Page 187 of Harley & Her Ferals

Yet the simple touch of Laurent’s hand is enough to quieten the swelling anxiety that’s making it hard for me to breathe.

River passes underneath our cage.

He’s working as the water boy for the evening.

River hates cage fights. He has suffered to avoid them. Yet he’ll face their violence in order to protect his pack.

River is dressed in a smart white shirt and black trousers, carrying a bucket with water bottles.

His head is ducked deferentially. His curls cover his face.

For a split second, River looks up at Laurent. River’s eyes glitter.

Laurent’s lip curls up at the side, before he nods.

River ducks his head again and hurries past.

“The plan is on,” Laurent says.

I bite my lip, as River holds out the bucket to each fighter. They take the bottles without even noticing or thanking him, apart from Harbinger.

Harbinger reaches out to touch River’s cheek. “Thanks, Sunshine.”

Sunshine looks up, shaking his head.

Harbinger looks confused.

Shit, what happens if Harbinger drinks the water like the other fighters already are?

River has poisoned it.

River glances down at the bottle again but doesn’t dare do anymore, before he hurries back to stand underneath our cage.

Harbinger hesitates, uncertain.

The flower that River was experimenting with won’t cause permanent damage — and importantly, won’t be obvious enough to be detected — but slows an Alpha’s senses down by disorientating them.

I swallow nervously, as the other fighters begin to drink the water.

If every Alpha drinks, apart from Feral and Harbinger, then they’ll have the advantage tonight and tomorrow.

But Harbinger mustn’t drink it.

“He’ll understand.” Laurent’s gaze becomes determined. “He will.”

River shoots a panicked glance at him.

I know River. He’s about to do something stupid like rush back to Harbinger.

I growl, loud enough for Feral to hear.

Feral is standing outside the small octagon cage directly below me.

Feral looks more fearsome than normal. He truly appears to be a savage Devil Alpha.

Barefoot, he’s dressed in red shorts. His chest and back have been smeared with paint like blood. His smoky eyeshadow and eyeliner has been darkened.

Feral is thrumming with the rush of adrenaline that comes before a fight. The noise of the crowds, along with Jin’s “Caged Dreams” that’s playing through the warehouse, is pulling him into his feral nature.

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