the consequences of the fight club. He needed to feel the faucet water on his face before his temper surpassed his control.

As Reese reached the bathroom, one thing was for certain: if it had been Fenton on the floor, almost being impaled by the heavy boot of a rowdy man, Reese would have placed his foot on his throat. Holding him down.

—MARISOL—

She had fangs of steel. Steel.

Marisol tried, to no avail, to quiet the outside roars of the crowd. The coin she sought was no longer her chief pursuit; now she chased her life.

May I have my life when I make it out of this blood-splattered ring.

"Marisol, Marisol," Kyra chanted with a violent rasp in her throat, smiling with her metallic teeth. "A fitting name for a dead girl."

Marisol noted that Kyra used her mouth not only to sink her fangs into her opponents, but to talk—a considerable amount. She could use this to her advantage, strike her in the moments spent babbling.

"A dead girl I am," Marisol responded, giving a haughty smile of her own. A look of confusion went through Kyra's bright silver eyes as Marisol dropped low and sprung a leg out to knock her to the ground.