Page 162 of Tides of Fate

“Thank you for everything, Erin. I wouldn’t be here without you,” Nix says, and he means every word.

She hesitates for a single second before pulling him in for a hug. She releases him immediately, pink-cheeked as if she’s surprised by her actions. “You truly are a miracle, and if you ever need me, please call. I’ll touch base next week if that’s all right with you?”

“I’d like that.” Nix smiles, waving as she leaves to take her seat.

His mates circle him, and gentle hands caress his shoulders and press the small of his back. The black pants are similar to yoga pants—stretchy but loose enough for extra movement. Finn helps him to remove “their” white sweater, and he shivers in the morning air.

Nix hopes they can be home in time for lunch—maybe they can finally eat that beef roast Gideon has in the fridge.

“Hey, Gideon?” he whispers, watching Gideon fuss over the hems of his pants like details might keep him safe. “When we get home, will you make Beef Wellington? You promised.”

Leo snorts as his shoulders finally drop from their tensed-up position near his ears. “You’re not sweating this at all, are you?”

“I’m really not. Trust me.”

The speakers pop and hiss as Judge Patel’s voice booms over the system. “Combatants, please take the field.”

As his mates close in, surrounding him in a brief group hug, Nix takes his last deep breath of smoky pine, a thunderstorm, spicy cinnamon, and spiced rum—of fresh basil and tart black currants. And finally, sweet, chocolatey mocha.

He straightens, shakes out his arms, and meets Jamie’s eyes.

His first love looks at him like he wants to say a thousand things but doesn’t know where to start. Finally, he gives his head a small shake and an even smaller smile. “Come back to me, baby boy.”

“See you soon,” Nix says before walking through the gate and into the arena. He can’t look back now—he has to forget about them so that he can do this.

He shivers again because, for the first time since he woke up in that hospital bed, he truly feels alone.

Judge Jones is standing in the middle of the field, looking much more casual in a gray tracksuit than the last time Nix saw the big man. When Nix approaches, the judge smiles and offers him his large hand.

“Mr. Rena, are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good to hear. We’ll bring Mr. Hayes in, and then we’ll commence. You understand there are no rules except that you stay on the field until one of you is dead or dying?”

“Yes, sir. May I ask a question?”

“Certainly.”

“What happens if he tries to leave?”

“We return him to the field,” Jones replies as though the answer were the simplest thing in the world. “There are guards.”

“Okay. That’s good.” At least Nix won’t have to chase him down.

There’s a howl at the other end of the field, and the clang of the gate is unnaturally loud as it echoes off the stone walls of the arena. Two guards drag Dawson Ulysses Haversham Hayes in by his arms while he thrashes and snarls.

For a moment, Nix is shocked.

This is not the slimy, urbane man who tortured him for five years. It’s certainly not the man who once charmed him with a smile on the steps outside Ripley Records. This man is more animal than person—feral, with his claws out and only his Were fangs left in his mouth.

“What happened to him?” Nix asks Judge Jones.

“Honestly, we aren’t sure. His inmates haven’t taken kindly to him in prison, but this seems like more than just that.”

No shit.Hayes looks like a demon straight from the gates of Hell.

As if he detects Nix’s regard, he shrieks and tries to pull away from hisguards. Judge Patel was right—Hayes looks unhinged.

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