blood. The coppery scent of it already filled the air, mingling with sweat, dirt, and some kind of chemical, most likely due to whatever had been stored in the warehouse before it had been converted into an underground fight club.
He searched the space, determined to find the supernatural that would prove the most challenging.
“Is this like a bare-knuckle boxing match?” Rose asked, raising her voice to be heard over the commotion. He heard the awe in her tone but refused to look at her. The bloody woman muddled everything up.
He opened his mouth to respond in the affirmative just as a huge figure strode between fights, observing the opponents, halting Fionn’s answer.
The Fates were feeling sympathetic. A hard smile pushed at Fionn’s mouth.
Kiyonari. Or Kiyo as the werewolf preferred.
Years ago, Kiyo had learned of Fionn’s immortality. That did not worry Fionn, for Kiyo was an anomaly, the result of ancient Asian magic that even Fionn was ignorant to.
Kiyo was the world’s only immortal werewolf.
Sensing him, Kiyo halted his progress around one of the circles and turned his head. The shadows beyond the overhead lights masked his face, but Kiyo had spotted him. Fionn knew.
They walked toward one another.
Rose followed at Fionn’s side. “Who is that?” The awe in her voice penetrated this time. He shot her a quick glance and caught her ogling the shirtless Kiyo.
He bit back a growl of annoyance.
Kiyo drew to a stop before them, his expression the same as always—scowling and impatient.
Fionn had been accused of being a broody bastard but no one brooded like Kiyonari. The product of an illicit affair between an American doctor and a Japanese merchant’s daughter sometime in the nineteenth century, Kiyo’s life was difficult before he was bitten and spelled with immortality.
Although Fionn hadn’t thought of it one way or another before Rose’s reaction, Kiyo’s mixed heritage (a curse during much of his human and immortal life) had favored him physically. Rose’s expression said the werewolf wasn’t hard to look at.
“I was just about to leave,” Kiyo said, his accent distinctly American.
Kiyo had lived in New York until the 1960s. He’d been a nomad ever since, but he’d never lost his adopted accent.
“I assume you’ll answer my challenge.”
Kiyo nodded, his attention moving to Rose. His expression never changed. “She’s like you.”
There was no question in the comment, just an observation by the most perceptive son of a bitch in the werewolf world.
One of the things Fionn liked most about the werewolf, however—he wasn’t a nosy arsehole.
“Hey.” Rose held out her hand to Kiyo.
He stared at it and promptly ignored the gesture.
“Okay, then.” She threw a “Who’s this guy?” look at Fionn that would have amused him under other circumstances.
“Weapons?” the wolf asked.
Fionn rolled his shoulders, shrugging out of his coat. At the same time, he called on the weapons he stored in his Paris apartment. He had homes everywhere and weapons in every single one. Magic tinged the air around them as the swords appeared in his hands. The coat slipped to the ground.
The others were too caught up in the current fights to even notice.
Rose drew in a breath at the sight of the medieval claymores, steel glimmering in the dim light.
Kiyo quirked an eyebrow. “No katanas this time?”
“Last time you had the advantage.” Fionn tossed one of the broadswords to the wolf; he caught it by the hilt with ease. “This time it’s my turn.”
“Like you need it.” Kiyo brandished the sword with ease, feeling out the weight and balance of the steel.
“A sword fight?” Rose stepped between them to ask Fionn, her back to Kiyo.
“You’re surprised? It’s what I’m used to in a fight. And this way it’s fair. No magic, just strength and skill.”
She took a step closer to him. Too close, if you asked him. “Who is this guy?” she said under her breath.
Kiyo scowled at her back, having heard her easily with his wolf ears.
“This is Kiyo … a friend. A werewolf.”
Kiyo transferred the scowl to Fionn and this time, he failed in his attempt to suppress his smile.
“Your werewolf friend is hot,” Rose said, causing his smile to wither in an instant. He glared down at her, and she grinned. “But not as hot as you when you smile.” She smacked him playfully on the arm and stepped out of his way. “You should do it more often.”
She really was the devil.
The werewolf offered him a commiserating look in return for Fionn’s beleaguered one. A roar of animalistic growls rent the air, signaling