ChaPter 2 - Carnival of Souls by Melissa Marr

46
The cur met Kaleb’s gaze, waiting for the cue. He was the
one Kaleb had been seeking.
When Kaleb nodded, the cur sauntered over to stand
underneath Kaleb’s hiding place and leaned casually against a
rough wooden post.
Kaleb crouched down and said in a low voice, “No claws
before third blood. Cut me ten percent of the take, and I’ll
guarantee it.”
The cur didn’t look up at him, but he flashed a toothy
smile and nodded. He didn’t call out yet, but he’d only be able
to wait for a few moments before attracting attention.
Side business complete, Kaleb hopped up and walked along
the crossbeam. Once he was far enough from the betting house
he’d tipped, he swung to the ground. Getting caught adjusting
odds wasn’t likely since he didn’t tip any betting house regularly,
and none of the houses were likely to submit him for judgment
for adding to their profits. If the other fighters had any sense,
they’d do the same, but too many of them were from castes
that didn’t think creatively. That, as much as their skills in the
matches, would keep them from changing their futures. Kaleb
was a cur though—a daimon species that was near the bottom
of the caste order. As a child he’d been even lower: he’d had
no pack. His parents had abandoned him, so he survived as
a street scab, too low to even have caste. Most such daimons
died; Kaleb hadn’t. He’d fought, killed, and endured until he
had the strength and power to earn respect on the streets. The
competition could enable him to achieve far more than that.