Page 6 of Knot Quite Ready

By the time an hour passes and we pull into a quaint village, my nerves are shot to shit, and I’m desperate to get out of this car and into a fight. The place to get into the fight is down an alleyway past a few quaint shops, including a little bookstore, a charity shop, and an independent coffee shop.

I take a deep breath as we step out of the car and smell a mishmash of shifters. “The fight club is in Cabria Shifter Falls?” I arch my eyebrow.

Tristan shrugs, “Even the well-established Cabria Falls would need a place for shifters just to be…feral every once in a while. You can’t expect a Disney movie. We are still animals by nature.”

I ponder his words as we walk. He is right, of course. Although, I wonder how they stayed under the radar from whoever headed up this area. Chances are they didn’t, but rather the councilman understood the need for a place for shifters to release tension. Not my problem, though.

We turn into an alley, where about halfway down, there's a small door cleverly disguised to appear abandoned and covered in graffiti. The only giveaway was the very slight scent of shifters in the air that was only detectable by other shifters.

I don’t ask how Tristan found exactly where to go for this fight club, but he always seems to know things, and I never question it. It was his job as my enforcer to know everything. Like now, when he raps a strange pattern on the battered door. He tosses back a smirk as the door swings open to reveal a surly man, trying to appear intimidating, which might work with humans, but I can’t see how this works with any of the shifters.

My wolf agrees because he manages to slip through my careful restraints to come to the forefront, wanting to play with this… I take a deep breath picking up his scent, rabbit shifter. I roll my eyes internally and wrestle my wolf back down as the guy rears back, casting his eyes downward in submission.Good,my wolf whispers, appreciating the small mark of respect—as if a rabbit shifter could do much anyway.Monti,was that entirely necessary?I feel his scowl at the nickname before he shrugs mentally and settles back down. After 32 years, my wolf, Montgomery, is still a surly show-off. Although, according to him, he has lived several lives and deserves more fun.

I manage a smile as we pass the rabbit, head inside, and follow the twisty corridor, down, down, and even further down until, about five minutes of walking later, we get to a large, dimly lit room with a large steel door and silver handle.No shifter was breaking in here unannounced. Smart.I look around briefly, taking note of the blinking cameras in the corners of the room as well as several directly in front of the door, spaced at different heights and, upon further inspection, encased in shatterproof glass. Well, damn.

Another quick beat on the door blocking our entrance, and the door swings open, letting out deep pulsing music.Soundproof doors,I note. I step in, and Tristan and I whistle appreciatively, taking in the currently empty dance cages on the side of the immense room and raised daises where, presumably, dancers danced outside of the cages. The walls are painted a deep green, and along the walls are booths, tables, and plush lounge chairs, all currently occupied with laughing shifters and the occasional witch group. At that, I smiled.

Witches and shifters usually work in a transactional fashion—shifters handle the muscle part, and witches put up magical protection for packs and shifter homes. But they don't really hang out together in public places. Instead, many older supernatural folks stick with their own crowd, going with what they know instead of trying something new.

I get that traditions matter, but holding on to those snobby, old-fashioned attitudes can make someone a prime target for human experiments. I've always pushed back against that kind of thinking in my own pack, and eventually, I left because of it. Among other reasons, I decided to start my own pack of like-minded wolves so that we can lead shifters into a new age of growth and change.

My dad, Alpha Casemiro, who I was named after, and the pack Council were shocked when a bunch of younger wolves—and even some older ones—decided to follow me. Now, typically, this would be seen as a declaration of war, but my dad chalked it up to a rebellious phase and let us go without a fuss. That was pretty surprising, given his violent nature and crazy mating rules. But, of course, he had to promise some harsh punishment when we'd all come crawling back—that part wasn't shocking at all. In truth, it was easier for him to act like he was giving permission instead of facing the real challenge to his position in the pack. But I didn't want his pack; I wanted to create my own.

After two years of ‘roughing’ it, roaming from place to place, and dealing with a few skirmishes with other packs, we managed to thrive. We even picked up random like-minded wolf shifters along the way; omegas, betas, and some mated wolves with wolf pups. While we made due with ensuring everyone had what they needed, pups were educated, and our wolves could attain their own education as well; we were all itching for our own pack-lands. But our last discovery near Lincolnshire Wolds, as we made our way from our Norfolk slip-up, was deciding factor in ensuring we quickly found a more permanent settlement for our pack.

We tried to travel mostly at night, keeping to our wolf forms as much as possible, using pendants provided by witches around our necks to avoid detection. We stumbled across a broken group of Omega females, some with small children, who had run away from their pack. Bruised, delirious from hunger, eyes sunken in from lack of sleep, and scared out of their minds, they still stood defiantly and said they would rather die than return. It took everything in my power to stop myself from finding their own pack and unleashing a hell storm. The other members of our pack felt the same. After much convincing from Tristan and me and, later, the other wolves in our pack, we assured them that we were not there to bring them to their old pack and meant no harm. After a couple of weeks of careful treatment, hunting for them and finding them all proper clothes,andafter much deliberation, they decided they wanted to join us. After some research, we headed towards the lake district, understanding that while the actual National Park was not a place for wolves to settle safely, we would aim for about an hour away, west, from the main areas. We hoped that with some assistance from like-minded witches, we met along our journey, we would be able to settle and avoid detection for years to come. Call it luck or fate, but it looks like we finally chose the right place to make that happen.

My thoughts reeling, I continue to observe the room. In the center of the room was a large sunken area in the shape of a circle, with blood splattered on the surrounding floor; the fighting ring. While there were no seats directly in front of the fighting area, people milled around, angling for a good view of the next set of fights. The room seems to go on, from the raised dancing area for the patrons to the back, which appears to lead to the restrooms and probably an office or two. From the outside, one would have never suspected that directly under their feet was a vast shifter club and fight scene. In fact, despite it being underground, I wonder how the owner managed to conceal such a space from humans. Shifters can be resourceful and convincing, but whoever owned this space was especially so, considering blueprints for buildings were public records.

It’s busy in here but not overly packed yet. A few feet away, directly in the view of whoever walks through the door, sits a long bar with an oak top and racks of shelving behind it full of various liquors. We shifters like the taste of alcohol, and it takes a lot to get us feeling the effects, so the owner here has all the top-shelf goods that those watching the fights can savor. Tristan and I make our way there, feeling the stares from the shifters in the room. Being the only wolves here, I can understand the confusion. From our information, there weren’t wolf shifters in the area. Although for a good reason. Our forms are more significant in size than most, and a wolf was already considered person-non-grata to most humans.

My curiosity more than peaked; I keep my face carefully blank as I observe the room, trying to figure out who owned this place. A secret club, a fight club, and top-shelf booze? I mean, shifters usually pool their resources, and some clans can be wealthy, but this kind of wealth—the kind that's tough to keep under wraps—takes some serious smarts to build and maintain.

Looking around the room, I further observe the fight zone, which I now notice is accompanied by a cage suspended from the ceiling which would then come down and enclose those in the ring — more than likely so they can beat the everlasting shit out of each other and the damage would stay inside.It doesn’t do much to keep the blood inside, though,I think to myself, noticing that the initial splatters were a lot more than just a few drops.

Tristan whistles, his eyes following my gaze. “That cage is top of the range. It’s a highly specialized material that takes over a year to forge. After, the metal is warded to absorb the impact from a hit and then released back into the circle as a low-pitched sonic boom to the one pinned, rendering them useless.” He shakes his head in awe. “That’s not cheap. The witches who ward that metal don’t take cash payment—They deal in favors. It makes me more than curious to find out who owns this place. We need to make sure our pack is on their good side,” his face takes on a look of determination. The look that meant he would find out who owned this underground club and force them into a submission of friendship, much like he did to me years ago. They were goners.

I chuckled, “Down, boy, you cannot bring home any more strays. We just got new carpets.” I tsked, and he throws a punch that lands softly on my shoulder. “You’re no fun, Dad,” he pouts, turning around to signal the bartender for a drink.

As he orders, a weedy-looking man sidles up to us, holding a glass of scotch, the smell of rat wafting from his direction.A rat shifter, the lowest of the lows.I resist the urge to curl my lip as he opens his mouth, his yellowing teeth on display, “Are you boys in a fight tonight?” He asks, licking his think lips, “You both look like the, uh, discerning types and I… uh…placed a lot of money in the next few rounds of the shifter wars. I bet you’re a strong one judging by all that muscle,” he leans closer to me, a crazed gleam in his eyes. My second breath came with the perversive smell of addiction, and I felt nothing but disgust for the shifter before me. Drug addiction, in general, did not end well. But mix drugs and the magic of being a shifter? The shifters became unhinged, dangerous and were often put down. The fact that his addiction seems further along indicates that this rat didn’t belong to a pack; the closest shifter council would decide his judgment before he became a danger to humans and shifters.

My lips curl into a sneer, and it takes everything in me to paste on a benign smile. “We’re just scoping out the competition at the moment.”

The rat nods. “Okay, fine. But if you want to know who to beat, I’m your guy.”

Tristan leans across me. “We don’t want to cheat if that’s what you’re saying. We don’t need underhand tactics to beat anyone in here. So go on, little rat, fuck off.” He flicks his fingers at the shifter, who gives us a scandalized look and scurries off like a….well…rat. “Seriously. What a twat. Are you going to fight tonight, though, Cas? I recognize that look in your eyes. Your wolf is riding you hard.”

I shove the little rat into the dark recesses of my mind and consider Tristan’s words. He doesn’t need to remind me that I’m itching for blood and need a good fight to exhaust my wolf and me. Since moving, we’ve been reluctant to change, needing to settle in and not alarm the wildlife and any locals too much. So maybe tonight would be a good relief for me.

“Yeah, I think I am going to fight tonight. Go and put me on the list.” Tristan nods at my words and slinks off to find out who the organizer is.

I cast a critical eye over the current shifters in the club, sizing up the potential: leopards, lithe bird shifters, and even a bear shifter whose imposing frame could intimidate most. As I catalog their features, I start to break down what I know about their species and consider their strengths and weaknesses, wondering which one can give me a real challenge in the ring. Not that appearances mean much. Experience has taught me that even the ‘tamest’ of shifter species can surprise you.

I watch a couple of men step into the circle, and the low buzz of noise increases until cheers ring out. They peel their tops off as the cage lowers and closes, the wards letting off a slight pulse of magic, effectively trapping them in there.

A woman’s voice blasts from the speakers, sultry and smooth. “Welcome to The Cavern! And most importantly…Shifter Wars, motherfuckers! Round two of our fights are about to begin, and while you should all know the drill, we noticed a few newcomers joining. So, if you’re new, here’s the lowdown. One. Once that cage comes down, you’re in there until the buzzer sounds, or one of you is nearly dead. Apart from that, anything goes. Two. What happens on the floor stays on the floor. Be paired with another combatant on the signup list at random and work out all our anger, or Challenge a combatant and work out whatever the fuck you got going on with each other, but you will shake at the end and part on amicable terms. This is not a breeding ground for feuds. Three. No drugs allowed on site, violators will be banned, and mind scrubbed. Four. Consent. No explanation is needed there. Five. The Cavern is soundproof for your safety and the integrity of the club and Shifter Wars. Six. We are a secret club, and it will stay that way. The minute you stepped into The Cavern, you may not have felt it, but you are now bound to keep it a secret from those seeking to do us harm. If, for some reason, magic or otherwise, you find a way around this ward and we find out any humans hear about this, then you will be executed. Okay? Cool.” There are a few anxious chuckles around me like they don’t know if she’s joking. However, with a club of this scale, there is no doubt that she is absolutely not joking.

Soon, there’s a sharp ring of a bell, and within seconds, the two fighters are on each other. I shift my head slightly to catch their scents,osprey. For bird shifters, I have to admit that I am impressed. They’re fighting with a lot more savagery than I thought possible, and as their attacks increase, I have to wonder if their anger is a combination of pack politics and youthful hormones or, in fact, just friendly shifter rivalry.

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