I hammered a fist against my chest as a pineapple candy took up residency in my throat. “He isn’t going to mark me.”
Will he?
“The longest werewolf fang ever measured was twelve inches,” Amaia commented unhelpfully.
Makena hummed, ripping open a bag of apple sugary sticks. “That’s shorter than most were-dicks.”
“Unhand me,Husband,or I’ll need to call an ambulance just for your forehead vein!” my mother yelled right in my father’s face.
Dad wrestled her back into his lap, trying to contain her limbs with his own arms and legs. “You! It’s throbbing because ofyou.”
Uncle Andrew, three hot dogs deep, nearly fell off his seat laughing as he snapped pictures of my parents, commenting that my dad’s advanced age surely wasn’t helping.
Surrounded by my insane family and best friends, in normal circumstances, I would’ve felt in a festive mood. I might have even eaten a hot dog or two.
But not today.
Not with the biggest secret in pack history burning a hole in my chest.
After the game. After Logan. After tonight, I’ll clear everything up with everyone.
If there was still a pack left standing.
My thoughts were whipped right out of my skull as the air shifted. The sky seemed to darken. It was like someone had pulled a blackout curtain over the arena.
The opposite side’s gates creaked open.
They’re here.
The crowd went absolutely feral, roaring like the Romans in the Colosseum after the promise of a live lion buffet.
And they came out in packs, the Dark Diamonds.
Tattoos everywhere—a dagger spearing praying hands, scaly dragons curling around ribs—as if they needed to add more of the supernatural to their lives. And wolves. Wolves inked in every possible mood: howling, snarling, mid-bite.
The bulky ones lumbered out first—defenders, built like steel dumpsters with body hair. The kind of guys a bullet train would bounce off of, then apologize before it reversed direction.
My eyes stayed glued to the entrance as the leaner, faster players popped out, jogging, chest-bumping, backflipping, and pounding fists skyward. All beastly, all ready to rain hell.
Meanwhile, my twin’s name was everywhere—on the tongues of fans and non-fans alike. Some roared it like a hymn, others spat it like a curse, all of them chanting things so filthy they could make a saint file for early retirement.
A peculiar Diamond snagged my attention.
“Skeleton Man!” the crowd howled, and the Dark Diamonds’ Ultras began smacking bony clappers together until the whole arena echoed with the sound of rattling ribs.
A fake bony mask covered half his face, revealing a deformed grin painted on in stark white. Bones scrawled down his humungous chest and thighs, maybe painted, maybe tattooed, all rounded out by his shaved hair and the piercings punctuating his dark eyebrows.
He looked familiar, but before I could place him, the Ultras’ megaphones went off.
“YOU USELESS PIECES OF JUNK!” roared their chief, veins bulging as their drums increased their pace. “GIVE ME THE LOUDEST SCREAM OF YOUR LIFE FOR THE OOOOONE, THE ONLYYYYY…THOOOOOOOOR!”
The arena detonated.
Our side booed back, led by Tiziano’s megaphone and his choir of lunatics.
As usual, when I heard that name—one of several that he had—my heart reacted unhealthily. I had all the symptoms of a heart attack, as if it were speeding up, tripping, and stopping simultaneously.
If the Dark Diamonds seemed like beasts that had evolved and learned how to stand on two feet, offering brute force and aggressive looks, my mate… Well, he was something entirely different.
