Page 61 of Harley & Her Ferals

“See, here’s the problem with that.” Harbinger returns my smirk. Why is he looking so relaxed? “I’m not a puppy. I’m awolfwith claws.”

Unexpectedly, I feel the prick of Harbinger’s sharp nails, dangerously pressing on my stomach.

He could gut me.

How did he distract me enough to make me miss that move?

I swallow.

“Checkmate.” Harbinger’s ice-cold eyes are hard.

I should tap out.

Harbinger could kill me.

He’s as much of a psycho as everybody says. I’ve never met anybody like him before.

Yet this match is the one that either saves Feral or fucks up his life. I can’t simply give up.

I feel numb.

Sick.

In a move that I know he won’t be expecting from me, I bring my leg up lightning fast to knee Harbinger in the balls.

There was a risk that he’d gut me, even as he falls to the floor with a groan.

But Harbinger doesn’t.

I dance backward, gaining distance from him again.

“Low blow.” Harbinger struggles to push himself back to his feet.

“Did you forget that there are no rules in the octagon?” I grin.

Harbinger glances at Laurent, shaking out his wrist, which is bound by the chain. It’s bruised and swollen.

My guts churn with dread. Why is this enemy Alpha taking such an interest in Laurent?

Does he know him? What’s the story?

My eyes narrow. “Why do you keep looking at that male Omega?”

“Haven’t you got eyes?”

I snort. “Don’t tell me that you’re thinking with your knot, even during a fight?”

“Maybe I’ve fallen in love.”

“Bullshit.”

“Then maybe he’s my scent match.”

“You can’t tell that in here.”

Harbinger’s expression becomes dangerous, as he stalks toward me.

There’s a shift in him like looking at Laurent has reminded Harbinger of something, drawing the enjoyment of the fight out of him.

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