Dark Kings (Feathers and Fate #1) - Sadie Moss Page 0,37

already tell that poor sucker doesn’t stand a chance.

The blond man lunges forward, his fist cocking back and slamming into the side of his opponent’s face, and I can hear the poor guy’s head snap back. I gasp as the crowd cheers.

Phoenix snorts, glancing at me. “What, is this too much for ya, sweets?”

Remington soothingly massages my shoulders. “Take it easy on her, Nix, she’s used to being Above after all.”

His brother snorts.

“You’d better get used to it, angel,” Beckett tells me, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the roar of the crowd. He looks at me with a smirk on his face, and I glare at him in return. I’m sure it’s pretty obvious that this is my first bareknuckle boxing match, but that doesn’t mean they all have to point out how freaked I look. I’m already painfully aware of it.

Ford pummels his opponent for a few moments and then jumps back. He’s like a snake, darting in to strike with a speed I didn’t know was even possible. I wonder if that’s a supernatural ability, or if he’s just so well-trained and full of fury that it’s giving him an extra burst of strength.

“He’s toying with him,” I murmur suddenly as realization strikes me.

“You bet he is.” Phoenix glances around. “Damn, I need popcorn or something to go with this. Is there a snack bar around here?”

Beckett shoots him a look of such frustration and disdain that Phoenix shrinks back a little—even though he’s still smirking.

“Careful,” Remington says quietly. “Don’t let him get to you.”

For a moment, I think that he’s talking to Beckett about Phoenix, but then the crowd roars as Ford lands another punch, and I realize he’s talking about their brother.

Ford is radiating wrath, and everyone around him is responding to it. Even the other sins, apparently.

The man Ford’s fighting transforms, claws extending, fangs jutting out like he’s got a whole extra set of jaws in his mouth, eyes going yellow. My body goes rigid, my eyes widening.

He’s a werewolf. Not a man at all.

I should have known he would be superhuman in some way, since this is a supernatural underground boxing arena, duh, but I didn’t really think about it.

Werewolves can, or so I’ve heard, transform into full wolves. They usually take that form when they’re roaming around the forest or hunting with their pack. When they’re up against other supernatural creatures, they tend to only transform partway, to take advantage of still having a humanlike build but with the wolf capabilities.

That’s what this guy’s doing right now. He’s all muscle, built like a brick house, and his hands look bigger than my entire face. I flinch as he takes a swipe at Ford. Those claws of his could rip Wrath’s entire face off.

I flinch, pressing back against Remington as if the claws are coming at me instead of the sin in the ring. Ford’s taunting his opponent, only enraging the guy more, making him sloppy.

Phoenix glances at me, then puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, gorgeous, don’t worry about it. Ford’s never lost a fight, and he’s not about to now. He’s just teasing him, see? He’s gonna come out of this just fine.”

“It would serve him right to lose a fight once in a while,” Beckett notes. “It might make him humble for once.”

Phoenix’s hand drops as he rolls his eyes exaggeratedly at Beckett, but the tall man ignores him, keeping his gaze fixed on the fight.

Ford’s up against the chains, and I can’t help but wonder how he’s going to defeat someone who’s made of so much muscle, someone who must weigh twice what he does—

And then Ford explodes into action. He leaps at the werewolf, fists flying so fast I can’t even see them properly. There’s a snarl on Ford’s face, a vicious kind of glee that I’ve never seen before, and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s his rage. He’s waited until his opponent is cocky and worn out, and now he’s taking his chance.

Again and again, Ford hits his opponent, striking him hard right in the jaw as blood and spit go flying.

This is how he wins, I think suddenly. This pure, focused rage.

I’ve never seen anyone channel anger like this. He probably doesn’t even feel his own injuries or fatigue. He doesn’t seem to be paying attention to the world around him; the screams and yells of the crowd fall on deaf ears. He’s not letting his opponent distract him