For the second time in a night, my achievements are contributed to nothing more than my appearance and men giving me more credit than I deserve because they want something else out of me. Fury threatens to lash out and it takes all my will to tamp down on it. I won't hit someone else out of anger. I won't be like her.

"Care to tell me who this enlightening soul was?" I ask through gritted teeth.

The man juts his thumb behind him. My eyes follow the direction to Darren. He cathces me looking at him and an ugly sneer twists his face.

"Seems like fine fellow," says the man. Kaya snorts.

The man picks up a lock of my hair, twisting it between his fingers. "I say the reason you're so popular here is simply because of your looks, which isn't a bad thing at all." He winks.

I slam the hand grasping my hair to the counter and grab his shirt, pulling him close. He smirks. "Now that's what I'm talking about." Eagerness glints in his dark eyes and I don't bother to hide my gag. He flushes an angry scarlet.

"If you're so ready to brush aside my accomplishments, then why don't you have someone make an offer for me? I'd suggest you do it yourself, but I don't fight pigs." I give him a hard shove and he stumbles backward.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll find someone to knock you of your high horse," he growls and stalks away.

I slide back to the ground and rest my head on the wall, my anger blazing. I've had enough of this. Of putting my blood, sweat, and tears into everything I do, just to have some ignorant arse say it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the wants of other men. I'll show him, all of them.

Kaya recognizes the expression on my face. "Cara," she cautions, her voice low. "Don't let him bait you, he's just another Darren. If you fight someone angry, you'll regret it. Wait another half hour and take on someone else's offer while you're calm."

Kaya, always the voice of exasperating reason. I blow out a frustrated breath, not caring how immature it is. "Fine," I grumble.

Not a moment later, we hear the Announcer. "Oho, we've got an interesting challenge here," he says enthusiastically. "Darren has called upon on a beloved champion, one who's been gone for quite a while."

Kaya glances at me. Uh-oh. We scramble to our feet and excited murmurs rise. I have a slight suspicion as to who the 'beloved champion' is.

The Announcer turns to the bar and all heads follow. The Announcer looks me in the eye and beams. "Lynn, you have been challenged by Darren. Do you accept?" Darren stands beside the Announcer, his new friend right by him.

Kaya gives me a warning look. "Don't do it." I shrug apologetically, and she tries again. "They want you to do this, to lash out when you're angry."

I look at her exasperatedly – we both know my answer. She sighs. "You're going to do it no matter what I say, aren't you?"

I touch her shoulder and smile. "You know me so well." I spin around and jump onto the counter. "I accept!" I yell, spreading my arms wide.

A roar of approval goes up, bringing a grin to my face. God, it feels good to be back in the spotlight. Of course, Wes has to come and ruin the moment. Shoving his way to the bar, he glares up at me. "Lynn, I said a couple hours. You've still got a half hour."

"What's thirty minutes going to change? You're being ridiculous."

Darren doesn't miss the exchange. "No surprise there," he scoffs. "Wes coming to Lynn's rescue. Even he knows she can't really go up against a real opponent." The man next to him smirks among the offended shouts hurled at Darren.

Not again. Hatred and fury bubble. I leap down and push Wes aside. "I'm fighting." I hiss.

The sea of patrons flow to let me through. I go up to the Announcer's pedestal and cross my arms. "I'm in."

He nods eagerly. It's been a while since two crew members have fought. Many, many bets are made, each vying for their favorite to win. "Shake hands," he addresses Darren and me.

Reluctantly, I oblige. Darren's hand is crushing, and he uses the moment to tug me a little closer. "Let's really put your skills to the test."

The animosity in his voice shocks me, sending a twinge of worry down into my stomach. I brush it away. "Gladly," I reply, my voice just as dark. I tighten my own grip then rip it away.

Darren marches over to the other side of the Pit as I take my place, directly across from me. I untie the rope and step through, tossing it back for someone else to secure it in place. Darren wastes no time kicking down the rope ladder and I do the same, scurrying down the twelve feet of packed dirt. I jump down the last foot, landing in the soft dirt. Brushing myself off, I see Darren pacing his side of the arena ten feet away, eager for the chance to come at me.

"Alright," the Announcer calls out from above. "You know the rules, so I won't repeat them and keep the crowd waiting. On the three the whistle will blow. One...two..."

Darren lunges at me before the screech of the whistle, but I'm prepared and dart to the side." The fight has begun.

Darren spins around, eyes burning with fury. I falter. Not once have I seen him look at me with so much hatred. He takes the opportunity. He tackles me to the ground and dismayed groans echo down to us. I twist my head, narrowly avoiding a punch to the eye. His size works at an advantage for him and I can't push him off. All I can do is block his fists as best as I can, but he lands a couple to my arms. His face right above me, Darren's eyes are even more terrifying up close. Encompassed with such rage and hostility. I've never fought anyone who looked at me with this much intensity. It's throwing me off.

I manage to land a punch to his jaw and he backs up a bit, allowing me to slip out. I scramble backwards and get to my feet. Darren growls at my escape, growls, and prowls towards me. My heart pounds to the beat of a thousand drums. Does anyone else see what's wrong here? How unusually aggressive he's acting? I can't help but think back to the smoke earlier, how I was the only who saw the crazed mob. What if it was just my imagination? What if my time away made me lose my touch, and I'm not used to the fights anymore? Is that why I feel like Darren's actions are unsettling?

The thoughts and doubts race through my head, battling for my focus. But I can't. I can't think about it. If I get distracted, I'll lose. And there's no way in hell that'll happen.

For a moment, neither Darren nor I move. Not wanting him to take the lead again, I race forward. My foot connects with his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to the ground. He doesn't stay down long. He shoots up feints to the right, but I duck and kick, swinging his legs out from underneath him. It's my turn to pin him down. My fists rain down on him, pummeling his face and chest and stomach. Darren throws me off. I roll away from him and jump up.

Someone cries out, but I don't look up. I keep my eyes trained on Darren. His back is to me, hunched over. I take a tentative step forward. Maybe he's had enough. Maybe he's about to surrender. Instead, Darren turns around and I see why the cry went up. The bright lights bounce off the metal in Darren's hand. A knife.

"Wait!" The Announcer shouts. "We haven't sanctioned this as a weapons match. Disqualification depends on your opponent, Darren." The Announcer shifts to me. "Lynn, do you accept to turn this into a weapons match?"

Squinting up against the glaring lights, I can make out Kaya behind the Announcer, frantically shaking her head no. My eyes drift to the black-haired man, a challenge written in his face. He doesn't expect me to continue.

Sorry, Kaya. My own knife appears, twirling through my fingers. I raise my arm up. "I accept weapons!"

A deafening roar replies to my claim and the Announcer whistles. I focus back on Darren. And not a moment too soon. He rushes toward me, his long, jagged blade flashing through the air. I sprint along the perimeter of the arena, leading Darren on a chase. I roll right into the center and Darren starts, not expecting the sudden change of direction.

It doesn't slow him much and he effectively follows after me. Hollers and jeers stretch down to my ears and I try my best to block them out. Then I hear, "Take out those pretty green eyes of hers!"

I don't need to look up to know the voice belongs to the man. Still, it distracts me for a second. That second is all Darren needs. His blade slices my arm. I can feel the jagged edges ripping my skin. I cry out and kick him in the side. The tearing of my skin stops, and I stagger back. I clutch my arm and blood trickles between my fingers. I switch my knife to my uninjured hand and watch Darren regain his footing.

I meet Darren's gaze and My blood runs cold. He wants to hurt me. We circle each other like predator and prey. What makes fear sear my veins is that for the first time, I don't know which one I am.

Finally, Darren makes the first move. He closes the distance at an unnatural speed and I barely dive out of the way. My hair is pulled back and I throw myself to the ground, taking Darren down with me. I meant to roll away and hold him down, but Darren grabs me first. He raises his knife above my heart, ready to plunge it through my skin. Dimly, I hear the Announcers frantic whistles and the crowd clamoring for the match to be called to an end.

At the last second, I jam the handle of my blade into his throat and he wheezes, dropping his knife. I twist to the side, narrowly avoiding being impaled. I slash at Darren's arm holding me down and he instinctively brings it close to him. Crawling out, I kick Darren in the stomach. Before he can move, my leg connects with his chest and he falls onto his back. I bring my knife to his throat and he holds up two fingers. Pointless, since out of the corner of my eye the rope ladders are thrown down and people race down to us.

"Lynn are you alright?" I lift my head to Wes standing next to me. I feel the eyes of the patrons boring down on me, wondering if the deadly match has shaken me. Refusing to show weakness, I simply nod and raise my bloody arm, signaling my strong victory. Deafening cheers fill my ears. Three of the crew drag Darren away. He doesn't put up a fight. As they shove him up the ladder, his sleeve rides up a bit and something strange marks his skin. A puncture wound, evidently recent by the drops of blood pooling over it.