Witch’s Promise (Shadowguards #3.5)

8. Sean

Chapter 8

Sean

S ean stared at his reflection in the grimy mirror, the dim light of the dressing room casting harsh shadows across his face. Christ, he looked like shit. Dark circles under his eyes, a nasty bruise blooming on his left cheekbone from last week's fight. But hey, at least he was still standing. Which was more than he could say for the poor bastard he was about to face in the cage.

A heavy knock on the door made him flinch. Fuck, he was jumpy tonight.

"You're on in five, pretty boy," growled a voice that sounded like it had been gargling gravel. The club owner, an ogre who went by the name of Brick. Creative bunch, these underground types.

Sean grunted in acknowledgment, not bothering to turn around. Brick had seen him in worse states than this. Hell, half the time it was Brick patching him up after a particularly brutal match.

As the door closed, Sean let out a long breath, his eyes never leaving his reflection. How the fuck had he ended up here? From heir to one of the most notorious assassin dynasties to... what? A glorified pit fighter in Salem's magical underworld?

But he knew the answer to that, didn't he? It was the same reason he did everything these days. Guilt. Shame. The desperate need to feel something, anything, other than the crushing weight of his past.

Sean reached for the mask hanging on a hook beside the mirror. Black, nondescript, designed to cover the lower half of his face. His fingers traced the familiar contours, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. From one mask to another. At least this one was literal.

As he secured the mask in place, Sean felt the familiar shift. The persona settling over him like a second skin. In here, he wasn't Sean Drake, former assassin and disappointment to his family. He was the Ghost, the undefeated champion of the Salem underground.

Nameless. Faceless. Untouchable.

Sean pushed away from the mirror, rolling his shoulders to work out the lingering tension. His body was a map of scars and half-healed injuries, each one a testament to the life he'd chosen. Or maybe the life that had chosen him.

The hallway outside the dressing room thrummed with energy, the muffled roar of the crowd growing louder with each step. Sean could feel the anticipation building, a heady mix of adrenaline and dread that never quite went away, no matter how many fights he won.

As he approached the entrance to the arena, Sean caught sight of a familiar figure lurking in the shadows. The Elder, they called him. A wrinkled old fuck who looked like he'd been around since the Salem witch trials. Which, given the nature of magic in this town, wasn't entirely impossible.

The Elder's eyes met Sean's, a knowing glint in those ancient depths. It had been the Elder who'd found Sean, half-dead and fully drunk in some back alley. Who'd offered him a way out, or maybe just a different kind of cage.

"Ready to give them a show, Ghost?" the Elder's voice was surprisingly smooth for someone who looked like they'd been carved from ancient wood.

Sean nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The Elder had that effect on people, making you feel like he could see right through you, past all the bullshit and bravado to the broken mess underneath.

"Good," the Elder said, a smile curving his thin lips. "Remember, pain is just weakness leaving the body. And you, my boy, have a lot of weakness to purge."

Sean felt a familiar surge of anger at the words, but he pushed it down. The Elder wasn't wrong, after all. Every fight, every bruise, every drop of blood spilled in that godforsaken cage was a form of penance.

Tonight's opponent was something special, though. A Vargr, a wolf shifter known for his brutal strength and lightning-fast reflexes. Sean had seen him fight before, had watched those massive hands break bones like twigs. The guy was a fucking tank, all rippling muscle and barely contained rage.

Great. Just fucking great.

Sean took a deep breath, centering himself. He couldn't rely on brute force here, not against a shifter. No, this fight would require every ounce of skill and cunning he'd acquired over years of training.

As Sean stepped into the ring, the roar of the crowd washing over him like a wave, he caught sight of his opponent. The Vargr was already there, prowling the cage like the predator he was. His eyes, glowing with an unnatural amber light, locked onto Sean, a smirk twisting his features.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice boomed through the arena, "tonight's main event! In the red corner, weighing in at 250 pounds of pure muscle and fury, the undefeated beast of the cage, the Vargr!"

The crowd went wild, howls and cheers echoing off the walls. Sean could smell the bloodlust in the air, thick and cloying. These people didn't want a fight, they wanted a slaughter.

"And in the blue corner," the announcer continued, "the mystery man, the shadow boxer, the one, the only, Ghost!"

The cheers for Sean were more subdued, tinged with curiosity and maybe a hint of fear. Good. Fear kept you alive in this game.

As the referee called them to the center of the ring, Sean sized up his opponent. The Vargr towered over him, at least a head taller and twice as broad. Up close, Sean could see the barely contained shift rippling beneath the man's skin, fur and flesh battling for dominance.

The Vargr extended a massive hand, his smirk widening to reveal teeth that were just a bit too sharp to be fully human. "May the best beast win," he growled, his voice a low rumble that Sean could feel in his chest.

Sean clasped the offered hand, careful to keep his grip firm. No sign of weakness, not here. "We'll see who the real animal is," he replied, his voice muffled by the mask but no less challenging.

The Vargr's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them. Good. Let him be angry. Angry fighters made mistakes.

As they backed away to their corners, Sean ran through his mental checklist. He'd faced shifters before, knew their tells. The Vargr would be strong, yes, but also predictable. He'd rely on his superior strength and speed, expecting to overwhelm his smaller opponent quickly.

The bell rang, a harsh clanging that cut through the noise of the crowd. And just like that, the dance began.

The Vargr charged forward, all brute force and no finesse. Amateur move. Sean sidestepped easily, years of training kicking in as he landed a quick jab to the shifter's ribs. Not enough to do real damage, but enough to sting. Enough to piss him off.

The big man growled, spinning with surprising agility for someone his size. His fist whistled past Sean's ear, close enough that Sean could feel the displacement of air. Too close. He needed to be smarter, faster.

Sean fell into a rhythm, dodging and weaving, landing quick strikes where he could. He was careful not to rely too heavily on his own supernatural abilities.

The Vargr was getting frustrated, his attacks becoming wilder, more desperate. Sean could see the shift happening, fur sprouting along the man's arms, his features becoming more lupine with each passing second. Shit. If the Vargr fully transformed, this fight would get a whole lot more complicated.

Time to change tactics.

Sean planted his feet, bracing himself. As the Vargr charged in for another attack, Sean didn't dodge. Instead, he met the charge head-on, using the bigger man's momentum against him. It was like being hit by a freight train, but Sean held his ground, pivoting at the last second to send the Vargr crashing into the cage wall.

The crowd roared its approval, bloodlust rising to a fever pitch. Sean ignored them, focused entirely on his opponent. The Vargr was shaking his head, dazed but far from beaten. As he turned back to face Sean, his eyes were glowing with an inhuman light, a growl rumbling deep in his chest.

"You'll pay for that, little man," the Vargr snarled, his voice distorted by the partial transformation.

Sean didn't bother responding. Words were wasted breath in a fight like this. Instead, he settled back into his stance, ready for whatever came next.

The Vargr didn't charge this time. Instead, he circled Sean warily, looking for an opening. Good. He was thinking now, not just relying on brute strength. This was the real fight, the battle of wits and will that Sean had been waiting for.

Fuck it. Time to show this overgrown puppy what he was really dealing with.

Sean launched forward, his body a blur of motion. Years of training kicked in, muscle memory taking over as he seamlessly blended Ninjutsu and Jujitsu techniques. His hands struck like vipers, targeting pressure points and weak spots with surgical precision.

But the Vargr was tougher than he looked, and that was saying something. The big bastard absorbed Sean's strikes like they were love taps, barely flinching as blows that would have dropped a normal man rained down on him.

"That all you got, Ghost?" the Vargr taunted, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down Sean's spine.

Before Sean could retort, the world spun. One moment he was on his feet, the next his back slammed into the mat with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. Shit. He'd underestimated the Vargr's speed.

"Fuck," Sean wheezed, rolling to avoid a follow-up stomp that would have caved in his chest.

As he scrambled to his feet, Sean felt a familiar rush of excitement. This wasn't just a fight anymore. This was a challenge, a true test of his skills. And damn if a part of him wasn't enjoying it.

The Vargr was coming at him again, all snarling fury and rippling muscle. Sean dodged, weaved, struck back when he could. They dance across the cage, a brutal ballet of fists and feet and barely contained savagery.

Minutes stretched into an eternity, each second a lifetime of pain and exhilaration. Sean could feel himself tiring, his reactions slowing by fractions of a second. But the Vargr wasn't faring much better. The big man's chest heaved with exertion, sweat pouring off him in rivers.

Something was off, though. The Vargr's movements were jerky, uncoordinated. His eyes flickered between normal and that eerie amber glow, like he was fighting some internal battle.

Shit. The fucker was holding back, trying to keep his wolf contained.

Sean's mind raced, weighing options. He knew from experience how dangerous a partially shifted werewolf could be. All that raw power, with none of the control. If the Vargr lost his grip, things could get ugly fast.

But maybe that was exactly what Sean needed.

"Come on, doggy," Sean taunted, his voice muffled by the mask but no less provoking. "Stop pussyfooting around and show me what you've really got."

The Vargr's eyes flashed, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. "You don't know what you're asking for, little man."

Sean spread his arms wide, inviting attack. "Try me."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then Sean saw it, the shift in the Vargr's stance, the way his muscles bunched and coiled. Here it comes.

The Vargr lunged, faster than Sean had thought possible. But this time, Sean was ready. As the big man closed in, Sean reached out with more than just his hands. He called on a power he'd sworn never to use again, feeling the familiar cold rush as the shadows around them responded to his will.

With a flick of his finger, tendrils of darkness shot out, wrapping around the Vargr's legs and yanking him to the ground. The big man hit the mat hard, confusion and anger warring on his face.

"What the fuck?" the Vargr snarled, struggling against his shadowy bonds.

Sean felt a twinge of shame at using his abilities. It felt like cheating, like falling back into old, dangerous habits. But he pushed the feeling aside. Sometimes, you had to fight fire with fire.

Or in this case, monster with monster.

The Vargr's confusion didn't last long. As understanding dawned in those amber eyes, Sean saw something else replace it. Rage. Pure, animalistic fury.

"You want the wolf?" the Vargr growled, his voice deepening, changing. "Fine. You got him."

The transformation was both beautiful and terrifying to behold. Bones cracked and reformed, muscles bulged and shifted. In a matter of seconds, where a man had been, now stood a massive wolf, easily twice the size of any natural canine.

With a snap of powerful jaws, the wolf bit through the shadow bonds like they were made of paper. Sean barely had time to brace himself before several hundred pounds of pissed-off werewolf slammed into him.

They went down in a tangle of limbs, Sean desperately trying to keep those snapping jaws away from his throat. He could feel the wolf's hot breath on his face, could smell the rank odor of its fur. This close, the beast's eyes were terrifyingly intelligent, filled with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

Sean's mind raced, searching for a way out. He couldn't overpower the wolf, that much was clear. And his shadow tricks weren't going to cut it against pure, primal strength.

As those razor-sharp teeth inched closer to his jugular, Sean made a decision. Fuck pride. Fuck fair play. He wasn't ready to die in this shithole cage, not when he still had so much to atone for.

Gathering every ounce of power he had left, Sean reached out to the shadows once more. But this time, he didn't try to restrain the wolf. Instead, he wove the darkness into a shroud, wrapping it around himself like armor.

The wolf's teeth met resistance, confusion replacing the triumphant gleam in its eyes. Sean used that moment of hesitation to strike, driving his knee up into the beast's soft underbelly.

The wolf yelped, more in surprise than pain, but it was enough. Sean managed to wiggle free, scrambling to his feet as the wolf shook off the blow.

For a moment, they faced each other across the cage. Man and beast, shadow and fury. The crowd's roars faded to a dull hum in Sean's ears, everything narrowing down to this moment, this opponent.

As the wolf tensed, preparing for another charge, Sean felt a strange calm settle over him. This was it. Do or die time. All his training, all his power, all his guilt and shame and desperate need for redemption, it all came down to this.

The wolf lunged. Sean stood his ground.

Time seemed to slow as the massive beast hurtled towards him, jaws open wide, saliva flying. In that moment, Sean felt a strange calm wash over him. This was it. Do or die time. All his training, all his guilt, all his desperate need for redemption, it all came down to this.

Sean moved, his body operating on pure instinct. He ducked under those snapping jaws, feeling the rush of air as they closed on empty space. His fist connected with the wolf's ribs, a solid blow that would have dropped a normal opponent. But this was no normal fight.

The wolf's claws raked across Sean's chest, tearing through his shirt and leaving fire in their wake. Sean bit back a scream, using the pain to fuel his next attack. They traded blows, man and beast locked in a brutal dance of survival.

Blood dripped into Sean's left eye, half-blinding him. His ribs screamed in protest with every movement, and he was pretty sure at least two of his fingers were broken. But he couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. Because stopping meant dying, and he wasn't ready to check out just yet. Not when he still had so much to atone for.

"Fuck," Sean grunted as the wolf's massive paw caught him across the face, sending him stumbling. His left eye was definitely out of commission now, swollen shut and throbbing in time with his racing heart.

Katelyn was going to kill him. If she could see him now, battered and bleeding in this godforsaken cage, she'd probably finish what the wolf started. The thought almost made him laugh. Almost.

But the fight wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

As the wolf circled, preparing for another lunge, Sean's hand moved to his sleeve. His fingers closed around cool metal, a reassuring weight. The silver throwing knives were his ace in the hole, a last resort he'd hoped he wouldn't need to use.

So much for fighting fair.

The wolf charged. Sean moved.

He launched himself into the air, his body twisting in a somersault that would have made his old gymnastics coach proud. At the apex of his jump, Sean's arm snapped out, sending the silver blade spinning towards its target.

Time seemed to slow again as Sean watched the knife's arc. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought he'd miscalculated, that the blade would miss its mark. But then he heard it, the sickening thud of metal meeting flesh, followed by a howl of pain that made his blood run cold.

Sean hit the ground hard, his body protesting the impact. But he couldn't afford to rest, not yet. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the screaming pain in his ribs, and turned to face his opponent.

The wolf was down, thrashing on the mat as the silver did its work. Sean moved quickly, pinning the massive beast with a hold that would have made his jiu-jitsu instructor beam with pride. He could feel the wolf's form shifting beneath him, fur receding as the man reasserted control.

"Stay down," Sean growled, tightening his hold. "It's over."

The referee's whistle cut through the chaos, signaling the end of the fight. Sean held on for a moment longer, making sure the Vargr was fully back in human form before releasing his grip.

As Sean staggered to his feet, the announcer's voice boomed through the arena. "Winner by submission, Ghost!"

The crowd erupted, a wall of sound that threatened to knock Sean off his already unsteady feet. He raised a fist in acknowledgment, playing his part in this fucked up circus. His eyes sought out the Elder, finding the old man standing at the edge of the cage. The Elder gave a single, approving nod.

Sean felt a surge of something. Pride? Disgust? He wasn't sure anymore. He'd won, sure. But at what cost?

The adrenaline was fading now, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and a catalog of injuries that Sean was in no hurry to fully assess. He needed air, needed to get out of this cage, away from the blood and the noise and the suffocating weight of violence.

Sean stumbled out of the arena, ignoring the back-slaps and congratulations from the other fighters. His feet carried him on autopilot, out of the building and into the cool night air of the alley behind the club.

The contrast was jarring. One moment, surrounded by the chaos and noise of the fight, the next, alone in the relative quiet of the alley. Sean's legs gave out, and he slumped against the brick wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the grimy pavement.

Fuck, everything hurt. His left eye was completely swollen shut now, and he could feel blood trickling from a dozen different cuts. His ribs screamed with every breath, and his right hand was already turning an impressive shade of purple.

Sean closed his good eye, letting his head fall back against the wall. He was dimly aware that he should probably get up, should find Katelyn or drag himself to a hospital. But moving seemed like too much effort right now. Maybe if he just sat here for a minute, everything would stop hurting so damn much.

"Are you okay?"

The voice cut through the fog of pain and exhaustion, jolting Sean back to awareness. His eye snapped open, his body tensing despite the protest from his battered muscles.

And there, backlit by the flickering streetlight at the mouth of the alley, was a ghost from Sean's past. A ghost with messy dark hair and concerned blue eyes that Sean would recognize anywhere.

Gabe.

For a moment, Sean was sure he was hallucinating. Maybe he'd taken one too many hits to the head. Because there was no way Gabe was standing in this shitty alley, looking at Sean like he was something worth worrying about.

"Ghost! Get your ass back in here. The Elder wants to see you."

Sean's head snapped around, catching sight of Brick's massive form filling the doorway back into the club. Shit. The Elder didn't like to be kept waiting.

When Sean looked back, Gabe was gone. The mouth of the alley was empty, no sign that anyone had been there at all.

Great. Now he was definitely hallucinating.

With a groan that was equal parts pain and frustration, Sean hauled himself to his feet. Whatever the fuck had just happened – hallucination, ghost, or cruel trick of fate – he couldn't deal with it now. The Elder was waiting, and Sean owed the old man too much to blow him off.

As he raised his hand to knock on the door, Sean allowed himself one last thought of Gabe. Of blue eyes and messy hair and a smile that had once meant home.

Then he locked it away, deep in the part of his heart where he kept all the things he couldn't afford to want. All the happiness he didn't deserve.

It was time to face the music. Time to pay for his victory.