City of Magic: The Complete Series by Helen Harper (book club recommendations TXT) 📕

I couldn’t suppress the thrill that ran through me at the prospect of my first real bet in months. Obviously I wasn’t going to take it until I knew more about what was going on, and such high odds immediately made me wary. All the same, this was the life I loved. I didn’t want to be the de facto leader of a bedraggled, whining community in an almost abandoned city that was suffused with dangerous magic; I wanted to be a fun-loving gambler who took unnecessary risks and didn’t worry too much about the consequences.

‘I can’t see much to make a judgment,’ I admitted to my new buddy.

‘There’s three of them,’ the wolf purred. ‘Young, strong, agile wolves the lot of them. He’s got the experience. They’ve got the enthusiasm.’

On my other side there was a derisive snort. ‘Enthusiasm is something he’s definitely lacking. He’s been beaten in every fight he’s had since Halloween because he’s got no enthusiasm. He wants to be beaten.’

‘Yeah,’ another interrupted, ‘but I heard he’s on borrowed time. A little birdie told me that Julian wants him out. In fact…’

I moved away. I suddenly knew exactly who they were talking about and I was not a happy little enchantress at all. So this was why Monroe was covered in bruises and too busy to hang around the Travotel with me. I grimaced. I had to see this with my own eyes.

Ignoring the tightly bunched spectators, I nudged my way through. Some lanky guy aimed an elbow at my face as I disturbed him. I didn’t think: I zapped out a bolt of magic and sent him stumbling back into others. They shoved him, yelling expletives. The scuffle gave me enough room to squeeze through to the front. What I saw there made me want to retch.

Monroe was facing off against three others who seemed to be working as a team to attack him. They were grunting and hissing, darting forward with jabs and kicks. Blood was streaming from a cut above his eye and his right ear had swollen to the size of a golf ball. I couldn’t call Monroe a fighter because he wasn’t fighting. He was barely defending himself, he just let them continue taking shot after shot. Every time another punch landed, the crowd cheered. Only a few people seemed to be on his side.

I stared, aghast. How could anyone allow this to happen? I knew that Monroe was in self-destructive mode as a result of his guilt-driven grief, but this was far worse than anything I could have imagined. This wasn’t a fight. This was torture.

When the dark-haired werewolf nearest to me kicked Monroe in the ribs brutally enough to make his legs give way, I couldn’t take it any more. I stepped forward as Monroe fell to his knees. Someone grabbed at my shirt, ready to haul me back. Monroe’s pain-glazed eyes registered the movement and he raised his head, shock appearing on his face when he saw me.

I brushed off the annoyance from behind and opened my mouth but Monroe shook his head. Screw him: I wasn’t about to stand by and let him be beaten to a pulp. It would have been one thing if he was actually participating but he wasn’t. He wasn’t trying to win; all he wanted was to get hurt to hide the real pain he was feeling inside.

I tilted my chin and raised my voice. ‘You have to stop!’

My words were immediately drowned out by the roar of the watching crowd. As soon as I started to speak, Monroe staggered back up to his feet. He deliberately moved to rejoin the fray to make sure that I wasn’t heard. His eyes held mine for a second, imploring me to keep out of the fight and keep my mouth shut. No chance. I’d use my magic to scream my way through this, if need be. This shouldn’t be happening.

Monroe blinked, as if recognising what I was about to do. It wasn’t resignation in his face, however: it was determination. He spun round, his leg kicking out at the three young pups. In the time it took me to draw breath, all three of them had collapsed. The middle wolf groaned and rose to meet Monroe once again. All he received for his efforts was a punch to the side of his head.

I hissed through my teeth, still sickened at what was going on. Monroe had let himself be used as a punchbag and was only fighting back because he knew I was going to interrupt. I watched for another short moment, then I turned away and pushed my way through the nauseating, voyeuristic spectators.

Julian was standing against a wall, his arms folded and his expression closed. I stalked up to him and jabbed him in the chest. ‘What kind of fucking place are you lot running here? How can you let this sort of thing go on?’ My fury was transcending just about every other coherent thought.

‘I’m not in charge here,’ he answered.

‘It looks to me like you’re in fucking charge!’

‘You’d be surprised.’ A muscle throbbed in his jaw. ‘Even with Monroe in the state that he’s in, people around here will still flock to his cause before they’ll flock to mine.’

‘The only thing people are flocking to is his demise! If he carries on like this, he’ll end up being killed! He’s grieving, Julian. He wants to be hurt. He needs help, not a fucking fist in his face!

‘Charlotte,’ Monroe drawled, his Scottish accent lilting through the air as he suddenly appeared next to us, ‘don’t blame Julian. He’s been trying to stop me fighting. He’s threatened to throw me out.’ He hawked up bloody phlegm and spat it on the ground. ‘Not that he could.’

Julian pushed himself off the wall. ‘Listen to her,’ he said. ‘You’re on a collision course with hell. This is not sustainable.’ He started to walk away. ‘And I will throw you