Page 75 of Wrestling With Werewolves

“I’m in the ballroom, sweetheart. As soon as you come through, Dirk and I will?—”

Her sweet voice is honey to my soul when she responds, “I’ve got a plan, Alpha. Follow my lead.”

Anxiety rockets through me. A plan? Instinct and Big Daddy tell me to rip her away from Marco and get the hells out of here. But I trust her with my life, and if she has a plan, then we have a plan.

A tall figure stalks gracefully through the open doors. Marco wears only low-slung black dress pants. He’s barefoot and bare-chested, hair slicked casually back. He looks every bit the king who’s unconcerned about the upcoming challenge. He doesn’t bother to address the crowd. Instead, he crosses the crushed-shell floor and seats himself on his throne, throwing one leg over the silver arm.

It’s a power play, something I would have told him to do before facing Eliel, especially if the rumors are true that Eliel’s employing magic. It’s not technically disallowed; it’s just considered uncouth. One should win based on their own abilities, not because they needed magical intervention.

It means that if Marco wins, the victory will be that much sweeter.

Not that we give a shit about his victory right now, Big Daddy reminds us. Where’s my fucking Luna?

Our fucking Luna follows, sailing through the doors in a traditional gown that takes my breath away. It’s the palest cream see-through gauze that wraps around her shoulders and connects around her waist, revealing her stomach and entire back. Dark nipples are visible through the fabric. It’s thicker around her hips, trailing long behind her.

“I picked this one out for you,” she purrs into our bond. “When this is all over, I need you to rip this off me.”

“Lola, what’s the plan? I need to know.”

“Patience, mi amor,” she murmurs. “Just be here.”

My anxiety ramps sky-high as the wolves who’d been standing around form a tight circle around the room’s center. A figure appears on the far side—Eliel—surrounded by his closest packmates. He wears the traditional fitted dress pants for a challenge. Silver cuffs gleam around both of his wrists, a matching collar slung low around his muscular neck.

I bristle, knowing it’s this asshole who made Lola uncomfortable in the past. The tangy, metallic fragrance of magic rolls off him in waves.

Lola ignores everyone and strides elegantly to the center of the circle, turning to face her father. She’ll announce him in the traditional way, and then she’ll announce Eliel and the challenge will begin.

Challenge them both, Big Daddy snarls. We can take the king like this. The Luna bond is stronger than him, I’m sure of it.

“Don’t,” Lola cautions. Her focus moves to Big Daddy. “Trust me, please.”

Always, Luna, he growls, whining and dropping to his belly as we watch her. Dirk is a silent presence by my side, waiting to take his cue.

Lola beams around at the crowd. “Welcome, Santa Alaya, to our challenge!”

The crowd erupts into a cacophony of cheers as I tense. When she spins back around in my direction, I gasp at the dark, circular spots running down her neck and shoulder into the dress strap.

“Told you I had this covered,” she teases into our bond.

Something happened to her, she’s different.

“Lola,” I murmur, overcome with the possessive need to stalk through the crowd and pull her into my arms. As it is, I remain surrounded by Pack Santa Alaya, waiting on my princess.

“We have a lot to catch up on,” she admits. “Later, though.”

She walks a slow circle with her hands clasped at her lower back, eyeing the crowd as tension amps up in the room. Every wolf is silent, staring at their princess as she makes aggressive, predatory eye contact.

Finally, she grins and points at Marco. “You came to see a challenge tonight, isn’t that right? To see my father crush his Second, Eliel?”

The crowd screams and stomps, howls cutting through the air as goosebumps prickle to the surface of my skin at her taunt.

“What the fook is yer woman doin’?” Dirk mutters, leaning into me.

Lola throws her head back and laughs, turning to her father with a deadly glint in her eye. “Instead, I challenge you, Marco Garcia Rosas, Rey de Pack Santa Alaya, for the throne.”

You could hear a pin drop in the room as a hush falls over the crowd. Marco rises from his throne, fists balled as he glares at Lola. “What are you doing?” he growls under his breath, stalking down the dais toward her.

An angry howl cuts through the air as he reaches her. On the far end of the cavernous ballroom, Eliel yanks his shirt over his head and shifts, sprinting into the circle.

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