“This what you imagined when you said ‘romantic getaway’?” he asked at last, kicking Dave’s boot.
Dave’s lips curved faintly. “It’s better, actually.”
Christian wasn’t expecting the twist of something deeply fond in his chest at that. He nodded, looked away, pretended to focus on a cracked bit of pavement where weeds were clawing their way up.
They sat like that for a while, quiet and easy. At one point, Dave leaned back against the table behind them and stretched out his long legs, face turned up to the sun. Christian watched him shamelessly, loving the way he gave himself over to happiness and sensation.
Eventually, he nudged Dave’s knee. “We should probably head back.”
“Yeah.” Dave didn’t move.
“Got another fight lined up tonight.”
Dave said nothing for a moment, then, his eyes fixed on the slide, he said, “You sure you want to do that? Shouldn’t we be mingling, asking questions?”
Christian shrugged. “It’s just a fight.”
Dave’s mouth tightened in a way Christian had learned to recognize. It meant there was more he wanted to say, but he wasn’t going to. And Christian had always figured that if it mattered enough, he would.
Dave stood up, brushing off his jeans.
Christian didn’t say anything else. Didn’t explain why the fights called to him, why they made something in him feel right. He couldn’t explain what he didn’t understand, and he didn’t want to ruin the day they’d had.
So he just stood up, tossed their wrappers in the bin, and followed Dave back toward the car.
Chapter Eleven
CHRISTIAN
The place smelled like metal and sweat, with something older underneath, something sour and ingrained that no amount of industrial cleaner could scrub away. Christian liked it. He liked the way it clung to his skin as they entered the canning plant, and he liked the familiar throb of music, the crowd jostling and surging around him. He’d been aching for this and hadn’t even known.
Dave was beside him, close but not touching. Christian glanced sideways and saw him already scanning the crowd, alert in a way that said he wasn’t at ease. The day had been warm and easy and slow, and Christian had caught himself more than once thinking about how he wanted to hold on to that. But here, part of him was crackling with energy. His skin felt too tight. He wanted the cage. He wanted the feel of fists on flesh, of pushing himself, of winning. Of never again being beaten down, unable to fight back.
Tony met them and jerked his chin in a half-greeting. “You’re on third tonight,” he said. “One fight only. Barton’s got a list of fighters he wants to watch.”
Christian automatically looked up to the catwalk, but it was empty. He didn’t like that. Barton had felt dangerous and, while Christian too was dangerous, he preferred to know where the threat was coming from. Not to have to keep looking over his shoulder.
He was also disappointed at the prospect of only one fight, but he figured complaining about it wouldn’t change anything. “Okay,” he said.
Dave didn’t say anything, just nudged Christian’s arm and faded away into the mass of people. The crowd was considerably larger than last night, perhaps because it was Friday.
Christian watched the first two fights, bouncing on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders, willing them to be over already. He didn’t want to wait.
By the time he was called forward, his muscles felt like coiled springs. The crowd roared as the cage clanged shut behind him, and he faced his opponent, a non-shifter. Shifters’ instincts gave them an advantage when it came to detecting unseen threats, and their enhanced sense of hearing was something he didn’t know how non-shifters lived without—their world must be so dull and muted. But in a fight like this, face to face, strength against strength, they were equal.
Except for the wolf inside Christian, urging him ever on, needing to win, to remove all threat, all memory of a time long gone. That edge drove him now, letting him forget being small and helpless, and no one coming. He would never be powerless again.
A sharp left to the ribs took his breath, but he pivoted fast, catching the guy with an elbow that snapped his head back.
The non-shifter was good. Damn good. Fast, strong, and skilled. But Christian was better.
When his opponent tapped, Christian feltalive. Letting it all out, taking control again—it was what he wanted.He could do this again, keep going all night. When he felt like this, he could do anything.
He glanced around for Dave as he left the cage, but there were too many people pressing in on him. Normally he’d hate that, but right now, they all wanted to congratulate him, and it felt good. He was still riding the high, his skin buzzing.
But even through it, part of him was scanning the crowd. He wanted—no,needed—to find Dave. Not because he wasn’t proud of the fight, but because none of it meant anything until he saw him. Until he knew that Dave had seen.
Relief hit sharp when he finally found him, leaning against a wall next to a blond shifter. The same blond he’d been with before, maybe? Christian couldn’t remember. He hadn’t paid much attention.
