by Amy Green
Anna felt her stomach sink. She thought of Brody, his calm demeanor, his dark, shuttered eyes.
“The only son Charlie couldn’t control was Ian,” John said. “We thought his mother would come back, like she always had before, but she didn’t. She was an addict, so I sold her heroin and she overdosed like a good girl, getting out of the way. I blamed it all on Gus Wallace, so Ian wouldn’t kill me if he wanted revenge, and Charlie agreed. We thought that would do it.” He shrugged. “Ian just went in the wind, and we couldn’t even track him. Let me tell you, it drove Charlie crazy, not knowing exactly where Ian was. He imagined all kinds of things, most of them to do with Ian plotting to kill him. When he was glimpsed, now and then, nothing worked on him. Not fear, not greed, not the promise to rise high in the ranks of the pack. Not women, not money, not fatherly approval. Not anything.” He shook his head.
Anna was listening, fascinated and horrified. The world of the Donovan pack was darker than she’d ever imagined. “You sent Devon to kill him,” she said. “That’s why he attacked Ian. Isn’t it?”
“I ask you, what choice did we have?” Marcus said. “He was Charlie’s blood. He claimed he didn’t want to lead the pack, but what if he was lying? What if he changed his mind? We had no way to control him. He could have walked in, killed Charlie, and taken over. And we had no way to stop him. So he had to go.”
Anna squeezed the small piece of metal hidden in her hand. She was starting to see where this was going, and it made her afraid.
John Marcus grinned at her again, as if reading her thoughts. “But now everything’s changed,” he said. “Now Charlie is dead, and the Donovan brothers hate each other too much to agree on an alpha. And the most dangerous one, Ian, has a mate, which means he has a weakness. Now is my chance.”
Anna’s breath was coming short in her throat. Time, she needed to buy time. He thought the Donovans wouldn’t work together, but she had a hunch that maybe he was wrong. If they could all get past their stubbornness, their pride, and their habitual hatred of each other. She just had to buy as much time as she could. “What about Ronnie?” she asked him. “Can’t a pack have only one alpha?”
“Ronnie is none of your concern,” Marcus said.
“But you just said that sons are dangerous to an alpha if they’re not kept in line,” Anna said. “I think that applies to you, doesn’t it? Because Ronnie thinks he’s going to be alpha, not you.”
John Marcus leaned forward and grabbed her arm in a painful grip, hauling her to her feet. “That’s what you’re for,” he said furiously, his breath in her face. “Once Ronnie fights Donovan and kills him, he gets you. And while you keep him busy, I’ll get to run things around here.”
She stared into his hard, lined face. It wasn’t going to work—none of it. Assuming Ronnie killed Ian, the other Donovans wouldn’t stand by. And even if they did, she’d seen the craziness in Ronnie’s eyes. There was no way he’d let his father be alpha and take all the glory.
She wondered if John Marcus knew it wasn’t going to work. She wondered if he cared. After thirty years as Charlie’s second, maybe he didn’t.
Then he smiled at her, his yellow wolf’s smile. “Come on, honey,” he said. “It’s showtime. Someone’s going to die. Let’s go see who it’ll be.”
27
A cage had already been placed in the center of the stage in the town hall, though there was no trace of who had put it there. Ian and Devon searched the building, from the basement to the roof, but found nothing.
The rumor was going around that a fight was coming, a big one. Ian was familiar with the way this went. He’d been a fighter for a long time before he got put away, and there was nothing he knew better than the raw energy in a group of people, especially a group of shifters, when they knew blood was going to be spilled. They didn’t know whose it would be, and they didn’t care. They just liked to watch it happen.
The sky had darkened, even though it was afternoon, and snow had started again. Ian paced the building again as the crowd slowly built, starting in the basement and working upward, his senses on high alert. He had no idea what the fuck he was looking for, but he knew that he couldn’t sit still.
Twenty minutes to showtime.
He ended up on the roof. There was Devon, sitting there as the cold snow came down, watching the people below with his dark gaze.
“What is it with you and roofs?” Ian asked him.
“They’re always the best vantage point,” Devon said flatly. “Go get ready, Ian. You need to kill Crazy Ronnie Marcus in that cage and get this over with.”
“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Ian said. “Glad to know we’re a team.” He hadn’t heard from Brody or Heath, so he had to assume they hadn’t found the Marcuses. They were nowhere to be seen.
“You’re the fighter, aren’t you?” Devon asked. He never even looked in Ian’s direction, just kept his gaze trained down on the people below. “Go fight. Everyone wants a show.”
Ian stared at him. “You know,” he said, “the Marcuses think this is going to work because we all hate each other so much that none of you are going to back me up in there. That if I lose, I’m on my own.”
Devon was quiet for a minute, and then he turned and looked at him. “Maybe we won’t,” he said. “Maybe you are. That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? To be on your own? No father, no brothers?”
“Fuck you, Devon,” Ian said. His anger was strangely calm, compared to the wild panic inside him for Anna. “You tried to kill your own brother because Charlie told you to. What does that say about you?”
Devon looked away again. “I didn’t succeed,” he said.
“And you’re trying to tell me that was on purpose?”
“I don’t care what you believe,” Devon said. “I really don’t.”
“Right,” Ian said. “Well I have to go. I have to rip Ronnie Marcus’s head off, because he thinks he wants to be alpha.”
“Don’t fuck it up,” Devon said.
“You’re welcome,” Ian said, and left, descending the stairs so he could get in the cage.
28
The first thing Anna heard was the crowd. They were excited, worked up, ready for blood. The lights had been turned off in the main hall, except for the lights over the stage, where a cage sat. It was huge, perhaps twenty feet by twenty feet, made of metal bars crossed in an X pattern. At the front of it was a door with a heavy bolt—on the outside, so the men inside would be locked in.
John Marcus jerked her arm and pulled her through the crowd toward the stage. The fact that Anna was disheveled and captured, her hands tied in front of her, bothered no one at all. It was dark, and the crowd was so focused on the stage they barely looked at her. When they did, they seemed to think it was part of the show.
Which, Anna was realizing, it was.
Marcus pulled her to the steps at the foot of the stage and walked her up them. “Shut up, now, honey,” he said viciously in her ear. “No one’s going to help you, no matter how you scream. This is pack business. An alpha fight. No one cares about one human girl.”
On stage, he shoved her to her knees, facing the crowd. Anna struggled to stand again, but when something cold and sharp touched her neck, she realized he was holding a knife to her as he stood above her. It was her own hunting knife, which he’d taken from her boot.
“Shifter Falls!” Marcus shouted out at the crowd. “Are you here for a fight?”
The crowd cheered. Anna blinked out at them, unable to see any faces past the lights. She could smell sweat and beer and wolf. Where the hell were the Donovan brothers? She ran her thumb over the piece of metal she’d found in the storeroom, rubbing it secretly against the ropes on her wrist. She was going to have to save herself, and soon.
“Today’s fight is special,” John Marcus shouted over the crowd. “We lost our alpha eight months ago, and we’ve had chaos ever since. Well, I for one have had enough. It’s time we chose a new leader. And since we’re not a goddamned democracy,
it’s going to be a fight to the death.”
The crowd roared, happy for blood. Marcus was right—these people were not going to help her. They seemed not to care about the sight of a woman with her hands tied and a knife to her neck. If she ran, where would she go? How far would she get?
“The Donovans’ time is over,” Marcus shouted to the crowd. “Thirty years of Charlie Donovan, and what have we got? Violence in the streets, drugs, crime! Our women aren’t safe, and we can’t raise our kids! Donovan only left bastard sons. I was Charlie’s pack second. I know how to get things done. I’ve taught my son Ronnie everything I know, since I’m an old man now. And Ronnie and I have had enough. Tonight, Ronnie is going to fight Ian Donovan to the death. And when he’s done”—he wound a hand in Anna’s hair and yanked her head back—“Ronnie is going to claim Ian Donovan’s mate. Tonight, my friends, we have a new alpha!”
Another roar went up from the crowd, but this one was approval mixed with surprise and confusion. Anna held her breath and tried to work the metal against her ropes. The crowd was worked up, but they were used to Donovan leadership. Everyone had hated Charlie Donovan, but wolf loyalty was bred in the bone, and the people of Shifter Falls weren’t entirely certain what to do. This crowd could turn on a dime if he doesn’t keep control of them, Anna thought.
And then the question didn’t matter, because Ian climbed the stage.
He was wearing a pair of black boxing shorts and nothing else. His big body was clearly muscled under the stage lights, his chest big, his stomach flat and rippled. His gaze was fixed on Anna, his green eyes blazing. She knew he could see the mark on her face where Ronnie had hit her. She met his eyes and gave him a nod, trying to make it look confident. I’m not hurt. She could see that he was keeping the barest control of his temper as it was; if he thought she was injured, or worse, he might lose control. And that could turn this into a bloodbath.
He watched her nod, and his gaze traveled up to John Marcus, who still held her hair and the knife to her throat. “Let her go,” Ian rasped.
Marcus shook his head. “Fight Ronnie, Ian. Or she dies. That’s how this is going to go.”
Anna held her breath. Where the hell were his brothers?
Ian turned and raised the bolt on the cage door, swinging it open and stepping in. When he turned his back, she could see the scars she’d run her hands over last night. The wolf tattoo. The Donovan mark on the back of his neck. Ian, she thought helplessly.
As if he’d been waiting for his opponent to go first, Ronnie appeared, also wearing boxing shorts and nothing else. He bounced up and down a few times on the stage, his arms in the air, trying to whip up the crowd, as if this were all a game. He turned to Anna and gave her a deliberate wink, which was meant to enrage Ian. Then he turned and got in the cage.
John Marcus dragged her down the stage, then threw the bolt on the cage door, locking both men in. There seemed to be no ceremony, no referee, no official start point. Marcus just shouted into the cage: “Go.”
You ever seen a shifter cage fight? Ian had asked her once, while she was driving him to the Falls. It seemed like years ago now. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen. Those words hadn’t meant much at the time, but as Ian and Ronnie started to fight, she began to understand.
There were no rules. None. They circled each other, staring each other down, and then they attacked. They didn’t shift into wolves exactly—shifting was a private thing—but they reached some kind of inhuman half-wolf state, in which their speed was faster and their strength stronger than human. Ronnie climbed the bars, as if he weighed nothing; he hung suspended, snarling down at Ian, until he launched himself off and they rolled on the ground. Ian flipped Ronnie on his back, the impact making the stage shake, and tried to pin him; Ronnie scissored his legs and smashed Ian into the bars. It was swift, violent, and bloody, and Anna watched transfixed, trying to remind herself that Ian wasn’t human, that he could heal. If he survived.
The crowd was roaring, but the uneasy tension was still there—they were enjoying the fight, but they weren’t exactly cheering Ronnie. Anna wondered what would happen if Ian lost. Would there be a riot?
But every eye in the entire town hall was trained on the fight, including John Marcus’s. He was staring into the cage, shouting encouragement at his son. Anna sidled away from the knife he held at her throat—he didn’t notice—and sawed harder on her ropes. Just as they came free, she glanced up and saw Brody Donovan in the crowd.
He was standing still amid the jumping, cheering bodies around him, his hands at his sides, watching her. He looked sad and almost eerie, the only one not watching the match. She gave him a glare that said You could help, you know, you asshole, and then she broke her hands free, grabbed the knife from John Marcus’s hand, and jumped up, kicking him as hard as she could in the lower back.
Her foot connected hard, and Marcus was caught by surprise, knocked off-balance. He fell to the stage with a growl.
A heavy hand landed on Anna’s arm, and she turned to see Devon Donovan pulling her back. “Fuck, woman, you were too fast. That was my job,” he said. He let her go and grabbed John Marcus before he could get up.
“Dad!” Ronnie shouted, and in his split second of distraction, Ian pounced. He hit Ronnie hard, sending blood flying, then pinned him to the ground, twisting his arms painfully up behind his back.
“Give,” she heard Ian growl.
“No,” Ronnie said.
“Give, or I kill you,” Ian said again as the crowd shouted to the rafters.
“Fuck you, Donovan,” Ronnie said through the blood running from his nose.
Ian tensed.
“Wait!” John Marcus shouted. He was limp in Devon’s grip, his hands wide in surrender. “Let him go,” he said through the bars to Ian. “Let him go and take me.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Ian shouted. Sweat ran down his body, trickled down his back. “You’re a traitor, Marcus.”
“I give,” Marcus said loudly. “Take me and let Ronnie go, and I give.”
The crowd had stopped cheering. There were boos and catcalls and shouts, though Anna couldn’t make out the words. Her pulse was pounding too loudly in her ears as she watched Devon and Ian exchange a glance through the bars.
Then they both looked into the crowd at Brody.
Brody hadn’t moved. The expression his eyes was as unreadable as a statue’s. He put his hands into the pockets of his jeans, like a man waiting for a bus, and gave a quick nod.
“If we spare his life, he goes to prison,” Devon said, turning back to Marcus. “He won’t go free. Not ever.”
“I understand,” Marcus said. “Just don’t kill him. Please.”
On the ground beneath Ian, his arms still wrenched behind his back, Ronnie said nothing.
Devon turned toward the shadows behind the stage. “Heath,” he said. “Open the door.”
Anna watched Heath emerge from the edge of the stage as another ripple of surprise came from the crowd. This is a show, she realized, as she still clutched the knife in her sweaty hand. They can’t do this in private. They have to do it in front of everyone, to make it official. The crowd was rapt now, knowing that they watched the transfer of power of the pack, their collective future in the balance. It was barbaric and terrifying, complex and simple at the same time. Anna never thought of running; as Ian’s chosen mate, she was somehow part of this. She stayed where she was, though she kept hold of her knife.
As Ian kept hold of Ronnie and Devon kept hold of John, and as Brody watched impassive from the crowd, Heath stepped forward and threw open the bolt on the fighting cage. He swung open the door.
Ian hauled Ronnie to his feet. Ronnie sagged, his posture defeated, and Ian had to hold him up as Ian dragged him to the cage door. Devon dragged John Marcus toward them, opening his mouth to speak.
It happened so fast, Anna’s eyes only saw it as a blur. Ronnie wrenched from Ian’s grip and bolted down the stage toward Devon. But instead of attacking De
von, he wrested his father from Devon’s grip, all of it over in less than a second.
“There can only be one alpha, old man,” Ronnie said, and snapped his father’s neck.
Anna screamed.
The crowd roared its disapproval; there was going to be a riot in a minute. Ronnie dropped his father’s body and turned to Anna, his face snarling. Heath grabbed Anna and pulled her back, protecting her. Devon grabbed Ronnie and pinned him to the ground. He turned his head and looked at Ian, who had emerged from the cage. “Ian,” Devon said, his voice drowning in the sound of the crowd. “Make the kill.”
Anna felt Heath’s hands tense on her shoulders. “You may not want to watch this,” he said in her ear.
Anna blinked. “No,” she said. “I want to watch. I want to.”
“Your choice,” Heath said.
As the crowd dropped to silence, Ian crossed the stage and stood over Ronnie Marcus. “I sentence you to death,” he said, his voice carrying through the room despite its low growl. “For murder. For treason. For the kidnapping of another man’s mate. For disloyalty to the pack.”
Ronnie said nothing, and Ian didn’t give him a chance. He bent down and snapped Ronnie’s neck, just as Ronnie had snapped his father’s.
When Ronnie’s body went still and Devon let it go, Ian stood straight again. He faced the crowd. “I fight,” he said loudly, “in loyalty to my alpha, Brody Donovan.”
There was a hushed murmur of surprise.
Devon stood and took a place next to Ian. “I fight in loyalty to my alpha,” he said. “Brody Donovan.”
