Chapter 170

I snap my eyes back to my uncle and a rush of gratitude runs through me that he’s not lying or sugar coating this to make me feel better. “Luca could get seriously hurt if he fights,” Roger says, holding my gaze.

“Well, don’t let him fight!” I gasp, spinning back to the edge of the box, leaning over it and staring horrified at Luca, who pushes himself up from the ropes and moves to the center of the ring, where the Atalaxian boxer is moving as well.

Rafe grabs my arm, holding me back. “It’s too late, Ari,” Rafe growls. “He’s clearly taking the fight. He knows what’s at stake. He’s seeing what we’re seeing and he knows what it means – better than we do, surely. But clearly, he’s taking it.”

I watch in horror as Luca steps close to the Atlaxian champion, staring with grit up into his face, Luca’s arms hanging loose at his sides. There’s confidence in every line of him – so much of it that it makes me second-guess how freaked out I am.

Luca – he’s stubborn, but he’s not stupid, right?

If this match gave him no chance to win – surely he’d back down.

Right?

“Maybe we’re over-reacting,” Jesse murmurs, glancing between me, and Rafe, and the rest of our family and friends. “Luca’s beat bigger guys before – he kicks your ass all the time at school, Rafe.”

“Jackson too,” Ben adds, stepping closer and glancing at me, I think wanting to offer support and encouragement. My eyes go up a little bit at this – Luca beats Jackson?

“Yeah, he beats us in boxing, because Luca’s a trained championship boxer,” Rafe says, casting a hand out towards the ring. “Just like that guy right there. The size difference means more when they both have the same education and experience.”

Ben just shakes his head, crossing his arms. “Luca is…a bulldog,” he murmurs, staring down into the ring. “I hear what everyone’s saying – but Luca’s fast, and he’s determined. Small guys win fights all the time. I’m not counting him out just yet.”

I find my gaze following Ben’s, focusing on my mate down below as he stares up at the Atalaxian champion, both of them listening to the ref’s instructions and nodding their agreement to a fair fight.

I jump a little as the Ref claps his hands, hard, once, and then Luca and the Atalaxian champion spring away from each other, tapping their gloves against each other just once before moving to their respective sides of the ring.

And then the bell goes off, and my spine stiffens, and my eyes go wide as I place my hands on the wall of our box. Because the debate is over now.

The fight has started.

And for better or worse, Luca’s in it.

The announcer’s voice comes over the loudspeaker, speaking so swiftly that he almost sounds like an auctioneer. As Luca and the Atalaxian circle each other, the announcer quickly gives a short biography of both. Luca’s I know – but the Atalaxian’s history as a decorated soldier on the front line of the war?

That does nothing to settle my nerves.

Suddenly, the two boxers engage, and I gasp at the speed with which they move. The Atalaxian’s right arm shoots out, quick as an adder, heading right for Luca’s head –

But Ben was right, and my face bursts into a smile when I see that Luca is faster than he is. Luca ducks low, letting the arm float over his head, and then uses the power of his crouch to launch himself back up, twisting his body and swinging a mighty left hook directly into the Atalaxian’s face.

The Atalaxian goes stumbling and the crowd suddenly roars for Luca, me with them. Luca – my bold mate – laughs, of all things, watching his opponent gain his feet. Hope and faith swells in me then, as well as guilt for doubting him –

Because Luca, abandon a fight just because the other guy is bigger than him?

Well, he’s never done it before. Why would he start now?

When the Atalaxian finds his feet again, Luca’s face falls into more serious lines and he puts his fist back up, getting back into is serious boxer’s stance. The two continue to dance around each other, trading what feel like more cursory, experimental blows, each of them looking for an opening.

I glance up at Jesse, and then at Rafe, always returning my eyes to the ring, not wanting to miss any of it. “What are you seeing?” I murmur, wanting their opinion.

“Luca’s a better boxer,” Rafe murmurs back, and my eyes flick to the right when I see Daphne move closer, squeezing in front of Rafe so that he looks over her head. He puts a casual hand on her waist as she moves closer to me, pressing her arm briefly against mine to let me know that she’s here.

I give her a little smile, grateful for her support, and then turn my attention back to my brother.

“Luca’s better?” I ask, looking back towards the ring. “How do you know?”

“Watch how he moves,” Rafe instructs, and I do as I’m bid. “See how Luca’s always one step ahead? He knows what the Atalaxian is going to do before he does it.”

I watch carefully and blink when I realize that Rafe is right – that Luca’s running the show down there. Every time the Atalaxian swings his fist, Luca’s already on it – either dodging the punch, or twisting to absorb it on his side, or taking the hit and using the opening to deliver a more powerful blow himself.

I lean forward, eager, watching Luca deliver a seriously powerful set of three jabs to the Atalaxian’s face, so fast that his opponent barely has time to register them before they’re all delivered. The Atalaxian stumbles back, blood dripping from his nose, and the crowd goes wild as the ref steps in – putting his hands out between them so that the Atalaxian has a moment to wipe at his face.

Luca takes that moment to turn towards the crowds, raising his fist up and shouting out at all of us, raising a huge cheer from the vast majority of the people in the stadium – indeed, only the Atalaxians are silent.

It’s only then when I realize that we’ve all been so quiet – and that Luca noticed. That everyone noticed that the foreign champion outweighs Luca, and that Luca’s chances got a lot harder. That we all got worried and lost a bit of faith.

But Luca – he’s not letting that happen.

As the Atalaxian puts his fists up again, Luca shouts out to the crowd, raising his hands, asking for their support. Our nation’s people give it, instantly, loving our champion for his spirit and his skill. Only when we’re cheering again at that fever pitch does Luca turn back to his opponent, and I can almost feel the excitement and bloodlust pulsing through my mate’s veins.

I grin down at him, bolstered, excited again.

My mate – he’s going to win this.

I can feel it.

Only Jesse’s tension at my side throws me off.

“What?” I ask, glancing up at Jesse, who has his arms crossed and who isn’t cheering along with the rest of us as the round continues. “What’s wrong? What are you thinking?”

He glances at me and shakes his head. “Luca’s the better fighter, Ariel, that’s absolutely undeinable.”

“So?” I ask, pushing him. He grimaces a little like he doesn’t want to tell me, so I smack him on the arm, getting frustrated. “Jesse! Tell me!”

He huffs a frustrated sigh and then glances between me and the ring. “Luca can be the better fighter, and have all the support, and be winning every round all he wants, Ari. But thirty pounds of muscle isn’t something to discount. One good hit – that’s all the Atalaxian champion needs.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, my face falling, my words breathless.

“I mean,” Jesse says, under his breath a little now, his voice almost guilty that he has to break the news to me this way, “that Luca can win every round in points, but if he gets knocked out?” Slowly, Jesse shakes his head. “Then, it doesn’t matter how good he is. The Atalaxian still wins.”

I bite my lip, turning back to the ring, anxious again.

I turn my eyes to the enemy now, watching him absorb blow after blow from Luca’s fists as if they’re nothing. His eyes are fixed, patient, on my mate’s face and body.

Waiting.

Waiting for that one opening – the only one he’ll need.

To deliver the blow that ends the whole thing.

“God damn it,” I whisper, suddenly terrified.

“We have to wait, Ari,” Jesse murmurs, stepping closer to me, wanting to keep the faith just as much as I do. “Twelve rounds. He just has to make it through twelve rounds, and he’ll walk away from this just fine.”

“What happens if he doesn’t make it twelve rounds?” I whisper, turning frightened eyes up to my cousin.

But Jesse just grimaces and turns his face back to the match before us.

His silence is answer enough.