The Wolf dragged a hand across his chin and shook it, splattering blood across the floor, then landed a punch to the big man’s gut, but the next blow he took sounded like it cracked a few ribs. Alessa bit down on her knuckles.
The Wolf slammed a fist into the big man’s cheek and looked about to land a second hit when someone smashed a glass against the bars, sending glittering shards over him. The Wolf flinched and turned away, one hand to his eye. The crowd booed, and the announcer called for a time-out.
The Bear ignored the call. His opponent’s back was turned, and he slammed his fist into the Wolf’s lower back.
He dropped.
Alessa wasn’t the only one who gasped. The room seemed to hold its collective breath as the Bear stalked over to nudge the Wolf with his foot.
Alessa squeezed her eyes shut. She shouldn’t have stayed. She didn’t need another death to remember.
The crowd cheered, and she opened her eyes to see the Wolf struggling to his feet, shaking his head to clear it.
The Bear glowered at having his victory lap cut short. “Hit me, pup!”
“Hit him,” Alessa whispered, the plea echoed by others as they realigned their loyalties, exchanged new bets.
The Wolf cocked his head as if he’d forgotten why he was there, and the Bear launched himself again, only to meet an uppercut that snapped his head back. Stumbling, unsteady, the Bear shook himself, but the Wolf’s next punch came too fast. Another. And another. The big man spun, upright but bent, his back vulnerable.
“Hit him!” the crowd screamed, vibrating with anticipation for the moment the Wolf would take his revenge and deliver the type of blow that had felled him. Instead, the Wolf stepped back, arms loose at his side.
The Bear took a few halting steps and dropped to his knees.
The Wolf lifted his head.
The Bear bowed his.
Alessa remembered how to breathe.
The crowd roared, equal parts elation and disappointment, but the Wolf didn’t preen or savor his victory. He accepted a towel and used it to clean his face, blood staining the grungy fabric.
The gate opened, and he disappeared into the crowd.
* * *
It took an age to make it across the room, and she’d almost given up on finding him when she spotted the Wolf.
“—fifteen, not twelve.” He slapped a bloody hand on the bar. “Four matches, plus a bonus for being undefeated.”
The barkeeper glared, pausing his efforts to polish the scarred surface with a rag even dirtier than the wood. “Minus three for last night’s room and board.”
“For sleeping on the floor of the pantry? You can’t be serious.”
“Minus—”
The Wolf cursed. “At least give me a whiskey before you empty my pockets.”
“Sure, if you want to sleep in the alley.” The barkeeper looked over at Alessa as she settled herself on a stool. “What’ll it be?”
“Whiskey, please.”
“Good, decent, or cheap?” The man’s covetous smile revealed a graveyard of gray teeth.
“Good, please.”
His gaze lingered on her gloves as she counted out the price, and she grimaced inwardly.
In the city, covering your wrists implied you had something to hide. But here by the wharf, where so many bore the marks of exile, some preferred to keep the specifics of their crimes a secret. For once, wearing gloves didn’t automatically mark her as different, just another stranger ashamed of her past. But black leather as thin and smooth as satin didn’t belong in a place like this.
After carefully measuring a finger’s worth of amber liquid into a glass, he slid it her way, not bothering to hide the tattooed coins on his left wrist. Thief.
Alessa swirled the glass, watching the whiskey hug the sides, and inhaled the sweet heat before she took a sip. It wasn’t the best she’d sampled, but it wasn’t the worst. She snuck a glance from under her hood as the Wolf took the stool beside her. He’d pulled on a shirt but not buttoned it, and he was no less intimidating than before, scowling as the barkeeper served everyone but him. He smelled of fresh sweat, which should have been revolting, but wasn’t.
“I’ll buy his drink.” Alessa pulled two shiny coins from her pocket. “Your finest, please.”
The Wolf’s dark eyes flicked to her face. He accepted the glass, downed his drink in one swallow, and slammed the empty glass on the counter with a grunt she assumed was thanks. He, too, made no attempt to hide his mark.
Crossed knives circled by the seal of Saverio. Killer.
She shivered.