Page 65 of Defiant
“Good.”
Shifter law dictates that I can’t tamper with the fight or it’s outcome in any way. A shifter caught tampering with it will be set in a silver box to starve slowly, in a constant state of burning and healing from contact with the evil material. But…there are no rules about tampering with the water bottles we provide his elites. Or the food we set out.
Gilly’s afternoon has been spent injecting liquefied ricin into the water bottles so that they look untouched. He sprinkled it onto the catering, which in the tiny locker room is subs and not Indian food, trying to tempt the soulless demons into eating.
I don’t know if Stone’s elite will be smart enough to avoid it, but I’m betting they won’t. I plan to leave Stone without any damned alphas at his back. The only ones strong enough will be my elite. So even if he does win…fat chance of that…he’ll be an island surrounded by an ocean of angry Lobos.
I glance around at all my elites and give them a grin. “Spread out among the crowd and keep things under control. Wouldn’t want a riot when I win.”
Every single one of them gives a wolfish grin back at me.
Pluto approaches and stands behind me off to my right. He quietly says, “It’s time.”
I crack my neck and then follow him across the grass toward the dirt ring. Behind the stands, huge lights on poles turn the space into a bubble of afternoon amidst the darkness. My pack members make up two-thirds of the crowd, but a good number of Dark Nights who live just across the disputed border have driven in to watch the fight. There are a couple banners.
All the Lobos wear grey and the Dark Nights are in black, like this is a sporting event and they want to cheer on their favorite team. I can almost imagine an announcer over the loudspeaker leading them in a seventh inning stretch at some point. It looks so innocent and peaceful.
Then again, murder scenes always do before the fact.
* * *
Stoneand I stand in the middle of an impromptu arena on a gated off part of my property. I’ve got the space surrounded by armed human glimmer guards so that if any of Stone’s wolves try to pull anything, they’ll have to figure out how to do it without touching humans. Otherwise, the high council will see red.
The smell of beer, Indian food, and sweaty shifters in the metal bleachers mix into a pungent aroma. My monster’s going to hate that. But then again, so will Stone’s. And since I spent the last hour acclimating, I should have the advantage.
A human referee comes forward, an old glimmer that Matthew knows—the man knows everyone. The ref wears a striped shirt and carries a whistle like this is some kind of civilized sport instead of a long-overdue deathmatch.
I grin over at Stone lazily as an announcer spouts off the rules through a wheeled speaker one of my elites dug up, though really, only one rule matters. We don’t stop until someone’s dead.
The leader of the Dark Nights is tall and broad, like most alphas. Unlike me, he’s dressed in a full suit. I just wear a collared shirt and charcoal slacks.He’s all dolled up with nowhere to go but in the ground.
My wolf chuffs a laugh at that thought as he sniffs his competition. Stone has a strong walnut scent, different from the scents we get around here. There’s almost an undertone of brown sugar I think, but it’s hard to be certain with the soup of scents mixing in the sky tonight.
I study him further, examining his face. His jawline isn’t quite as firm as it once was, though he still clearly has muscle tone. His hairline is receding a little on either side, already turned gray, but that doesn’t seem to stop him. I note the wrinkles in his square forehead, they make him look old, but the fire in his eyes still burns hot and young. His nose is slightly crooked, maybe from a fight or maybe because the moon goddess doesn’t love him quite as much as she does me.
I’m betting on the latter.
“Any last words?” I ask softly, as the announcer finishes up and my bare feet dig into the thick grass.
“I’m gonna jizz on your grave.” Stone replies.
“I’ll make sure that gets put in your eulogy,” I retort as my blood amps up, dancing through my veins exuberantly. “Here lies Stone who wanted to jizz on my grave and forsake his wife for another—”
“Not just her. You know what my boys and I are gonna do to every female in your pack after I win?” Stone’s easy-going Southern tone belies the cruelty implied by those words, which saws my stomach in half. I’m utterly disgusted.
I glance up at the moon goddess wondering if she sees what a monster he is.
Stone leans in close. “Moon ain’t gonna save you, boy. You’re dead already.”
I’m both electrified and agitated by those words. The need to fight becomes as visceral and all-encompassing as the need to come. I clench my fingers and feel a drizzle of sweat rolling down my spine as my body amps itself up into high gear, brimming with anticipation.
The ref walks over then but my ears hardly hear as the man tells me and Stone to get into position to shift into our monster forms. He spaces us out five feet apart, facing one another, then backs rapidly away to the side of the cage.
My elites line the edges of the cage, standing sentinel. Behind them, the onlookers are wild. But back in the trees, I know glimmers with guns are ready to keep everything secure.
The sounds of the crowd fade as the blood pumping through my ears becomes a booming bass beat that blocks out anything else. My eyes travel over Stone, noting his stance, the way his left arm falls a little more stiffly than his right. An old injury perhaps? I note he has his right foot forward. So he’s probably right side dominant. I catalog any little detail that might help me beat him, any potential weaknesses he might have.
My heart bounces feverishly and my wolf is in my line of vision, on all fours, hackles raised, growling at Stone. He sends me a mental image of ripping out Stone’s throat.
