with it. The Arena behind me loomed, emanating malice. Greed and bloodlust mixed there into a miasma that tainted all who entered.
A stone building filled with men and women in evening wear or a sand arena enclosed by crumbling wooden stands filled with people in rags, it made no difference. I had never forgotten fighting on the sand, but I hadn't realized that my memories lay so close to the surface.
The sand marked a number of firsts for me. The first time I fought without any guarantee of my father rescuing me. The first time I killed a woman. The first time I killed in public, and the first time I was deified for it by a bloodthirsty crowd.
My father judged it to be an experience I had to endure and so I had done it. It must've left a scar, because I had only to look at the sand and my arms itched, as if dusted with its grit. I brushed off the phantom powder, shedding the memories with it. I wanted to take a shower.
Right now Derek was probably lying in wait for Livie at the rendezvous point. He was a careful wolf. He'd get there hours in advance. I needed to get my ass to the Red Roof Inn.
First order of business: retrieve Slayer. I headed to Saiman's car.
"Kate?"
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Saiman exit the building. Crap.
"Kate!"
I stopped and looked at him. "The fights are over. We're done."
He caught up to me. "Apologies for my hurried exit . . ."
"I don't want an apology, Saiman. I want my sword out of your car. I fulfilled my obligation; now I have to go."
He opened his mouth to speak but he must have seen something in my face that gave him pause, because he clamped his mouth shut, nodded, and said, "Very well."
We strode to the car.
"How would you have gotten your sword out without my help?" he asked.
"I'd break the window." We stepped over the white line.
"You would vandalize my vehicle?"
"Yep."
"You do realize that the car is heavily warded?"
I felt someone's gaze hit me in the back like a brick. I glanced over my shoulder. The tattooed Reaper, Cesare, stood just behind the white line, over which we had stepped a moment ago.
Backlit by the floodlight, he stood very straight, his face wrapped in darkness. His eyes glowed red.
"Company."
Saiman saw Cesare. "Hilarious. I had no idea I'd given them the impression of being susceptible to childish intimidation tactics."
"I think they have more than intimidation in mind." I accelerated. The sleek black bullet of Saiman's vehicle with my saber in the front seat waited a good twenty-five yards away.
A man leapt over the row of cars and landed in front of us in a crouch, blocking the way. Dark hair dripped from his head. He glanced up. His eyes glowed like two red-hot coals. His mouth opened. An unnaturally long tongue spilled out, lashing at the air. His lips drew back, showing rows of curved fangs.
Alrighty, then.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cesare, still waiting behind the white line, his arms crossed on his chest.
The man with the snake tongue shifted along the ground in a crouch. Long strands of drool stretched from between his fangs and dripped on the pavement, sending a heady scent of jasmine to swirl through the air. Perfumed monster spit. What was the world coming to?
Saiman went pale. His hand gripped his cane.
The man's glowing eyes stared at Saiman. He raised his hands and showed him two daggers, narrow and sharp like a snake's fangs.
I wasn't even in the picture. Perfect.
Saiman grasped the shaft of his cane with his left hand, edging the handle up with his right. I caught a glimpse of metal between the handle and the dark wood. The cane hid a dagger and he was planning to use it in a heroic fashion.
The man made an odd hooting sound that raised the tiny hairs on the back of my neck, tensed, and sprung.
It was a great, preternaturally high leap, designed to clear the twenty feet between us in a single bound. Saiman took a step, drawing the dagger in a quick jerk, and leaned forward, preparing to meet his attacker.
The first rule of bodyguard detail: keep your "body" out of harm's way.
I swept Saiman's right foot from under him, hitting him in the chest with my left hand. He was so committed to his impending strike that his position placed him ridiculously