“But how do you do that?” he asked, turning to look at Dave. “How d’you just step back and stop everything from mattering so much?”
Dave shook his head. “I didn’t say things stop mattering,” he said, because he’d never found a way to make that happen, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. “I just try and leave the bad things to one side and concentrate on the good.”
It had been Morgan—stranger turned unenthusiastic caretaker—who’d taught him how to let go of the bad. Like the hopeless dream that his mom hadn’t really parked him at Morgan’s house with an overnight bag and left him there, till Morgan had no option but to keep him, like a stray dog she felt sorry for. It had been the hardest thing in his life to let go of the hope his mom would come back for him one day.
The only way he’d managed it was by following Morgan’s contemplation techniques. She’d meditated on the porch every morning at dawn, come rain or shine, and though he hadn’t beenallowed to join her during those sacred sessions, she’d been willing to teach him at other times.
He’d never dared ask why his mom had left, not when the answer might’ve broken him. And now, he sometimes wondered if he’d let her go too completely, because he could scarcely remember what she looked like.
“Wish you could teach me how to focus on the good,” Justin said with a soft sigh, eyes fixed on his bottle.
Dave hesitated as a tiny voice in his head reminded him he didn’t really know this guy. But the openness in Justin’s expression was disarming.
“If you want to drop by the motel around dawn tomorrow, I could walk you through some meditation stuff,” Dave offered.
“I tried meditating once,” Justin said, a bit sheepish. “Fell asleep halfway through.”
Dave laughed. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but thereisa knack to it. I can show you, if you want.”
“I’d like that.” The warmth in Justin’s smile had Dave smiling back before he realized it.
He wondered what it would be like to share a piece of his world with someone who wanted to know more than just the broad strokes. Christian never asked. Not because he didn’t care, but because emotions made him uneasy, and vulnerability even more so.
The rest of the pack… He was close with them, but this wasn’t the sort of thing they talked about. Tristan asked questions because he was curious abouteverything, and Bryce would listen if Dave opened up. Hell,anyof them would listen if Dave wanted to talk to them about these things. He never did, but with Justin, it felt easy. Two strangers shooting the shit over a beer—it was as if he could say anything. Talking to Justinfelt effortless.
Buteffortlesswasn’t the same asreal. Christian didn’t make things easy. He didn’t offer polished responses or hollow reassurances. But what he gave, even at his most difficult, was raw and honest and whollyhim.
A roar from the crowd cut through his thoughts, and Dave jerked back to the moment. Christian’s fight had begun.
Anxiety curled in his gut as he watched Christian’s opponent. This fighter wasn’t like the others. He moved with precision, with purpose. He wasn’t here to spar—he was here to put Christian down hard and fast.
Dave didn’t like the look of this. He didn’t like it at all.
Chapter Thirteen
CHRISTIAN
Ash circled the cage, eyes hard but observant, and Christian grinned in anticipation. This was what he wanted. A real, all-out fight where it was kill or be killed. No punches pulled, just his strength and will pitted against another man’s.
The noise of the crowd dulled to static. His whole world narrowed to Ash’s eyes and his controlled movements. Christian’s body was already beginning to map his, even as his mind worked through everything he’d seen so far. Fast, focused, but tight in the right shoulder—maybe favoring an old injury?
Five long minutes later, heaving for breath, with sweat and blood mixing on his skin, Christian realized just how much strength and will he was going to need. Ash was good. He was fighting in front of his alpha, and hungry for the win. He was six inches taller than Christian, giving him a longer reach. But the height also meant a higher center of gravity. If Christian could useit—
Oh fuckyes. Likethat.
When Christian took someone down, they stayed down. It had always been that way, and that sure as hell wasn’t going to change just because this guy was slippery as a greased eel, twisting and bucking beneath him. Christian locked in, his thighs screaming from the strain of holding him, and wrenched the angle tighter. Ash choked out a gasp and finally tapped.
Christian held him a second longer—just long enough to be sure—then pushed to his feet, his pulse thundering. He could taste blood, but the rest of him was buzzing with the high of a fight hard-won. And yet—
The shifters in the crowd were too quiet. That set every instinct on edge. His gaze swept the room, found Dave in the back corner, with the blond guy close beside him again. Dave’s posture was alert, tense. He felt it too, that sense of threat.
Christian gave him a subtle nod, warning him to be ready for whatever was coming. He turned back as the cage door opened, and Tony appeared, his face unreadable.
“Barton wants to see you,” he said.
Christian followed him out of the cage, each step seeming to cool the blood in his veins, like walking deeper into shadow.
Near the far wall, Barton waited. Three shifters flanked him, danger and threat rolling off them.
