by Ivy Asher
I look up into Bastien’s hazel eyes and everything inside of me wants to break and rage simultaneously. We stare at each other, and he watches as I dam up the sorrow that wants to pour out of me and harden my resolve. Bastien lets out a resigned sigh and interlaces his fingers behind his head, frustrated.
Valen moves closer to Bastien, in response to his twin’s distress. His chocolate waves sway with the movement, and the pair of them are so achingly beautiful I have to look away. I find no reprieve because my eyes land on Ryker and I can feel the sadness that radiates from his sky-blue gaze.
His full lips part in preparation for whatever he’s going to say, but I have to get the hell out of here. I walk out against their protests. They just don’t get it. I want them, even though I shouldn’t, but at what cost. I either divide their coven or lose track of what I’m doing here. A set of keys sit solitary on the kitchen counter. I walk past them and then stop and retrace my steps. I snatch them up and silence the tinkling sound they make, in a closed fist. The jagged edges press against my skin, and I see them for the sign they are, freedom.
22
I lean against the brick wall of the bar and try to decide where I should go next. My gym rat attire and absence of an ID, have me standing outside instead of inside like I was wanting. I probably should have thought through grabbing my wallet before I stole a car and drove into town.
I’m not really sure what I’m even doing here. I don’t even drink. I’m not opposed to it I’ve just never done it. Clubs and bars aren’t really my scene, but it called to me when I spotted the neon lights in the distance.
I’m still riled up and itching with aggression, and I thought I could just sit inside and quietly wait for a good bar fight. I tried to explain this the bouncer, but he just looked at me like I had lost my mind and told me to leave. I debated for a second if the bouncer would fight me if I just stayed right where I was, but he didn’t seem like someone who’d be the kind of challenge I need right now.
Two men pile out of the entrance of the bar bringing some of the noise from inside with them. They lean against the wall a couple feet down from me and light cigarettes.
“Who are you going to bet on?” The lumberjack looking dude asks his friend who’s a dead ringer for Liev Schreiber.
“Torrez, obviously. The guy’s a mountain. I don’t care what the pumas say; there’s no way McClain is going to beat him.”
“What about Stevens? I’ve seen him train. I think he’s got a shot,” Lumberjack replies.
Liev snorts. “Please, Torrez can fight all night back to back and still not lose. He’s done it before.”
“You think anyone else will challenge him?”
“I will,” I announce and push away from the brick wall.
The two men look me over as I settle in next to them.
“Get real little witch, you could use every ounce of power in that tight body of yours, and you’d still get torn apart,” Liev tells me and his lips purse with amusement.
I give him a sweet look from under my lashes. “Maybe, or maybe not. Let’s find out. What have you got to lose?” I ask innocently.
The two men chuckle and send each other looks that question my sanity, and debate if that matters to them. I wait patiently. If they refuse me, I’m just going to follow them, but they don’t need to know that.
Liev shrugs and flicks his cigarette. He kicks off the wall and walks over to a shiny black Harley. He lifts a helmet from the seat and holds it out to me. I jingle the keys in my hand and smile at him.
“I’ll follow you.”
I slam the door of the white Range Rover and walk towards the two men who are climbing off their motorcycles. We’re at some type of fairgrounds and music and shouts stream out from a small arena that looks like it was designed for a rodeo. Rows of bleacher-style seats surround an enclosed oval of packed dirt. Tall lights illuminate everything and snarls fill the night as I follow my escorts up the stairs that lead to the seats.
Just as we enter the walkway, everyone jumps up out of their seats screaming and shouting at whoever is in the middle of the arena. Bodies block my view, and I follow the lumberjack as he elbows his way through the aggravated crowd.
“They must have started early, fuck, I could have made some money off this fight. Just look at McClain,” Liev shouts behind him to the lumberjack, and his words float back to me too.
An empty stretch of bleachers open up, and I step up on the seat so I can see over the men who are crowding the barrier. A gray wolf, the size of a horse, shakes his head violently, the tiger sized mountain lion between his jaws yowls and claws to get free. The wolf thrashes again, and a loud crack echoes over the dirt. The mountain lion goes limp, its head wobbling as the wolf gives one last shake before releasing the lifeless body, to drop, heavy, to the ground.
I watch wide-eyed as the wolf saunters through an open gate and disappears. The crowd is a mix of elation and bitter disappointment. They start to settle and get ready for the next match.
“I warned you, little witch, you’re out of your league,” Liev tells me. “That’s the Silas pack beta, and no one beats him aside from the alpha himself.”
Men drag the limp mountain lion out of the arena, and a guy follows behind them kicking dirt over the streaks of blood.
Lumberjack leans down to me. “He’ll heal, can you say the same?” He gestures at the open gate they just dragged the mountain lion through.
“Nope, I’m pretty sure if I get broken in half, I’m going to stay that way,” I admit.
The reality of that doesn’t have me rethinking my decision but instead excites me on a level that’s definitely not normal. I scan the faces of the crowd that I now know is predominately shifter, and I offhandedly wonder if any of them are grizzlies. I know jack-shit about shifters and their culture, but I could definitely be down to hang with this crowd for fight night.
A man covered in only shorts walks out into the empty arena. The crowd around me stands and starts shouting and cheering. Torrez looks to be about six feet tall, and he has a black beard and a mohawk of long dreads. He’s Latino, and his dark brown eyes are shrewd and ready.
Two more men walk into the arena. One is also clad only in shorts and the other looks to be the referee. The crowd is quieter for Torrez’s opponent Stevens, but he’s still greeted with shouts of excitement and support. Stevens is smaller than Torrez and not nearly as built. He has muddy brown hair and freckles everywhere. They don’t look evenly matched, but I’m the last person who would underestimate someone based on that.
“This fight will be wolf only as was agreed by both contenders previously. Begin.”
With no more pomp or circumstance, the referee runs back out of the way, and I watch as both men strip out of their shorts and ripple into wolves. It happens in seconds, one second they’re men and the next, wolves. They slam into each other in a flurry of fangs and fur. Their feral growls simultaneously pull goosebumps from my skin and call to my basest nature.
Torrez and Stevens looked mismatched as men, but as wolves, they’re closer in size. The gray wolf is taller and fuller than his red and brown opponent but not by much. Stevens bites into Torrez’s shoulder, but he’s forced to release his hold when Torrez almost rips off his ear. They circle and then slam back into each other and before I can process how it happened Torrez has Stevens by the neck, and he’s shaking him. The fight is over on a matter of minutes, and now it’s my turn.
23
“I fucking told you Stevens couldn’t do it,” Liev slaps lumberjack on the back, a huge grin on his face.
They rib each other back and forth, and a few shifters around us get in on the teasing and shit talking. A deep voice calls for any other challengers, and I’m up and over the barrier before the announcer finishes his sentence. Jeering and catcalls take over the arena, and small plumes of dust accentuate each step I take toward Torrez and the ref.
I stop a couple of feet away, and Torrez’s nostrils flare. His eyes narrow slig
htly, and he scoffs.
“Lost little witch?” he asks.
“Nope, I know exactly where I am, and exactly what I’m here to do.”
“And what’s that, princess?”
“Fuck up your undefeated record, of course.”
Torrez laughs a full, deep, and rounded belly laugh and snickers move like the wave throughout the bleachers.
“Well aren’t you cute. Stupid as fuck and delusional, but really fucking cute,” Torrez gives me an appraising look and licks his lips. His nostrils flare again, and I have no idea what he’s sniffing for, fear maybe, or attraction. Sniff away wolf-man you’re not going to find either.
“Oh, come on now Torrez, you know it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog.”
“True, but you’re confusing your witch for bitch, you’re no shifter. Why do you want to make me mess up that perfect face?”
His shit talking game is on point, and I can’t help but appreciate it. I smirk, and he scents the air again. Can shifters smell emotion? If they can, then he has to know that I need this fight more than I need my next breath. My unsatisfied bloodlust is tearing me apart, and this is the only way to excise all the rage and hurt festering inside of me.
“In or out wolf?” I ask, stone-faced. If he’s not interested, then I’ll find someone else to pick a fight with.
Torrez rakes his dark brown eyes over me one more time, and shrugs. “In, witch.”
I’m pretty sure these shifters expect me to have a problem with their use of the word witch, but I couldn’t care less: caster, witch, freak, it’s all the same to me.
The ref steps forward. “What are your terms? Shifter form, magic, what’s allowed and what’s not?” He looks at both of us.
“Wolf or man, I have no problem with either.”
“She can use whatever magic she has. She’s gonna need it.”
The ref nods and announces the terms to the crowd, even though I’m pretty sure they have super hearing and already know what the deal is. The ref raises both his hands and I stretch out my neck while I keep my eyes fixed on Torrez. My magic sparks awake inside of me and the tingle of bloodlust floods my limbs.
The ref drops his hands and Torrez is inches away from me in a blink. Fuck he’s fast! He’s still a man when he tackles me at the waist and tries to muscle me onto my back. I slam my elbow where his neck meets his shoulder, twice, before my back hits the dirt. I use Torrez’s momentum against him, and I kick him off of me instead of letting myself get pinned.
I use the runes on my legs to give myself extra power, and he flies five feet away from me before he hits the ground. I flip back up, and I land a roundhouse kick to his head before he can get all the way up on his feet. He grabs my foot as he falls back to the dirt and yanks me off balance.
Fuck, he’s strong too. I stumble but somehow manage to stay on my feet. Torrez rolls away from me and pops back up. He lets out a deep growl and wipes a trickle of blood from his bottom lip. His eyes flare with promises of pain and the tip of his hands elongate with claws.
He slashes out at me, and I dodge and weave out of his reach. He lunges in frustration, and I spin clipping my elbow against his cheek. Claws sink into my side as he falters, and we both step away from each other to recover. Torrez shakes his head in an effort to clear it, and I look down at my shredded shirt, my black sports bra peeking through the rips in the fabric.
I rip off the tattered garment and use it to swipe at the blood slowly dripping down my side. Wolf whistles and howls sound off around the arena. I look up, and Torrez steps out of his shorts. He stands there for a minute like somehow his dick is going to send me running.
I smile.“Cold?”
My smirk falls when Torrez morphs into his massive gray wolf. He apparently doesn’t find my dick joke as funny as I did because he growls at me and then charges.
“Vinna!”
My head snaps in the direction of Ryker’s voice. What the fuck is he doing here? The weight of a truck slams into me and teeth sink into my shoulder. I call on my runes for power, and I start punching the wolf in the face. His weight forces me to my back. When my spine touches the packed dirt of the arena, Torrez releases my shoulder and goes for my neck.
Fangs flash towards my face. I grip the snarling jaws and fight to keep them from closing around my head and neck. Saliva drips down on me, and claw-covered paws dig into my torso. I push Torrez’s wolf jaws apart, calling on every ounce of power and strength my runes can give me.
The bottom of his mouth snaps and a ripping and cracking sound fills my ears. Torrez yelps in pain and scrambles away from me. The bottom of his muzzle hangs loose and canine cries leak out of his open maw. Torrez lays on his side panting, and the wolf blinks out leaving a man in its wake.
The ref rushes to him, and I slowly get up, wincing as the movement tugs at my wounds. I’m bleeding steadily from the bite wound on my shoulder and the gouges on my side. I’m covered in varying depths of oozing scratches, and my fingers are torn up and bloody from my efforts to keep fangs out of my face.
I’m sore and gloriously drained. Man, that was a good fucking fight. The ref calls to men standing just outside of the arena. They jog to him and help Torrez stand up. They sling his arms around their necks, and half carry him toward the exit.
The ref approaches me. “Torrez is too injured to continue. You’ve won.”
I give him a nod and watch as Torrez is assisted out of the arena. “Is he going to be ok?”
“His jaw is severely broken. It will heal, painfully, but he’ll be fine in a couple of weeks. Would you like me to call a healer for you?”
I look out into the mumbling crowd and find Ryker. I’m not at all shocked to see Knox, Bastien, Valen, and Sabin standing at his side. Fucking magical LoJack.
“No, thanks for the offer. I’ll be fine.”
The ref looks at me quizzically for a minute, before giving me an accepting nod and walking off in the direction that they took Torrez. I walk over to my shredded shirt and snatch it up off the ground. I scan the crowd one last time until I find lumberjack and Liev. I take in their shocked faces and give them a wink.
Five furious faces take me in as I casually make my way to the guys.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Bastien scolds me.
“What does it look like I’m doing here.”
“It looks like you’re being torn to shreds.” Sabin snaps.
“Hop down from your high horse Sabin. It’s fucking up your view because that’s what winning looks like.”
I gesture over my shoulder to the blood-spattered ring. Knox snorts out a laugh, but he coughs it out when four pairs of angry eyes turn on him.
“Don’t encourage her Knox,” Valen chastises.
“Why not? She’s right, she won, and I think it’s hilarious when she calls Sabin out on his shit.”
I smile at him, and he winks at me. Knox is so gung-ho for battle and glory, and I seriously love it. Nothing seems to phase him at all. He should be crowned the king of rolling with the punches.
“Did Lachlan tell you guys where to find me?” I ask, curious as to why Lachlan sent them instead of one of the paladin to collect me.
“No, I doubt he even knows you’re gone,” Bastien tells me.
“Well, what the hell are you doing here then? You guys come to fights, and you’ve never told me about it?”
“No, we tracked my car here.”
I stare at Ryker confused.
“You stole my car. I went to leave tonight, and it was missing. When we pulled up here, it was obvious who had taken it and what you were up to. How’d you even find this place?”
“Fate,” I say with a smile.
Knox snorts again, and Bastien starts to chuckle with him. Valen rubs a hand over his face in exasperation. Something about this situation suddenly seems funny to me, and I start to snicker. I suspect I’m a little slap-happy from the adrenaline rush I’m currently coming down from.
I look up, taking in the faces all around us. I meet a lot of intense stares, but none of them feel threatening. Valen grabs my bloody hand, and I wince at the pain that shoots through my shoulder. I sway ever so slightly before my feet start cooperating and I’m led out into the parking lot. I stop at the back of the white Range Rover I stole earlier, and I direct Sabin to the wheel well I hid the keys in.
Ryker pulls up the back door. “Vinna, sit before you pass out from blood loss.”
I do as I’m told. Ryker starts gently wiping away blood, in search of its source, and his hands warm up when he begins to heal me. My pants have long tears in them, I’m guessing from claws, and one strap of my sports bra is hanging by a thread. My shirt is a lost cause and judging by the amount of--wipe away the blood and then heal the source--that’s going on right now, my body doesn’t look much better than my clothing.
Oh well, it was worth it.
The guys all watch with the same intensity they had the first time Ryker healed me, and it sends shivers up my spine. Ryker tears away the mangled strap of my sports bra, to give himself better access to the bite on my shoulder. The motion sends a zing straight to my clit, and I have to force myself to stop thinking about how hot it is to have Ryker tearing off my clothes.
“Fuck, I know I did this to you, and I’m so sorry. I just saw that big ass wolf charging you, and I freaked out.”
