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“When you said cage fights, I didn’t think you meant actual cages,” Harry said, eyeing the broad bars and meshed-in sides around the fighting ring warily.
“What else would I have meant?” Wikhn asked blandly, though his eyes were starting to take on a more reddish hue.
Harry’s lips quirked. Of course. He let Wikhn shuffle him closer to the large cages, into the front row. As Bonded, they had rights to the prime viewing seats.
Idan was already there and Harry greeted the other Gheyo happily before settling between his King and Queen.
“Where’s Minh?” he asked Idan, slightly surprised that the tall dragel was nowhere in sight.
Idan smirked. “Down below. Instinct was a bit high.”
Wikhn rolled his eyes, but he said nothing. Private about certain things he was, but even the Dark Fae would admit there was something about someone waiting by the gates for a good snog after the conclusion of a successful fight.
As long as anything more than a snog happened in private.
And really, it would be more than a bit hypocritical for him to complain when he planned to do the exact same thing when it came time for Hadrian’s fights in a few hours.
Provided the idiot won, of course.
The Gheyos straightened and Harry gave an appreciative chirp when Devrim entered the cage. He had stripped down to the waist—an unlikely move for any Gheyo, who lived and died by their armor—but an understandable one, when his torso began to shift.
First to appear were the spots, then the fluffy ruff around the back of his neck and furred ridge down the length of his spine. The muscles in his shoulders, upper arms, and back bulged and bunched together, giving him a hunched appearance.
“Pretty,” Idan murmured, but his silver eyes widened when a similar, larger, feminine form also entered the cage. He arched a brow and turned to Wikhn. “What’s the name of his opponent?” he questioned.
“Laya,” Wikhn murmured.
Idan smirked. This would be a really fun one to watch then, given his familiarity with that name. And suddenly, he wished he and Minh had switched places.