Fate's Demand (Twisted Fate, Book 3)

Chapter Fifty

"You're quick," Marcus said, "but you'll need more than boxing techniques to best me."

"Yeah, well. I'm quick because I'm smart enough to realize most of the people that I fight are stronger than me. It's easier to win if I avoid getting hit, right?"

"My point remains."

"Oh, don't worry," I said, realizing that a few more minutes would pass until I felt breathless and the time for chatter was quickly ending. "I figured I'd start with basics and work my way up in skill. Now, are we going to talk"—I raised my eyebrow and lifted my hands— "or fight?"

He answered with a jab to my jaw, though his follow-up swipe to my ankles with his foot was easy to avoid with a jump. My next punch barely grazed his bicep but, much to his surprise, the high kick I performed landed true at the center of his chest.

The balance of points continued until we were both breathless.

As if by mutual agreement, our efforts escalated.

The crowd was a hush of whispers outside our bubble of combat. Not even Marcus's friends, who stood just off to the side, could break our stride. A scale holding unequal weight, only one could become the victor. Like the balance between good and evil—light and dark—it would never score even.

"Give up yet?" Marcus huffed, shaking the sweat from his brow before it could aid me and blur his vision.

I scoffed, smiling. "Hardly."

Twisting, I sent a roundhouse to his face. Marcus caught my ankle in his hands. I hopped in place three times for balance and then jumped, twisting again to land with my hands on the floor, my body a ramp to his chin. The skin pinched where he gripped my ankle, but he unclenched when I raised my free leg backwards to connect with his groin. Rolling, I quickly stood.

"Dirty move," Marcus said, the veins at his neck straining against his skin as he tried to deny his pain.

"So is this."

I reached out, prepared to hit him square in the nose and maybe—accidentally—poke him in the eye. Once again, he caught me, yanking hard and somehow turning me so my back was flush against his chest and his arm was snaked around my throat. Already breathless, my airways felt clogged and my heart felt like a drum in my head. Drenched with effort, it surprised me that I couldn't slither from his hold.

"How about now?" he whispered in my ear.

Hooking my hand in the open space between Marcus's arm and my neck, I pulled while simultaneously bending at the waist. At first, I thought I'd failed. He was so heavy and both of us were tired. Then I felt it, the weightlessness of freedom as his body careened up and over in a somersault through the air over my head.

Yes!

An appreciative roar from the crowd pierced my senses.

Marcus landed hard, the sound of the air in his lungs leaking out with a soft, "Oomph."

Quickly, barely keeping the short layers of my hair from falling in my face, I grabbed a clip from the strands and placed its end against his chest, just over his heart.

"This is a dagger in your heart," I told him through heavy breaths. "And now, you are dead, and I have won."

Waiting for his nod of acceptance before removing my foot from the other side of his chest, I turned to the crowd with a satisfied smile. It felt good to win and certainly not what had been expected when I'd begun. Now, everyone who had watched was clapping and shouting for me.

It felt like I had earned my role.

Without warning, my ankles were hit from the side. I fell on my back against the floor. What little breath I'd gathered since winning rushed out and the nerves of my stomach gathered in my throat faster than the tripled pace of my heart.