Page 14 of Reformed Wolf

“I could do worse than Nan,” I agreed, though my traitorous eyes strayed past the ring to the man fate had selected for me.

“I meant Azar.”

My head snapped to the side to glare at my father. “You can’t be serious. Azar is a psychopath.”

“And he would keep you safe. He would provide for you.”

I scoffed. “Safe, yeah right.” I sneered, knowing Azar would pose more of a threat to me than anyone else. “But do you honestly trust him to follow your rules? To obey you without question?” I raised a brow, and he frowned, his lips thinning. His lack of response was answer enough.

The bout was slow to start, the two men circling each other. They were evenly matched in size and strength, though I didn’t think for one second that it would make a difference. Nan didn’t stand a chance. He was simply too kind.

Sure enough, Azar’s right arm dropped an inch, and Nan saw it as his opening. I saw it as a trap.

Azar’s eyes glinted, and he stepped in at the same time Nan did, darting around him with fluid grace, and brought his arm around his neck in a chokehold. No blood had been spilled, so according to the rules, Nan couldn’t shift. His face began to turn purple. He scrabbled clumsily at the arm with long black claws, but Azar barely seemed to notice, instead tightening his grip.

A whimper snuck past my lips, and Azar turned his head to look directly at me. His lips moved silently, but I knew what he was saying. “Say please.”

I didn’t hesitate. I stood from my chair and shouted, “Please!”

My father hissed, “Sit down!” more concerned about appearing weak than he was about saving the man’s life.

Father grabbed at my arm to drag me back into my seat, but I moved away from him, pleading. “Please, Azar, spare him.” The crowd quieted down, a few heads turning to look at me, at my father, assessing.

Nan’s father was at the side of the arena, steely-eyed, his jaw clenched tight, fingers hooked in the cage. Regardless of knowing the risks, I knew losing his only son would break him.

I held my breath as the tiger shifter pursed his lips in apparent thought, while Nan slowly stopped fighting, his eyes drifting shut and his arms dropping to his sides. When he’d gone fully limp, Azar sighed. “Very well, little omega. Consider this an early mating gift.” He released his arm, and Nan’s body slumped heavily down on the mat.

My breath left me in a whoosh of relief, and Nan’s father rushed into the cage to gather up his son. My eyes burned with tears I refused to let fall. I turned my back on Azar, an obvious snub, and returned to sit. The crowd had taken on a more sedate mood in the wake of the near death. Nobody trusted Azar, and they were wise to be wary.

My father rose, an imposing figure that drew all attention in the room as he moved to the front of the stage. “Well, we seem to find ourselves in a bind. I invited eight families, but one fighter was unfortunately overcome by his beast before we even began and has been shown out. That leaves only Oliver Wilson, so he will be granted—”

“Actually,” a voice cut through the room, “I believe I’m up next. Perhaps you should count again?” Heads turned, and with some shifting of bodies, my wolf mate strode forward. That he kept his head held high under my father’s scrutinizing glare spoke highly of his fierce will.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” my father said slowly. “Who is your father?”

“I had two mothers, in fact. I’m Tristan Tate of the Grim Wilds pack… It seems I’m a late addition to the fight card. Perhaps my invitation got lost in the mail.” His eyes flicked to me, and Father turned to glare at me as I tried not to shrink. I kept my eyes locked on my mate, Tristan, even as sweat slicked my palms.

I knew my father would be pissed, but giving up my fated mate entirely was never an option. He deserved a chance.

Well-trained businessman that my father was, he turned back with a grin, presenting a calm and cool persona. There was not a single ripple in his pond to hint at what was going on beneath the surface, but I knew better. I saw the twitch of his finger as though he fought not to clench his fists, the shift of his weight between his feet. He was furious, and someone would have to pay for my insolence.

His smile almost looked genuine as he clasped his hands behind his back. He was so good at putting his enemies at ease—right before he slit their throats. I braced for what was coming.

“Well, unless there’s someone to vouch for you…?” He waited a moment, waiting to see if I would speak out, but I bit down on my tongue to keep quiet. I knew it would only make things worse for Tristan. “You have no way of proving you deserve to be here. You have not fought in any preliminary matches. Unless…” He tapped his chin as though pondering, before his eyes lit up. “Ah! I know! We’ll simply combine your preliminary fight with this one. You will fight two men at once. How does that sound?”

Tristan’s nostrils flared, before he forced a smile. “Sounds delightful.”

“Excellent!” Father turned to where Oliver stood with his family. “Perhaps Noah might like a bit of fun? Do you have any objections?”

Oliver and his twin Noah, younger by three minutes, bumped fists, grinning. “We’re in,” they both said.

“Great,” Tristan muttered between clenched teeth. He peeled off his shirt, and I got my first good look at him without his clothes. His smooth skin was tanned from the sun, a scattering of freckles over his shoulders. His muscles weren’t like those of the other trained fighters. It was a natural strength, not built using weights in a gym. I let my eyes drink their fill, my panther purring with hunger. I followed the trail of blond hair leading beneath the waistband of his jeans. And then he popped the button, and I watched as he toed off his boots and shoved his jeans off, leaving him standing there in his black boxer briefs. His thighs were tight and strong, and I blushed as I imagined him kneeling between my legs.

I forced my gaze back up to find him watching me, and he threw me a wink before passing his clothes to Jude and heading for the ring.

Chapter 7

Tristan

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