“I’m Christian, that’s Dave,” Christian said. “We don’t want trouble.” He grinned, just enough to show teeth. “Not outside the cage, anyway. Who do I see about getting in there tonight?”
The guy’s eyes ran over him, and the slight scorn that had been there because, well, Christian wasn’t exactly the tallest person in the room, faded as he took in the way his nostrils were flaring. Christian was running hot with excitement and the first stirrings of violence.
“You need to see Tony,” he said finally. “No cover charge if you’re fighting.”
“Told you,” Christian muttered to Dave as they stepped inside. He wasn’t sure what the cover was here, but people would pay a fair bit to drink, to bet and to watch blood hit the floor.
Inside, the cavernous interior had been stripped down to concrete floors and exposed steel girders, with floodlights strung up haphazardly. There were probably a couple hundred people gathered, the crowd skewing heavily male and non-shifter. The makeshift bar in one corner was doing swift business, but the real crush was at the next table over, where two shifters were running a book.
In the middle of the room, bounded by a black chain-link fence, was the reason Christian was here. His body thrummed like a tuning fork at the sight of it.
Then something else caught his attention. Not a movement, but apresence.A shifter stood on the catwalk above the cage, his arms folded, unmoving. His face was in shadow, and his stillness was somehow ominous.
“Hey.” A tall blond shifter appeared beside them, broad-shouldered and unsmiling. “Tony wants to see you.” His voice carried threat under its even tone. Christian’s hackles lifted, and his wolf snarled.
But Dave stepped forward, easy and polite, with just enough deference in his smile to take the edge off. “Sure. Can you point us in the right direction?”
It worked. Of course it did. Whoever said that soft words turned away anger must have had Dave in mind. The guy relaxed as he gave them a nod, and led them across the floor.
Tony stood waiting near a half-walled office that overlooked the floor. He was older, salt-and-pepper hair buzzed short, the kind of man who probably hadn’t fought in years but could still end someone in two moves. Christian’s instincts pegged him instantly as dominant—not an alpha, but close. Maybe the pack beta?
Christian flicked his gaze upward, drawn again to the man on the catwalk. Still watching, still silent. He wondered if Tony was under orders or under surveillance.
“What are you doing here?” Tony asked, circling slightly. Not pacing, just angling for advantage, like he couldn’t help himself. The air between them thickened, and Christian’s wolf snarled again. “This is our territory.”
Technically, they weren’ton pack territory. But that wasn’t what Tony meant, and he and Christian both knew it.
“We’re just passing through,” Dave said, calm and unruffled. “Met a woman in a bar who told us about your fights. Christian wanted a go.”
Tony stared at Christian, eyes hard and assessing, as Christian clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to stop the adrenaline inside him from bubbling over. His nerves were singing with anticipation.
“Fee’s fifty bucks,” Tony said finally. “Winner takes home a hundred and gets a shot at the next round. You in?”
“Well, hell,” Christian drawled. “Didn’t know we’d make a profit tonight. Sure I’m in.”
He used to fight for cash, back when a steady place to sleep was a luxury, and dinner wasn’t guaranteed. This felt cleaner somehow, doing it only because he wanted to. And the basic feeling hadn’t changed, the anticipation of that moment before everything else fell away and only the fight remained.
Dave bumped his shoulder briefly, then disappeared into the crowd to start mingling. Christian didn’t watch him go. Couldn’t, or he’d start feeling again, and the cage didn’t want feelings. It wanted focus.
But he felt steadier knowing Dave was somewhere nearby, anchoring him. And Dave would be better at getting information out of people than he was. He’d talk to people, listen like their feelings mattered. Christian couldn’t do that. Couldn’t fake interest, couldn’t sit still long enough. Fighting was simpler.
Tony led him to a battered table staffed by Mal, a small, wiry shifter who had two others looming behind him.
“Got a cage name?” Mal asked. “Crowd eats that shit up. We’ve got Bear, Tank, The Terminator—”
“Christian Taylor.” God, what was with those people that they needed to hide behind childish names? Like he was going to fightbetter if he called himself Verminator. Huh. He kinda liked that one.
Mal blinked. “You sure? You could go with Wolverine, or—”
“Christian. Taylor.” He leaned forward. He didn’t need a gimmick. Hewasthe danger.
“Got it, got it.” Mal swallowed and made a note. “Fifty bucks. Colt’ll go over the rules in a minute—basically, there aren’t any, except try not to die unless you really have to—and then we draw the first card.”
Christian handed over the cash, eyes flicking once to the cage. The adrenaline was humming now. It would drown out everything else soon. And he wanted it to, because something in him, something small and quiet, still hadn’t let go of the abandoned homes they’d found that morning. The ones where a seven-year-old pup had once lived, happy and loved. And no one had paid for that. Not yet.
He turned away before the thought could catch hold and walked toward the cage.
Chapter Six
