Page 30 of Wrestling With Werewolves

Luna is looking, Big Daddy growls. Take off the rest. Let her see you fight with our big di?—

Concentrate, I snap.

Rowan follows my move, tossing his shirt to his girlfriend Bex. She grabs it and retreats to the circle with his parents and siblings.

He springs forward from a complete standstill, but I saw the move coming. I step easily out of the way as he lands gracefully and tumbles, rolling upright. Backing in an arc, I observe. It’s laughable how easy it is to track the way he tenses prior to a move.

He lunges again, slicing at my core with his wolf’s claws out. Hushed whispers go up in the crowd as I let him get close enough to score four red stripes down my chest and stomach.

End himmmmmm, Big Daddy commands, his claws slipping easily out of my human form’s fingers.

“Give me your worst, Alpha,” Rowan mouths off, a sneer marring his face.

Before he gets the entire sentence out, I leap forward and bowl him over flat to the ground. Gripping him around the throat and by one arm, I shift and toss him like a Frisbee across the circle. He hits the ground with a thud, the breath leaving his lungs in a deep, painful-sounding whoosh.

A few titters go up from around us.

Every sound, every sensation is brighter, stronger, more with Big Daddy partnering like this. For the first time since he started talking to me, it feels like actual partnership between us. I could almost crow with triumph for how normal that is.

Rowan roars and shifts, ripping his clothes to tatters as his wolf takes over.

I release Big Daddy with a battle cry that shakes the glass-fronted treehouses around us.

And then a scent hits me, filling the air so strong, I drop to all fours and lift my nose to drag in more of that sweet, sweet hit.

Arousal. Need. Surprise.

Her.

Fuck. I groan inwardly as we look around the circle to see Lola standing at one end, her hand wrapped around her throat, eyes wide with her wolf’s amber shining through like a godsdamned beacon.

Which is how I don’t notice Rowan sprinting across the circle until he barrels into me, sinking his fangs into the side of my neck.

Screaming in pain, I roll, flipping him as I rip my skin out of his teeth. We grapple for control, but I toss him easily off me. I’m on him before he can rise, nipping at his throat to get him moving. I could end this fast, but that’s not what it’s about. It’s practice; it’s about control.

Rowan leaps and spins, knocking against me with his shorter but broader frame. But with the angle, it catches me slightly off guard. Good thing I’m always five steps ahead. I snap at his neck, sinking my fangs deep enough into his throat as he whines. I toss him from me, leaping before he even lands. He hits the ground and rolls, and I land in the spot where he just was.

He whips around and snarls, crouching as blood drips into the dirt from the shallow wounds I gave him.

This time, when he surges forward, I’m there and ready, shoving him so hard, he flips onto his back, exposing his belly. Before he can get up, I crush him with my larger body, hovering my teeth above his neck again. He struggles, moving every way he can to dislodge me, but like this it’s no match. I’m physically bigger, and I weigh almost twice what he does—the benefit of being much older.

After ten minutes of scrambling and scratching and snapping, Rowan whines and drops his head back to the dirt, fully baring his neck for me. I lie on top of him for an extra minute, a reminder of who runs this pack.

When he remains still and silent under my dominance, I grumble in his ear, telling him we’re fine, reminding him that the fight is done, and now we move on. It’s an important part of this process, that reconnection at the end of a challenge. The wounds he inflicted on me are his victory, and he will take pride in them, but the ultimate win belongs to me.

He whines at my yips and snaps, staying prone as I rise off him and shift back into my human form. It’s a testament to my dominance that I shift while he’s still in wolf form—his claws could do incredible damage if he attacked now.

Not that he would.

After another long beat, the silent crowd breaks into heart-pounding cheers and shouts, congratulating him on a good challenge and me on the win. Rowan shifts into human form and grasps my hand when I reach for him. I pull him off the ground, bringing my mouth close to his ear. “Nicely fought, alpha,” I murmur. “These damn wounds fucking hurt.”

He pulls back and beams, bleeding from a gash over his eye and shallow teeth marks at his throat. “Thank you, Alpha. That was so damn fun!”

“Anytime,” I say with a laugh.

“Tattoo!” he shouts, raising his arms. The crowd goes wild, repeating the chant while Rowan and I laugh.

Connall strides into the circle with us, a wooden box under one arm. He pats it and grins at Rowan. “Your turn, alpha. Congrats on a wonderful fight.”

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