Page 72 of Bad Blood Panther

Xander fought with everything in him. He let the rage take him as it so often had—the kind of rage where he didn’t feel wounds, didn’t feel his opponents’ dominance.

Hurt. Bleed. Kill.

Almost a year of fighting with the Bad Blood Crew had hardened his muscles. Three years of fighting with himself had hardened his will.

The thud of their bodies colliding nearly knocked the breath out of him. The rage filled his blood— pounding in his heart, hammering at every pulse point. He snarled viciously. It was all so familiar, so welcome. The gasp of air, the flash of claws, the feel of them raking through fur and skin and muscle.

Hot flesh in his mouth, sharp teeth bearing down. The heat of the blood, and the taste of it.

They rolled together, blood staining the dirt red.

His opponent’s teeth snapped down on his right front foreleg, and pain lanced through him. The green-eyed panther gave a great heave, tossing Xander’s body while keeping a hold on his leg. He twisted, and he felt shoulder muscles tear.

He yowled with pain, and wrenched out of the panther’s grasp.

He dodged the other two, focusing on the crazy one.

The other guy was limping worse than Xander, and had more wounds. Even with this shoulder, he should be able to finish him off.

He heard a woman’s voice from the crowd, cheering the fucker on. But her voice wavered.

She’s scared, Xander realized. She was the crazy one’s mate, and she knew he was probably going to die. Xander waited for the surge of satisfaction, the rush of blood lust. It didn’t come. He reached inside him for the killer rage.

It wasn’t there.

He didn’t want to kill this idiot, he realized. He didn’t want to make his mate feel like her heart was torn in pieces.

He continued circling, panic rising in him. How would he win without the rage?

He fought off an attack in a flurry of yowls and slashes, and broke away again.

Fuck. He felt sorry for them. Their crew was dying. Not today, not next week, but it was dying. Prophecy or no fucking prophecy, their days were numbered.

When all the warriors were gone, their enemies would prey on the females and children. They’d be killed. Enslaved. Abandoned and tortured and mistreated.

And he was about to kill three of their prime warriors.

He couldn’t do it. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to die to stoke Alton’s ego.

In the back of his mind, he heard Brody and Jasmin, undisputed champions of the fighting cage. Make them submit. Make them tap out. Never give up. Brody.

Keep moving. That was Jasmin’s voice in his head. Especially if you’re smaller. Maneuver them into position.

So he feinted and snarled, keeping his opponents off-balance.

Incapacitate them.That was Tank, teaching him and Lissa to fight. Hamstrings. Cut the legs from under them, and they’re not coming after you.

Without warning, Xander dashed at his opponent. Slash. Rear leg. The other panther gave a yowl. Now one leg was dragging. Xander maneuvered him again. Slash. Foreleg. Same side.

With a wild snarl, he left the first one lying on the ground. Angry. Crazy. Still crawling, but not able to get to him.

One down.