Greymoor Academy: I Accidentally Bonded With Four Lycan Royals! novel Chapter 299

Chapter 299: 299. Rat Fight III

Maisie

Quinlan flicked his wrist, tossing her a chip he must’ve taken without my notice. "I prefer longer odds."

The woman practically preened, tucking it into her bra and blowing him a kiss before melting back into the roaring crowd.

I glared at Quinlan, and he shrugged. "I’m a business man, cherie. I make investments."

"That’s just another word for gambling," I said.

"Oh really?" he blinked innocently.

The crowds roaring took a sudden hike, the new bloodthirst so intense, goosebumps spread across my skin.

Distress burned in my chest, spreading out like fire and my feet moved with urgency. Quinlan swore, coming after me, and the closer we drew to the front, the heavier the bond dragged at my soul, bleeding agony and fear into my veins.

I broke through the tight front line of the crowd and stopped dead in my tracks.

Beyond the mesh was a low grounded pit the size of a small field, whose floor was covered in a thick layer of sand. The sand was red and wet with blood.

There were four men standing and more than twice that number of bodies on the floor. My stomach twisted as a boulder of a man closed his hands around the head of a man and twisted, tearing it off his head.

The roaring went wild. "Reap-er! Reap-er! Reap-er!" they chanted.

And soon I realized I was hyperventilating. Mercer wasn’t among the men standing. I couldn’t see him!

I didn’t want to, but my eyes lowered to the bodies in the sand. One. Two. Goddess, please. I stopped my count at seven. Because the eighth body moved, stumbling to his feet drunkenly, red hair caked in sand.

My hands flew to my mouth. A strangled sob tore from my throat before I could stop it.

Mercer looked half-dead.

He was so horribly beaten, it was hard to place his face behind the cut, the scrapes and swollen skin.

He was in tatters and gashes, drenched in his own blood. His body swayed like he was going to fall but he hung back, shaking his head free of grit and raising his hands in a too-loose defensive stance.

It sunk in then that a fight to the death meant only one person came out of that cage alive, and Mercer was right in the thick of them.

The man called Reaper slammed a brass-knuckled fist straight into Mercer’s jaw and I gasped as Mercer’s head snapped back, blood spraying across the red sand.

But he didn’t even raise his arms to block the next blow within his line of sight when another fighter lunged, driving a knee into his bleeding ribs.

I heard the crack of bone.

"Mercer!" I cried, lunging forward and slapping my palms flat against the heavy iron mesh separating us from the pit.

But Mercer’s green eyes were completely unseeing, glassy and dead, as if his soul had already vacated his body. He was letting them hurt him. He wasn’t even trying. It was as though he wanted to die and was looking for the most painful way out.

Terror gripped me as I yelled his name again, but my voice got covered by thw roaring mob.

I glanced left at Quinlan.

He was slurping on a plastic up that smelled like booze, looking unbothered as he watched the fight from over the cup’s edge.

"Do something!" I screamed at him.

He thought about it for a second. Glanced down at his shirt. "This was a gift from Violette. I’m not getting it dirty by going in there. Besides, you said you didn’t come back for us. I thought you might want a front row seat on how good it gets when you leave." He grinned, flashing me his fangs. "Lovely show, isn’t it? Who knew gore could be such fun?"

I couldn’t help but stare at him. "Have you lost your mind?! He’s going to die in there!"

But he had gotten distracted by a new cup of booze. "Oooohhh," he purred pleasantly, sniffing deeply into the cup. "French? Parfait."

I got the impression Quinlan didn’t give a rat’s ass if Mercer was dying.

He was simply gone... not.

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