Fawn: A Dark Mafia Shifter Romance (Blackfang Barons Book 1)

by Elaina Jadin

  Ding dang dong.

  25

  Kade

  “I almost had you, wolf,” Nikolai insists as he passes me a bottle of water.

  I accept it with a grateful nod, ripping the cap off and chugging it down. The cold water hits my parched throat like nectar from the heavens. The adrenaline is still coursing through my veins, joining the endorphins of a good fight. It’s a near godlike feeling, emerging from battle, scarred and bloody, bruised and battered, but utterly, completely alive.

  “If you didn’t have that pretty piece of yours making those eyes at you,” Nikolai continues, “I’d have whipped your ass. But nothing makes a man fight harder than the watchful eyes of a beautiful woman.”

  I snort and toss the empty bottle towards the trash, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. All it does is smear the blood and water together across my face and my hand is bright red as I pull it away. The sight makes me grin.

  I always feel damn good after a fight like this. Brutal but respectful. Between the two of us, there will never be a sole survivor, unlike so many other fights that we’ve each endured in our lives. We’re too well matched. We know the only way our bouts will ever finish is with both of us standing, or both of us dead.

  “Maybe you should find yourself a woman, Nikolai,” I tell him with a jesting tone,” and test that theory of yours.”

  I hold out my hand as he bellows out a laugh before grasping it and tugging me to him. We slap one another hard on the back, paying no heed to the bruises we’ve inflicted on each other.

  “Go get nursed back to health by that gorgeous creature,” he orders with good humor. “And if she has a sister, be sure to let me know, da? Do svidaniya bol’shoy volk.” Until we meet again, big wolf.

  “Do svidaniya bol’shoy medved’.” Until we meet again, big bear. I step away, letting his people swarm to him.

  At the Tribunal, when a brutal match is called by time rather than other reasons, the opponents’ families always stay a respectful distance away, to give their alphas time to reconcile and ensure there are no hard feelings.

  But there can never be hard feelings between Nikolai and me. As kids, we had no one but each other. As we grew up, we helped each other find our families, and now the Barons and Zvers are allies forged by the bonds of brotherhood and blood.

  I move through the crowd with the ease of a wolf through the woods. The onlookers part before me, sensing how hot my temper still runs. I’ve never snapped after a fight—that would be disrespectful to both my pack and this esteemed venue. But others have in the past, tearing into the crowd at perceived slights and imagined threats.

  A wolf fresh from the fight is a dangerous wolf.

  I can still smell Jemma on my hands and face, even though both are covered with blood. Her scent is addictive, as though she’s a designer drug made specifically for me. The crowd surrounding me is filled with sweat, arousal, fear, anticipation, anger, and intoxication, but through it all I can only focus on that single scent.

  It’s like a traction beam, calling me to her almost uncontrollably, tantalizing the wolf inside. He’s been denied taking a life tonight, but it refuses to be denied her.

  In the car, I forced myself to be still, to be patient as she sat so close to me. I felt her relax, her trust growing, her nerves relaxing. I want her willing and ready when I make her mine, to crave my mark. I want her to need me as desperately as I need her.

  But I’m never one for taking things the easy way. I crave the hunt—the harder and longer the better. I want to stir the embers inside her until she’s on fire, to awaken her instincts and provoke the fight I know she can give me.

  I haven’t even tasted her, and I already know I’m not going to be able to get her out of my system. Once I have her, she’ll always be mine. If she ever tries to leave, I’ll go to the ends of the earth to find her, and bring her back.

  Someone clips my shoulder, and I grab them instinctively, a growl emanating from me. I only growl harder when I see that it’s Bryan. I shove him back and he slams against the concrete wall, his eyes widening at the sudden assault.

  A second later, my nose twitches and my wolf snarls at the scent that overrides everything else—the smell of her on his clothes, and the particular fragrance that tells me she was terrified.

  How he was able to get within sight of her, I don’t know. But if he laid so much as a single finger on her, there will be no mercy. I’ll rip him from limb to limb right here.

  Bryan slides along the wall another foot away from me as he sees the look in my eyes, and he raises his hands in supplication. “I just talked to her, that’s all. I didn’t touch her,” he assures me quickly, but there’s a smug glint in his eyes that sets me on edge.

  My lips curl into a snarl. “If she tells me differently, I will end your life.”

  “I swear—I didn’t put my hands on her,” he professes. “I didn’t even talk to her that long. She was in the middle of losing her shit.”

  I don’t need a goddamn mental health report from him. “What the fuck are you doing here, Bryan?”

  “I got invited.” He spreads his hands with a shrug. “It’s all cool, man. I have friends other than the Barons.”

  My stare is cold, hard steel. “It’s not all cool. We aren’t your fucking friends—and you should keep your distance if you value your life.”

  “Damn, calm down.” Bryan’s eyes rake over my blood spattered face and chest. “Looks like you won your fight. But you might have to save your celebration for another time—I doubt you’re getting much fun out of Jemma tonight.”

  I stalk forward and Bryan frantically backs away as my fists tighten. “What did you fucking do to her?”

  “Nothing, man,” he says, cowering, his arms covering his head. “I’m just saying, she’s a dead fish after she has one of her freak outs, just laying there with vacant eyes, like a broken doll. But hey, maybe you like that, I dunno.”

  Sometimes, all I can see is a field of red targets painted by the rage that burns inside me, ready to be unleashed on my adversaries. I see the moves they broadcast as they try to deliver blows, where their weaknesses are, the weapons in their arsenal and how skilled they are in using them.

  Other times, all I feel is a deep, shadowy chill. I only hunger for the harsh, swift death of my enemy, to feel the satisfaction of life slipping from their bodies under my bare hands. That is when I’m at my most dangerous.

  And right now, as I look at Bryan, my blood is black ice.

  “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t tear your heart out of your chest right now.” My voice is so full of wrath it comes out as a deep, rumbling tone, like thunder.

  “Because she’d never forgive you,” he answers. Even though I can smell his fear, that smug look never disappears. “I’m all she has ever had. Your kind ended the lives of her parents. Do you really want to be the one to take away the only other person she has?”

  I glower at him. “You think far too highly of your importance in her life.”

  “Perhaps,” he says, slowly straightening up. “But if you kill me, you’ll be no different than the Latians in her eyes—savage beasts who enjoy slaughtering humans.”

  He backs away from me until he joins the sea of bodies moving through the concourse. With great reluctance, I let him go. I hate that I can’t kill him right here.

  With dozens of different groups gathered in one place, many with long-standing feuds, there are strict laws enforced at Tribunals. To avoid complete anarchy, bloodshed is to be kept inside the fighting ring only. Any other violence will result in expulsion of the families involved. It would be a great dishonor for a pack of our standing to be kicked out, especially since much of our business revolves around these fights.

  But the rules do nothing to soothe my irritation as I watch Bryan walk away. As he pushes through the throng of shifters, I see two wolves separate from the crowd and follow him from a distance, slinking away.

  My eyes narrow at the sight. It wouldn’t
surprise me if Bishop had ordered a tail on Bryan, but those weren’t Baron wolves. Bryan either has a new enemy on his ass, or he’s up to something. Either way, Draven and Bishop need to know.

  I take the steps up to our private balcony, two at a time, eager to get an update from Bishop. When I arrive, I see that several of our business associates are lobbying for the attention of my fellow alphas, but Jemma isn’t with them. She must be in our private suite—it’s the only place Draven would have let her go.

  Speaking of the devil, he rises to his feet as soon as he sees me, stepping away from the cluster of shifters and men seeking his counsel and our business. We confer at the corner of the balcony, out of earshot.

  Draven answers my question before I can ask. “She’s in the suite.”

  I nod, eyeing the empty chair beside Draven’s. “I figured. How’d she do?”

  “About as expected. Made it until the end of your fight,” he says, his expression completely unreadable. Whether he’s impressed or disappointed, I can only guess. “We have men posted in the hallway and at the door of the suite.”

  “Good. Because that fucker—”

  “Bryan. Yes, I know,” Draven says, a snarl of fury in his tone. “One of our men thought he saw him slinking through the hallway near our private suite, hence the added security now.”

  “It was definitely him,” I say through clenched teeth. “I ran into the asshole and he was practically bragging about it. It was all I could do not to smash his face in, explosion from the Tribunals or not.”

  Draven’s nostrils flare with outrage. “Someone’s going to pay dearly for letting him get within a hundred yards of our territory, that’s for fucking sure.”

  My hands curl into fists. “Apparently he had a little tête-à-tête with Jemma in our hallway.”

  “Is that so? Well, he’s drawing his last breaths right now,” Draven assures me, his dark eyes glittering with malice. “The fights will be over soon, and this arena will no longer serve as his protection. I warned him not to show his face before her time with us was up.” He purses his lips and raises an eyebrow, as though he regrets the situation.

  But I know better. He barely let Bryan live long enough to walk out of our building the night he delivered Jemma to us. Bryan should have run out the door as fast as his legs would carry him, and kept running until he was nothing but a speck of dust in our memories.

  Stupid, stupid man.

  “Two wolves were following Bryan,” I tell Draven. “They kept their distance, so I couldn’t tell if they were with him, or keeping tabs on his ass.”

  Draven’s lips curl with hatred. “Something tell me they’re fucking Latians. We’ll know soon enough—we have a team tracking Bryan’s ass down as we speak. The second he steps foot out of this stadium, he’s ours.”

  I lick my lips, the satisfying metallic taste of blood washing over my tongue. But it’s not Nikolai’s blood I crave right now. “I’d love the honor of ending his miserable existence,” I tell Draven. “I’ll decorate the parking lot with his flesh and bones.”

  “You’ll have to talk Bishop out of his plans, then,” he says, turning to nod at our fellow alpha. “He’s already preparing for a prolonged torture.”

  Over Draven’s shoulder, I catch Bishop’s eye and jerk my chin up with a silent question—everything good?

  From the look he gives me, I know he has some information to share with me. But that can wait. Right now, I need to put eyes on Jemma.

  26

  Kade

  When I push open the door, I pause. I can’t see her, but I can smell her, and I’m on alert. Her terror permeates the room, and the wolf demands to destroy those who’ve posed a threat to her.

  A quiet sob, less of a sound and more an inhalation, reaches my ears. Her high heels and the fur cape are discarded haphazardly on the ground, looking almost as though she’s vanished into thin air. But there are very few places our little fawn could hide. It’s clear she’s not under the desk, and even though she’s small and flexible, I can’t imagine her shoving herself into one of the cabinets under the wet bar.

  Cautiously, I approach the far corner, the direction the sob came from. I move slowly, as though she’s a skittish animal who’ll bolt away if I approach too quickly. For all I know, that’s exactly what she’ll do the second she sees me. I almost regret not taking the time to clean the blood off of my body.

  “Jemma,” I whisper, crouching down next to one end of the couch.

  I’ll have to climb over it if I want to reach her, but I can see her well enough when I peek through the narrow space between the couch and the wall. She’s wedged into the corner, curled against herself, hugging her knees tightly, her whole body vibrating like a taut coil, ready to explode.

  When she explodes, what will it look like? Has she ever let herself unleash all that fury she’s holding inside? Or does the sorrow and shame always consume her first?

  She tucks her legs in tighter at my voice, shivering. Instead of fear, though, I can almost taste her anger.

  “What happened?” I keep my voice low, but I cannot stop the edge in my tone, the demand of the wolf to know.

  After a few long, protracted moments, she answers. “Everything.”

  Well, that’s not helpful. “Fawn.” There’s more of a threat in my voice this time, and she finally lifts her face to look at me.

  Her eyes go wide as she takes me in, and once again I wonder if I should have washed off first. But the moment of fear is replaced by a fiery glare.

  “You all know what fucking happened to me. To my parents.” Her voice is raw, and she slowly uncurls as she talks, the anger in her expression deepening. “Then you bring me here and there are… there are… fucking wolves everywhere.”

  “Yes, there are.” It’s an acknowledgement more than anything, just to give her something to respond to, to keep her talking.

  “It’s fucked up. You’re fucked up—all of you.” She rises to her feet, her voice growing louder, tears falling from her eyes. “Why? Was this some form of perverse torture you all get off on?”

  Jemma climbs over the back of the couch, swatting my hand away when I offer it. Even standing on the couch cushions, she’s barely as tall as me. Her face is flush, her cheeks red with emotion, her hair, once swept back so tidy, is loose and flowing around her now. She looks gorgeous in her fury.

  “I was fine before I met you three.” Her fists ball up, and I wonder if she’ll get angry enough to lash out. Hell, I want her to.

  “Were you, though?” Now I’m straight up antagonizing her. But it’s a serious question, too.

  “I wasn’t happy, but who the fuck is happy all the goddamn time? I was fucking fine, I was dealing. I was surviving. I’ve only ever just survived since that fucking night. But now?” Her voice breaks and she lets out an anguished sob. “But now, now I’ve experienced something different, and I can’t undo that.”

  Taking one step closer, I lower my voice and ask, “Do you want to?”

  “Yes, I want to!” she yells at me before she turns and starts pacing on the couch, her hands gesturing wildly, the red satin ribbon Draven placed on her arm shining softly in the dim light.

  “Because this isn’t real. It’s not my life, it’s just this temporary bullshit and I hate, fucking hate myself for knowing that after all of this, I’m probably going to crawl back to my miserable fucking life and that miserable fucking stage and be miserable for the rest of my miserable goddamn life.”

  I can’t help but smile at her rant, and how flustered she is, her feet constantly moving back and forth across the cushions with righteous indignation as she repeats herself. She’s so goddamn hot right now.

  She glares at me, tears scorching her cheeks, her chest heaving. “What is so damn funny? Do you get off on this—seeing how broken and messed up I am?”

  I shrug, still smiling. I love that despite her righteous anger, despite shedding the wolf pelt and her shoes, she still has that ribbon on. The one that says
she’s ours. “No. I was thinking you’re really fucking sexy when you’re mad.”

  It’s not the answer she expected, and it throws her off for a second, but she recovers quickly, planting her hands on her hips. Her gaze shoots daggers at me, but she can’t hide the fresh scent of pheromones that waft from her heated skin. “You’re a first-class asshole, you know that?”

  “I do,” I tell her with an agreeable nod. “Bishop tells me at least once a day.”

  “Fuck you,” she snaps, crossing her arms. “This isn’t funny.”

  “I never said it was.”

  Jemma stares me down, as if demanding justification of her shitty life. Demanding answers for her own actions, her own choices. I know she’s not mad at me, like Draven knew I wasn’t mad at him all those years ago. So I offer her the only thing I can—the same thing Draven offered me back then.

  “You don’t like your life? Then fight for something different.”

  She scoffs and shakes her head with a bitter laugh. “Like you, out there in the ring? Beating the fuck out of people for the hell of it. Is that what I should do?”

  “Everyone has needs. Mine includes bloodying my fists.” I stop short of telling her that if she wants to give it a try, I’d be more than happy to rip that dress off her and wrestle her to the fucking ground.

  “It’s that simple, huh?” She bounces on the couch, her tone filled with outraged incredulity. “Just use my fists to get what I want. I suppose I should have fought the wolves that night, too, right? Then my parents wouldn’t be dead, is that it?”

  I shrug, spreading my hands unapologetically. “If that’s what you believe.”

  Jemma narrows her eyes at me. “It’s not about what I believe!”

  From the way she rolls her shoulders and rakes her nails across her skin, I can tell she’s so agitated now that she can barely stand the anger burning through her. I know that feeling. It makes my muscles ache and my skin itch with the need to move, to punch something, anything.