Dave laughed and turned his attention once more to the cage. The crowd of youngsters was ecstatic at how well their guy was doing, pounding one another on the back, and Dave could see how this worked—give them a win, and they’d drink more in celebration and lay down more in bets for the next round. It was practically an invitation to rig some of these fights.
Now he thought about it, Justin had practically told him asmuch. He didn’t know why he’d be so open with a perfect stranger, but maybe he had felt the same sense of ease that Dave had. Two kindred spirits, neither of whom belonged in a place like this. But for all they were kindred spirits, Dave’s soul was already spoken for. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.
He leaned back against the wall, his shoulder brushing Justin’s, and waited for Christian to enter the cage.
Chapter Seven
CHRISTIAN
It had been years since Christian stepped into a cage. But the feel of it hit like muscle memory—the stink of sweat, the shouts from the crowd, the sharp slam of adrenaline as the door clanged shut behind him. He grinned at his adversary, savage and excited. His wolf was snarling, exulting in the challenge and ready to fight.
When the horn sounded, Christian dropped low and began to circle, reading the twitch of muscle, the weight shift in Raptor’s stance, the tension behind his eyes. He was looking for the crack that was somewhere in every man.
Raptor mirrored him, shoulders tight, fists clenched. The crowd jeered, hungry for blood, and Raptor snapped. Christian sidestepped his charge, drove a knee into his gut, and sent him sprawling.
Raptor scrambled up quickly, rage in his eyes, and lunged again. The fight settled into a brutal rhythm, with stillness and circling broken by short bursts of fury.
A punch glanced off Christian’s jaw, sharp, but nothing serious. He let the pain fuel him, dodging a wild right hook and driving Raptor into the cage wall hard enough to rattle it. They grappled for a second, muscles straining, before Raptor surged forward, aiming for a takedown. Christian let it happen, moving with the momentum. He hit the mat on his terms, twisting them both, his legs locking around Raptor’s torso and squeezing tight.
Raptor twisted and snarled. Christian only tightened his hold until, with a vicious growl, Raptor tapped.
Christian climbed to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose where Raptor had landed a lucky punch. He was buzzing now, high on sweat and blood. But it wasn’t enough. He needed more. Needed to test himself against someone who could take what he gave and dish it right back.
A prickle down the back of his neck alerted him, and he looked up. That shifter was still there on the catwalk, watching him. Not just a shifter—this close, Christian could feel the pressure, like standing too close to an electric fence, hum and threat and warning. He was an alpha.
Christian stared back for a beat too long, because his pulse kicked harder and his wolf whined, caught between the urge to eliminate the threat and the instinct to submit.
He turned away sharply and strode out of the cage. Shrugging off that feeling the best he could, he made his way to Mal, still sitting behind his table. “Who’s next?” he demanded. “And when?”
“You go up against the winner of the next fight,” Mal said. “As for how long, there’s three more fights, then you’re up again.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively in a way that reminded Christian of Bryce. “Plenty of women around here love a winner if you’re looking to blow off steam while you wait.”
The rush was still burning through Christian, but now that he was out of the cage, his awareness started to widen again. Peoplewere watching him. It seemed as if half the room had clocked him now, sizing him up, maybe trying to place him.
He didn’t care. He wasn’t interested in any of them. He just wanted Dave, who saw beyond the blood and the fury and still stayed. Dave always brought him back, not just from the cage, but from whatever edge he’d been about to go over. He looked at Christian like he was a person, not a weapon waiting to go off. But that wasn’t why Christian loved him. It was simpler than that. He loved him because he wasDave.
His stomach dropped as he scanned the crowd and still couldn’t see him. Dave should be close—healwayswas. But now? Nothing. No flash of gold skin. No steady blue eyes, waiting to meet his. No scent.
Something ugly knotted in his chest. He turned in a tight, fast circle, searching harder, suddenly aware of how exposed he was in the center of the floor. His hands twitched. Every instinct was flaring at once.
Too many people. Too much noise. No Dave.
The adrenaline that had buoyed him just seconds ago now felt sharp-edged and poisonous, scraping under his skin. He turned on his heel and shoved into the crowd, breath coming quicker.
Where the fuck was Dave?
DAVE
Dave had stood the moment the fight ended, ready to go to Christian. But when the crowd converged on Christian like flies to honey, he sank back down, hands clenched around his beer bottle. No need for Dave to make sure he was okay—he self-evidently was, bloodied and triumphant.
“Your friend’s impressive,” Justin said. “Raptor’s not the best, but he’s nowhere near as bad as he was made to look.”
“That’s Christian,” Dave said, and there was a world of pride mixed with weary resignation in his voice. “Fighting’s an art form for him, as well as something he loves doing.”
“Yeah? If that’s so, I wouldn’t be surprised if Barton offers him the chance to stay. We could always do with more good fighters, ’specially as we’re about to start streaming. More fights mean a bigger audience.”
“We’re already part of a pack,” Dave said. He didn’t know if it was his imagination or if Justin looked disappointed at that. Maybe he was the pack’s recruiter.
“Hey.”
