The audience went wild. Adam and I jumped to our feet along with everyone else to cheer on the home team.
“Stomp your feet for the queens of pain!” the faery screamed. “The mistresses of mayhem! The Manhattan Marauders!”
The hundreds of stomping feet pummeled the aluminum bleachers. AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” boomed from the speakers. The Manhattan Marauders exploded from the locker room. Since Giguhl was their coach, the theme for their uniforms was “slutty.” Baby-doll shirts, pleather bandages masquerading as skirts, and ripped fishnets.
With Giguhl in the lead, the girls zoomed around the track, playing it up for the crowd. Even Mac, who usually accessorized her outfits with a scowl, seemed to be enjoying herself. She and Georgia skated next to each other, smiling and waving at the fans. Pussy Willow announced them by their Roller Derby names—Bitch N. Heat and Eva Fangoria.
When the team reached its bench, Pussy Willow did a quick spiel about the rules. While she spoke, Adam leaned in to me and said, “You seem more chipper tonight.”
I dragged my eyes from the rink. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Your shoulders are relaxed and you’re actually smiling. It’s nice.”
I laid my head on his shoulder. “Sorry if I’ve been bitchy lately. It’s just been a little stressful.”
He ran a hand over my hair. “I wasn’t complaining. We’ve all been stressed. But you seem… lighter somehow.”
“I guess I just decided to try out optimism for a change.”
He reared back in mock surprise. “You?”
I swatted his arm. “Stop.”
“Just kidding.” He chuckled and kissed my hair. “Seriously. It looks good on you.”
My conscience gave a slight twinge. I’d filled Adam in on the plan to trick Maisie into a dream incubation, but I hadn’t told him everything. Adam would freak if I told him Maisie tried to exsanguinate her maid—not only because it was forbidden by mage law but also because of the issues it would bring up about Adam’s own experience as Maisie’s unwilling blood donor
However, just to be safe, I had suggested he assign a Pythian Guard to her until the Imbolc festival. Adam thought the suggestion was just a better-safe-than-sorry measure. But I just hoped a potential witness might dissuade her from making any more stupid choices. Until we could get this shit settled.
In the meantime, I scooted closer to my man. Tonight was just for us, and I was determined not to let my sister’s drama—or anyone else’s for that matter—ruin it.
The shrill squeal of the whistle. On the track, the players who scored the points for each team lined up. Over the P.A. system, Pussy Willow identified the raven-haired faery for the Bloodletters as Scarlet O’Scare-a. The jammer for the Marauders was one of Slade’s nymphs, Pepper, who skated under the name Stankerbell. The black stars on their helmets identified them as players whose goal was to score points by skating past the defenders from the opposite team. Several feet ahead of them, eight other players—four for each team—bunched up in a group, ready to block the jammers with their elbows, hips, and fists.
The ref blew the whistle again and the pack of eight took off like someone shocked them with cattle prods. Not content to docilely skate along until the jammers got their whistle, the pack threw elbows, punches, and insults.
We all rose to cheer on the teams. Groups of spectators collected along the raised edges of the track, hammering their hands on the boards. My eyes wandered to the other side of the amphitheater. About halfway up the stands, I recognized a familiar face among the crowd.
I pulled on Adam’s sleeve. “Michael’s here.” I pointed to where I’d seen the werewolf Alpha.
“Hmm,” Adam said. He paused to cringe at a particularly vicious hit on the track. “Ouch! Wonder if that’s a good sign. Didn’t Mac tell Georgia she’d made some progress on that front?”
“I didn’t get a chance to ask her about it after their practice.” Giguhl had made good on his promise to put the team through its paces at practice the night before. When Georgia walked in, she looked like she’d been ridden hard and put up wet.
Adam shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out after the bout.”
I dismissed Michael from my mind and tried to focus on the match. Scarlet O’Scare-a had already passed two of the Marauders’ defenders. But Stankerbell was getting clobbered by the Bloodletters. Obviously, she’d been a last-minute substitution after Pussy Willow got banned from playing. Despite her extra padding, she already had a fat lip, a severe limp, and a vampire on her back. As they rounded the track, the vamp brought down her prey in a tangle of skates, limbs, and fangs. The ref’s whistle screamed through the arena.
But instead of stopping, one of the Bloodletters’ werewolves took a cheap shot at Georgia. She got an elbow to the nose and went down like a two-dollar whore. Mac burst into action before the ref could blow the whistle again. Mac jumped on the were with hands curled into claws. They rolled down the track in a flurry of fists and kicks. The benches cleared and the track broke out into an all-out brawl.
The crowd shrieked and strained for a better view. The air crackled with excitement and blood scented the air. Had this been a mortal fight, no doubt the violence would have been stopped fairly quickly. But the refs leaned against the guardrails, looking bored. I guess dark-races Roller Derby had a more liberal definition of unnecessary roughness.
I wish I could say things improved after that. But ten minutes later, the Bloodletters—yes, the entire team—were ejected from the fight. Where the refs could stand by during a fight, they couldn’t ignore the team pulling spectators from the crowd and beating them up, too.
Instead of cowing them, the ejection only seemed to appeal to their need for rebellion. The Bloodletters skated off with heads held high and their middle fingers raised in a final fuck-you to the crowd. The ref went over to Giguhl and raised his claw. Pussy Willow yelled into the mic, “And the Manhattan Marauders win!”
Mac put an arm around Georgia. The werewolf had two black eyes, a broken arm, and somehow lost her shirt in the scuffle. But their eyes shined from the surges of adrenaline and the good old high of kicking some ass. Georgia threw her arms around Mac and planted a long, sloppy kiss on her lips.
My gaze went across the arena to where I’d seen Michael earlier. “Uh-oh,” I said to Adam. I had to nudge him with an elbow to pull his attention from the lesbians.
“Huh?”
I pointed across to Michael. His face was purple with rage as he watched his sole female heir mugging down with a vampire in public. “Guess that answers our question.”
Adam blinked and looked. “Oh, shit.”
Oh, shit, indeed. Michael stalked toward the rink like a predator. Spectators who got in the way were shoved or thrown out of his path. The unsuspecting couple on the track had no idea they were about ten seconds from a confrontation with a severely pissed-off Alpha werewolf.
Adam and I exchanged a look. “Should we step in?” I asked.
His jaw clenched. “Shit. Let’s go.”
Michael reached them first. “What is the meaning of this?” His gravelly shout cut through the festive atmosphere like shrapnel.
Dead silence from the audience as the air tightened with anticipation. Despite the fireworks of the bout, they were eager for more drama. Judging from the volume of Michael’s ire and the veins bulging from his neck, they were about to get it in spades.
Mac jerked away from Georgia, flinching as if expecting attack. “Uncle Mike! What are you—”
He slashed a hand through the air. “I thought I’d surprise you and come support your new hobby.” He turned a distasteful glare on Georgia. “Who is this vampire?”
“This is Georgia Rousseau.” Mac stood straighter, her chin coming up. “My girlfriend.”
Michael’s hands curled into fists like he wanted to throttle his niece. By that point, Adam and I had skidded into the periphery of the circle forming around them. I took a step forward to intervene, but Adam grabbed my arm. Nearby, Slade and Pussy Willow finally reached the track. PW made a beeline for Giguhl. Slade looked torn about whether to intervene. Sure, this was his club and he’d spent years working to keep the packs in line, but he was no longer the official leader of the BLD. Besides, he knew better than to interfere in pack business. Everyone did.
“How dare you shame your pack like this!” Michael’s voice was low, but angry. “And your future mate!”
Mac’s voice shook with anger. “Logan Remus is not my mate.”
Michael’s eyes widened. “Of course he is. The paperwork has already been finalized with the Alpha of the New Jersey pack. According to werewolf law, you are already as good as married.”
“I never agreed to that!”
“Lower your voice, girl,” he snapped. My jaw clenched at his tone. I liked Michael, but the way he was speaking to Mac made me want to punch him. How dare he belittle her in public like that?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But you never asked me if I wanted a mate. The real reason I even came when you summoned me was to tell you about Georgia.”
“Yet, I had to find out this way?” His eyes narrowed. “Why is that, Mackenzie?”
Mac flinched and cast a guilty glance at Georgia. The vampire had wrapped her arms around herself and refused to look her lover in the eye. I couldn’t blame her. Mac had told her she’d already broached the subject with Michael.
“I was waiting for the right time. Look, I know I screwed up. I should have told you a long time ago. But I kept hoping you’d realize I had no interest in mating with a male.”
Mike threw his head back and laughed. “Then you were living in a dream world. Your first responsibility is to your pack. You know that. And as the only female in my bloodline, a good match is even more critical. I let you get away with putting it off for years, hoping you’d find a worthy male on your own. But my patience can be stretched only so far.” He crossed his arms and speared his niece with a stare. “Now, say good-bye to your friend. You won’t be seeing her again.”
