Page 85 of Soulmates
Trajan’s feed went right to my dick, but Connor’s is different. He gives as much as he takes, wrapping my spirit in warmth. When he’s done, I’m no longer afraid. I can take my uncle in a fair fight. Dad will be able to clean out his enemies, and everyone I care about will be safe.
The sensation lasts until I wake the next afternoon. In the darkness of a vampire’s sleeping chamber, I realize that in addition to Trajan and Connor, I’m sleeping with guilt and fear and self-doubt.
I get up because the bed is way too crowded.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I DRESS CAREFULLY. Black leggings borrowed from Abby. A silk scarf of Mom’s tied around my waist like a wide belt that comes to my nipples. No shirt. My fearsome new boots, and finally, the midnight-blue duster.
I keep the makeup simple. Liquid eyeliner from Urban Decay, mascara from Maybelline, and a MAC lipstick named Ruby Woo. I’m done with dressing to look the part. If this is my last day on earth, I’m going down in style.
For the last week or so, Trajan and Connor have taken turns pulling me aside and offering to help me shift. I’ve declined. I figure it’s either going to work or it won’t, and if I turn into a pile of goo before we even get to the pit, things could go bad for the family even faster. Instead, I study what Connor’s learned about Uncle Brendan’s fighting style and I compare that with memories of my previous fights.
Every wolf fights when they’re kids. Mock fights. Play. It’s part of the game. We might draw blood, but we don’t fight to the death.
Something about the process of dressing and applying makeup calms me. The time for doubt has passed. My thoughts take on a new clarity. When the time comes, I’ll shift, and then I’ll fight, and then I’ll win.
I stalk out of the bedroom. Trajan and Connor are waiting for me, sitting side by side on the couch. My men. My pack. I approach them, and they both stand. They look magnificent. Connor, with his bright auburn hair and hipster beard, is wearing a classic black suit, a corporate devil to Trajan’s gangster black.
We’re quiet for an awkward moment. Maybe they’re trying to come up with just the right words, some balance of affection and encouragement and other things we have trouble naming. “I don’t deserve you,” I murmur, knowing it’s the truth.
Trajan waves me off. “Let’s get this done so we can come back here and celebrate properly.”
He takes my hand, and for once, our skin temperature is nearly the same. My mind might be clear, but nerves are having their way with my body. Connor’s got my other hand, though, reminding me what warmth feels like. If he has any reservations about a member of the Securitas attending an illegal wolf fight, he hasn’t voiced them. He closes the moment we didn’t quite have with a quiet “Mo mhuirnin,” and while I don’t speak Gaelic, his tone makes his feeling clear.
We take Connor’s Prius, stopping to meet Sheena. She’s taking her own car, as is Trajan’s friend Stone, but we’ll caravan so we all arrive together.
The drive takes forever and we’re there so fast I can barely catch my breath. The place is a compound, with three low stucco buildings arranged around a central ring. The ring is sunk maybe ten feet in the earth, and a bank of risers surround it. Four fifteen-foot light poles mark the points on a compass, flooding the ring with a white light that’ll only get harsher as the night goes on.
There are a few other wolves present, but no sign of Brendan or any of my cousins. Abby is there, with Mom, who sits by herself in a seat on the top row of the bleachers. Mom is holding a string of beads, and her lips are moving continuously, spinning threads of a prayer I can almost see.
We enter the ring as a group, Trajan on my right and Connor on my left, with Sheena and Stone behind us. Abby comes over, the only one of us not in black. She’s wearing an old pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. “Figured I’d be shifting so it wouldn’t matter what I wore,” she says with a shrug.
“I’m just grateful you’re here.”
She takes my elbow, and for a moment, we lean against each other. Maybe we should be talking strategy. I don’t know. The only thing she needs to do is keep Uncle Brendan’s second from interfering if the fight doesn’t go his way.
Whenthe fight doesn’t go his way.
The bleachers are filling with weres and other supernaturals. Jacques arrives, flanked by a lovely young woman on one side and a lovelier young man on the other. He’s clearly here for the show and has no intention of fighting. One of the possibilities I’d imagined—and dreaded—had Trajan jumping in if things went badly for me, a move that would turn this pack issue into a larger war between supes. Not a good look for any of us.
The crowd is somber, but there’s an undercurrent of tension, as if they’re uncertain who to root for. Lydia walks in with her crew of were-bikers. They don’t look my way but choose seats in the front row close to our group. There’s a subtle show of support there, and I’m grateful.
We’re waiting in a group when Brendan arrives. Abby has already shifted, and she’s at my knee. Brendan and seven of my cousins enter the ring in two lines, including Marcus, who may have been my best friend next to Abby. The sight of him at Brendan’s elbow is a new betrayal.
We haven’t progressed much beyond staring at each other when a line of black SUVs comes out of the desert. Everyone strains to see who is in them. Everyone but me. I’m in my own head, frantically coming up with a plan to shift. I know how to reach for my wolf. The question is whether the bonds Trajan, Connor and I have made will hold while I do.
I’m shocked out of my panic when my father and three other officers with the American Were Authority stride through the entrance. Immediately, all eyes are on Dad, because except for me and Brendan, he has the most to lose here.
He walks directly to the center of the ring, an older were at his side. I recognizePeter Gilbert, Dad’s Beta, the vice-president of the Were Authority. Dad holds up his hand, silencing the crowd. As soon as the air is still, he begins to speak.
“Contests of this nature and gravity fall under the jurisdiction of the Were Authority, and it is on that authority that I am here. However”—he looks out over the crowd—“tonight I have asked Peter Gilbert to oversee this event, for reasons that should be obvious.”
With that, Dad steps aside. Rather than take a seat in the stands, though, he walks directly to where we stand. “David, Abby, I have a favor to ask.”
Abby’s wolf nods.
“Abby, would you be willing to watch the thing from the stands with your mother? She needs the help, to be honest, and David, I’d like to be your second.”
