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And why was I so upset when I saw him getting beaten? I couldn’t stand by and let it happen. I couldn’t understand why Quentin seemed to give up without a fight. I had to do something to get him to retaliate. I yelled out his name but didn't expect him to react the way he did.
Ryot shakes his head as if to clear it and throws another punch. I don’t know a lot about boxing, but even I can tell that the big man is tiring. Quentin dances out of his reach, and with a litheness that lights a thousand fires in my bloodstream, he kicks Ryot's legs out from under him.
Ryot goes down with an earth-shaking thud. Without giving him a chance to recover, Quentin leans his knee into Ryot’s throat. Ryot struggles to rise. Quentin presses his weight down into his stance.
The crowd around me boos. Seems these people are on Ryot’s side. Time to even things out.
I cup my palms around my mouth and chant, "Quen-tin! Quen-tin! Quen-tin!" Next to me Zoey jumps up and down. “Go, Quentin!”
Quentin bends his head; his lips move. He seems to be talking to Ryot. Asking the giant if he’s ready to give in? At least, I think that’s what is happening. There’s an imperceptible nod from Ryot, and Quentin rises to his feet. He holds out his arm to Ryot, who ignores it. The hulking man straightens, his movements slow. He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, then brushes past Quentin.
He heads to the ropes, ducks under them, and doesn’t acknowledge the men standing there. A man who I assume is Ryot’s brother, going by the facial resemblance, holds out his T-shirt. Ryot grabs it, without breaking stride. He walks through the path that emerges when the crowd steps aside. He walks past me and heads for the exit.
Clearly, the crowds were there to see him in action, for they begin to stream out after him.
From inside the ring, Quentin lifts his head, and when our gazes meet, it feels like all of my breath leaves me. He takes a step forward, another. His jaw is hard, his forehead furrowed. Only, his eyes are clear. Those blue eyes flare with cold fire. His gait is purposeful. His expression determined. He reaches the ropes, and I back away. He ducks under them, straightens.
Knox walks over and hands him his T-shirt. He nods his thanks, without breaking our connection.
Not bothering to wear it, he stalks closer. I take in his massive shoulders, the width of his chest with the tattoo of the beating heart dripping blood on the skin over his heart, and tiny black triangles which peek out on either side of his torso. It’s almost like a serrated edge brackets his chest. Then there’s the brick-like musculature of his abs, with his dog tags nestled in the demarcation of his pecs, the concave stomach with the trail of hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans, the thick thighs which strain the fabric, and the bulge at his crotch which indicates the size of what this man is packing.
As he closes in on me, the scent of his sweat, mixed with the coppery tones of the blood splotched on his torso teases my nostrils. And below that is the pungent scent of woodsmoke and the freshness of pine, a confluence I recognize as uniquely Quentin.
When he comes to a stop in front of me, I tear my gaze from the part of him that has captured my imagination and meet his eyes. Oh my god! He’s more injured than I realized. I saw him take the hits; now I notice the impact of Ryot’s fists on his face.
Blood drips from a cut on his forehead, there’s a bruise on his cheek, and one eye is swollen. Why does it add to his allure? Why does it make him seem more magnificent?
He could be a conquering hero or a knight returning from a joust to claim his spoils.
In this case, me.
He inclines his head. "Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before." His voice is a harsh whisper scraping over my already sensitized nerve-endings.
"Poe." I swallow.
"Raven," he growls.
"You’re bleeding."
"Not nearly enough." His lips twist.
"You’re hurting."
Next to me, Zoey’s gaze ping-pongs between Quentin and me.
He nods. "More than you’ll ever know.” The lines around his eyes deepen. "What happened is a part of me. I have to live with the consequences of my actions."
I frown. “Is this about... about... what went down between you and Ryot?"
“Uh, I’m going to head out. Glad you’re, more or less, in one piece, Quentin.” With a small wave, Zoey peels off.
Quentin nods in her direction, then turns to me. His features shutter. “What do you know about what happened between me and Ryot?”
“Nothing. None of the details. Only that... uh... There’s a history between the two of you?”
Around us, the crowd thins further.
Quentin firms his lips. And when he glances away, it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it. I swallow down the disappointment that curdles my belly. Why did I think he’d unburden himself to me? After all, our relationship is superficial, at best. Still, this is the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen him. The anger in his gaze is aimed at himself, and it’s tinged with helplessness and hurt.
