time they'd known each other, Jane had barged into that secret chamber in his chest,
shoved Butch out of the way, and slammed herself in good and tight. And it felt right. The fit felt
right.
She made a little murmuring noise and wheedled her way in even closer to him. As he stroked
her back, he found himself thinking, for no good reason, about the first fight he'd had, a face-off
that was closely followed by the first time he'd had sex.
In the war camp, males just through their transitions were given a limited amount of time to find
their strength. And yet as Vishous's father stood before him and pronounced that he was to fight,
V was surprised. Surely he should have had a day to recover.
The Bloodletter smiled, showing fangs that were always distended. «And you shall pair off with
Grodht.»
The soldier V had stolen the deer leg from. The fat one whose prowess was of the hammer.
With exhaustion weighing upon him, and his pride all that kept him on his feet, V proceeded over
to the fighting ring that was set back from where the soldiers slept. The ring was an uneven
circular sinkhole in the cave's floor, like a giant had pounded its fist into the earth out of
frustration. Waist deep, with its sides and bottom dark brown from blood having been spilled,
you were expected to fight until you couldn't stand. No conduct was barred, and the only rule
pertained to the loser and what he had to present himself for to address his deficiency in combat.
Vishous knew he wasn't ready to fight. Virgin in the Fade, he could barely get down into the ring
without falling over. But then, that was the purpose in this, was it not? His father had engineered
the perfect power maneuver. There was only one way V could hope to win, and if he used his
hand, the whole camp would see for themselves what they had only heard in rumor and shun him
completely. And if he lost? Then he would not be perceived as any threat to his father's
dominion. So either way the Bloodletter's supremacy would remain intact and unchallenged by
his son's new maturity.
As the fat soldier jumped in with a lusty shout and the swing of a hammer, the Bloodletter
loomed at the lip of the ring. «What weapon shall I give my son?» he asked the assembled crowd.
«I think perhaps…» He looked over at one of the kitchen females, who was leaning on a broom.
«Give me.»
The female fumbled to comply and dropped the thing at the Bloodletter's feet. As she bent over to
pick it up, he kicked her aside as one would a tree branch that was in one's path. «Take this, my
son. And pray to the Virgin it is not what is used in you when you lose.»
As the throng of witnesses laughed, V caught the wooden handle.
«Engage!» the Bloodletter barked.
The crowd cheered, and someone threw the dregs of their ale at Vishous, the warm splash hitting
his bare back and dripping down his naked arse. The fat soldier opposite him smiled, revealing
fangs that had extended out of his upper jaw. As the male began to circle V, the hammer swung
on the end of its chain, a low whistle rising up.
V was clumsy while he tracked his opponent, finding it difficult to control his legs. He focused
primarily on the male's right shoulder, the one that would tense before the hammer was thrown
out, while with his peripheral vision he kept track of the crowd. Mead would be the least of what
they might pitch at him.
It turned out not to be as much a fight as a dodging contest, with V on the shoddy defensive and
his opponent all showy aggression. Whilst the soldier displayed his proficiency with his weapon
of note, V learned the predictability of the male's actions as well as the hammer's rhythm. Even
as strong as the soldier was, he had to brace his feet square before the hammer's head-sized
spiked ball was sent forward, V waited for one of the pauses in action and then struck, flipping
the broom around and jamming the handle directly into the bulbous soldier's groin.
The male roared, lost hold of the hammer, and clapped his knees together, cupping himself. V
didn't waste a moment. He lifted the broom over his shoulder and swung with his full reach,
catching his opponent in the temple and knocking him senseless.
The cheering dried up until all there was was the fire's crackling chatter and the sound of V's
ragged breathing. He dropped the broom and stepped over his opponent, ready to get out.
His father's boots
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