by H. D. Gordon
A warm feeling near the pit of my stomach also indicated that if I were to shift my waist upward even a half inch, I would experience firsthand just how much of a rise I got out of him.
“Get. Off. Me,” I said.
The Hound grinned down at me, playful challenge appearing behind his blue eyes. His handsome face was deadly serious, though. “Make me,” he said.
Anger flooded my veins and I let my years of training take hold. Before he even finished issuing his two-word challenge, I’d managed to shift my leg so that my knee wedged sideways between our bodies, and with a maneuver dependent on skill rather than size, I rolled the Hound’s large body to the side, taking the dominant position above him.
My fist was flying the moment I had the advantage, and it connected with the right side of the Hound’s jaw hard enough to echo up my wrist and forearm at the impact. My other fist flew in from the opposite side, while I simultaneously drew back the first swing for another strike…
But the Hound caught my right wrist in his hand, and then caught my left in the other. Holding both in an iron grip, he jerked them behind my back, and my body pitched forward, my chest coming down to press flush against his own.
My breath was coming in gasps, my teeth bared with the further damage I’d intended to inflict.
The Hound held me easily in place above him, my legs straddling his hips, and grinned up at me. A bit of blood rolled down the corner of his lip from where my first punch had landed, and a sort of wicked excitement danced in his blue eyes. On the most intimate part of me, I felt his excitement peak in a wholly different way. Heat spurred in my stomach and down lower, but my fists were clenched in anger.
The Hound’s tongue flicked out and licked at the blood on his lip, his grin growing as my eyes followed the movement. His face was only inches from my own, his body hard and imposing beneath me.
“Did you like that, little Wolf?” he asked me. “Do like making me bleed?”
“I hate you,” I growled. “I hate all of you.”
In answer, he lifted his hips a fraction, nudging at a sensitive spot of me with the proud length of his rock hard manhood. The heat that was building low in my belly turned into an all-out inferno, and gods help me, but I had to bite back another growl that might have come out sounding like a moan.
“Your mouth says one thing,” the Hound taunted, “but your body says another… Which is it, little Wolf? Do you hate me… or is it that you want to devour me?”
Both, gods damn it. The answer was both.
As if he could sense the truth of this, he shifted his hips once more, grinding himself against me, the rough fabric of our clothes the only boundary between us, his hands still gripping my wrists and locking them behind my back, holding my heaving chest flush against the hard, golden surface of his own.
His tongue flicked out once more, the tip of it grazing the sensitive flesh of my throat.
“Let me go,” I said, and hated that my voice came out rough and husky… like a plea.
The pressure at my wrists released immediately, but it took me a second to realize I was free to get up. Shoving at his chest, I peeled myself away from him. Ryker tucked the strong hands that had been gripping me only heartbeats before behind his head, as if enjoying the view of me sitting up on top of him.
When the urge to tear off his shirt and pants and ride him into the daylight struck me hard and compulsory, I found my feet in a flash and ran out of that cave as though my tail was on fire.
I didn’t stop running until I’d located some cold water to bathe in.
And then maybe drown myself in morbid humiliation.
24
I was a gods damned fool and whatever this shit was that was happening with Ryker the Hound needed to stop. Like, yesterday.
I could barely look at him at training the next morning. He’d worked out alongside the Dogs and chose not to wear a shirt to do so. Every inch of his bare, golden skin was a taunt and torture. I wondered at how I could dislike someone so thoroughly and still want to do highly inappropriate things to his sinful body.
I was not a virgin, and had not been one for a couple years. I’d found a partner, or three, in Dogshead and did what I wanted with them when I wanted. There was no shame in this in my eyes, though the females in our world were judged much more harshly concerning such things than males. If the trees grew tits and legs the males could go around fornicating whole forests and likely no one would bat an eye. A female having more than one partner, however? Or several partners? Oh, the horror!
I paid no mind to this patriarchal bullshit. If I could very well die for the sake of entertainment, I would go fornicating whole forests, too, if I saw fit.
But a Hound. A Head Hound, at that. The whole thing was absolutely ludicrous.
That evening, after training all day under the hot summer sun, (which had only grown more torturous with the progression of the season) I sought out Kalene and Oren, rather than returning to my cave.
Kalene lifted a brow at me. “You’ve been scarce this past week,” the dark-haired beauty commented. Her almond eyes flicked toward Ryker, where the Hound was busy discussing something with one of the other Hounds I didn’t know. “Pray tell where you’ve been running off to?”
“I found a magical rainbow and I’ve been busy chasing Leprechauns around while in Wolf form,” I said.
Oren’s deep laughter sounded behind me before the large male threw a heavy arm around my shoulder. “I’ve met a couple Leprechauns, Bear-killer,” he said. “And you do not want to go chasing them… But if it’s trouble you’re looking to get into.” He gave me a squeeze and grinned down at me. “Then I am at your service.”
I didn’t say so, but trouble was the opposite of what I was looking for. Trouble would likely be waiting back at that cave.
So after we’d all taken refreshing swims in The Cascades, and Kalene let me borrow a clean shirt and matching skirt, we headed into the part of Marisol where Dogs were permitted to indulge in their preferred poisons.
I hadn’t really ventured back into the city since that first night after my arrival, and it seemed the sights within were never-ending. The sloping, cobblestone streets seemed to split off in every direction, the ornate green lampposts cradling the blue Apollo-blessed firelight flanking every block. The shops were interminable; as were the various people we encountered wandering about. It was obvious that life in Marisol was an indulgent one, at least for anyone who was not a slave.
We passed by an open theater and an art gallery, the purpose of both Kalene had to explain to me. I didn’t say, but I found these things almost achingly intriguing. I could only imagine a life where such frivolous pleasures could be enjoyed.
“Have you seen the arena yet?” Oren asked me as we crested a particularly slanted street and rounded the corner of another block.
I told him that I had not, but that I would like to. It was always wise to at least glimpse the cage in which one would be fighting.
“Damn it, Oren,” Kalene complained. “I want a drink, and the arena is on the other side of town.” She gestured toward an enormous domed structure on the northern end of the city.
Oren gave her a droll look. “Then go get a drink. I’ll show Bear-killer the arena and we’ll catch up with you in a little bit.”
Rolling her eyes and shrugging, Kalene sauntered off in the direction of the nearest tavern. Oren turned to me with a grin. His ruggedly handsome face gleamed with a challenge. “I’ll race you there,” he said.
“We literally just spent all day doing physical exercise, and you want to race?”
Oren rubbed at the short beard over his chin and eyed me. “Are you afraid of losing, Bear-killer?”
My eyes narrowed. “Wolf-form or mortal?”
His green eyes glittered with anticipation. “Wolf, of course.”
“And the race starts at the shift?”
He nodded. “And I’m ready when you are.”
I laughed, and the sound was so forei
gn it startled me. “Then you’ve already lost, my friend,” I told him, and shifted as swift as lightning, gathering my clothing in my mouth before tearing off into the distance.
I heard his curse ring out behind me as he made his own shift, nowhere near as fast as my own.
To add emphasis to my victory, I sat on the street beside the wooden fence ringing the domed arena in human form, my ankles crossed casually and a bored look on my face.
A few minutes after I arrived, Oren came galloping up in his Wolf form.
If he was large in his mortal form, he was fucking enormous as his Wolf, his fur the same dark brown as the short hair on his head. When he spotted me, I almost laughed again at the annoyance that crossed his face after his realization that he’d lost.
“Did I forget to mention I’m an instant shifter?” I asked. “My bad.”
The enormous Wolf before me bared his teeth around the mouthful of clothing he’d carried and shook his head. I waited while he returned to his mortal form, giving him my back out of respect for privacy, even though I knew that the male could not care less.
A minute or two later, Oren was yanking on his clothing and striding toward me. “Where did you learn to do that?” he asked. “I’ve never seen anyone shift so quickly.”
I shrugged. “I taught myself. I was the runt—a Bait Dog, actually, so early on I knew I’d need every advantage I could get.”
“That’s a hell of an advantage,” he said. “A Wolf is never more vulnerable than when in mid-shift.”
I nodded, recalling a number of occasions when that advantage had saved my life… and turned around to face the wooden fence around the domed arena where we would be fighting again for our lives.
The place was enormous, surely capable of holding tens of thousands of visitors. Beyond the wooden wall, the structure itself stood nearly nine hundred feet tall, blocking out an entire portion of the sky with its imposition. A lump formed in my throat and in the pit of my stomach just looking at it.
“Do you want to go in?” Oren asked me, staring up at the beast of a place along with me. “I like to see where I’ll be fighting beforehand, to get a feel for the place.”
“Are we allowed to?” I asked.
Oren’s handsome face glowed with mischief. “Do you always ask that question before acting?”
I gave him a small shove. His muscular body did not sway an inch. “No, I don’t,” I said.
He held a hand out to me, the same hand that had saved me from falling to my death on The Cliffs that first day. “Then come on, Bear-killer,” he said. “I know a way inside.”
Placing my hand in his was easy. Perhaps easier than anything else I’d done as of late.
It was cold within the darkness of the dome. Oren had located a loose board in the wooden fence, and he’d held it aside while I’d slipped through. He was too large to do so, but he easily leapt up and gripped the top ledge of the ten-foot wooden fence, and then hauled himself over.
He landed lithely on his feet beside me a moment later. I was busy staring up at the death dome before me.
“I’ve never seen a Wolf-built structure this large,” I admitted. “It’s somehow…”
“Intimidating,” Oren finished for me, nodding, his green eyes taking it in same as me, all the playfulness gone from his attractive face. “Ramsey likes to put on a show.”
I debated for about half a second before deciding to share with him the information Ryker had given me. Out of everyone I’d met since coming here, Oren was the one Wolf I found the easiest to trust. There just seemed to be this… goodness about him that was so contrary to the rest of the world. Or the rest of the world that I was accustomed to, anyway.
“Some of us won’t be fighting in Wolf form,” I told him. “And the match-ups and pairings are supposed to be… more interesting.”
I could feel his green gaze on me as Oren turned toward me. “What do you mean by ‘interesting’?”
I spread my hands. “That’s all I know. It’s just what I heard.”
“And who did you hear it from?”
I met his gaze for a moment and then gestured to the building before us. “Do you know a way inside, or what?”
To my relief, Oren let the subject drop. “Follow me,” he said.
He led me around to the other side of the dome, where there was an entrance that was barred with another gate, this one made of vertical iron rods. When I saw it, I was about to ask how the hell we were going to get through that when Oren gripped one of the iron bars on the gate and bent it outward as though it were made of nothing more than wet clay. He gave me a cocky grin when I gaped at him.
“You’ve got your speed, Bear-killer,” he said. “I’ve got my strength. All of us who’ve lived this long have done so for a reason.”
“Amen to that,” I agreed, and slipped through the bent iron bars and into the dark mouth of the arena.
The chill of the place struck me first. I was standing in a dark tunnel leading to the center, and I waited for Oren to make a hole in the gate large enough for him to slide through before venturing forward. Utter blackness and silence stared back at me from the nucleus of the ring in which we had stepped into. Utter silence... and soon enough, death after death after death.
It had been a total forty-one days since I’d arrived in Marisol. The Games were now only a moon cycle and a half away. Here, I would be forced to take life, or lose it. Here, I would live or die.
As Oren fell silent beside me, I knew he was thinking the same thing.
In the gloom of the tunnel, the light of the stars and torchlights of the city offering the only illumination behind us, Oren’s hand reached out once more for my own. I placed my scarred and calloused fingers within his, and together, we went deeper into the arena.
In order to see within the darkness, both of our eyes lit up Wolf-Gold, and the details of my surroundings focused into view.
The bleachers and seats for spectators stretched up high enough to scrape the heavens, making a complete circle around the center of the arena. The floor was flat, hard-backed earth, and around the edges at intervals there were other iron gates that blocked off escape from whatever might eventually be released from within. If Ryker was right about Ramsey’s plans for this year’s spectacle, any manner of beast or creature might pass through those barred waiting rooms come Games Day.
When Oren’s deep voice broke into the silence, goosebumps broke out over my skin, as if I were snapping out of some trance.
“Are you afraid, Bear-killer?” the male asked.
I didn’t consider lying. “Yes,” I admitted. “Every time.” I turned to look at him in the darkness, his glowing golden eyes scanning our surroundings. “Are you?”
His gaze met mine, and slowly, he nodded. “Of course,” he replied, as if any other answer would be absurd, and I supposed he was right.
I found myself moving closer to him, our bodies wrapped up in the silence of the shadows. Then I was removing my clothes, the rustle of fabric echoing in the darkness. After a moment, I stood naked before him under the canopy of that sky-grazing dome.
His golden eyes flared a bit brighter, widening as they took me in. I reached up and removed the band that was holding my hair up, and shook my head so that my long dark locks tumbled down around my shoulders.
“Rook,” Oren said, his deep voice a near growl as he spoke my actual name for the first time since I’d known him. “What are you doing?”
I took a step toward him, tentative, inquiring. “If you’re interested,” I said, “I think… I think I need some release. It’s been a while.”
Oren studied me a moment. “Does this have anything to do with the way that Head Hound has been looking at you during training everyday for the past moon cycle?” he asked.
“I hate him,” I answered, because it was true. “But I don’t hate you.” Another truth. I shrugged. “You saved my life my first day here… Let me thank you.”
Oren peeled his shirt off over his head
, revealing a muscled chest that was marked up with scars, as the body of every Dog that made it to adulthood would be. He prowled forward and stopped inches before me, tall and towering, and then waited silently as I unbuttoned his shorts and yanked him down to the hard floor of the arena.
He laid back and allowed me to have my way with him, spending some of that fire Ryker kept mentioning, shoving away thoughts of the Hound even as Oren stood strong and erect inside of me.
25
The next day at The Cliffs, I could tell that Ryker was angry with me. Whether or not he had an inkling of what had happened between Oren and me, I didn’t know, because it could just be that he’d waited at my cave the night prior and I’d never returned.
After leaving the arena, feeling decidedly more loose and relaxed than when we had entered, Oren and I had made good on our promise to meet up with Kalene. The female had sniffed at Oren and me a couple times and then given us a knowing look. The fact that it came without judgment made me like her a little more. She’d handed us a couple shots of moonshine and we had commenced in partying the night away.
After the tavern we’d visited a smoke den. After that, Oren had invited me back to his small hut on the beach, and I had taken him up on the offer, slipping out this morning before the sun rose to bathe and get an early start on the climb, which I had made a habit of doing.
I was the first to make it to the top, as usual, using the quiet of early morning to steel myself before what I knew would be a trying day. I typically had at least twenty minutes before the other Dogs would begin pouring over the edge of the cliff, reporting for practice.
I was waiting for the sun to rise, sitting with my legs dangling over the ledge of the cliff face when my strong nose alerted me to his presence. Over the past month, I’d learned his personal scent very well, and so I was not startled when he spoke without greeting from behind me.
“I waited for you all evening,” Ryker said.
I didn’t turn to face him, but I was fully aware that a small shove from behind would send me careening off the edge of this mountain and to the rocky beach below.
