Page 36 of Licence To Howl
Moretti himself took that moment to stride towards them. ‘Did I hear my name being taken in vain?’ His gaze slid from Scarlett to Devereau. ‘You look wonderful. We should re-take that selfie and include you in it this time.’ He waved his hand at Devereau’s body. ‘This is a huge improvement on your other clothes.’
Hardly. ‘Is everyone I’m fighting going to be dressed up like this?’
Moretti’s grin almost split his face in two. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Just you.’ He winked while a long trumpet note sounded from somewhere within the Colosseum. ‘There’s no time to change now. That’s your cue.’
‘Un-fucking-believable.’
Scarlett reached across and patted his bare arm. ‘You make a very fetching gladiator. Try not to get killed, Dev. We’ve got real work to do later.’
He gave her his fakest smile. ‘Yeah, yeah.’ He rolled his eyes and stomped out to a roar of appreciation from the audience. What a farce.
Nicolo Moretti was too much of a showman to require any microphone. He strode out to the centre of the small stage ahead of Devereau and spread his arms wide. ‘Ladies and gentlemen! Esteemed dignitaries! We welcome you to tonight’s entertainment. Our challenger is English and therefore proceedings will be conducted in that language for his benefit. After all, he’ll need all the help he can get.’
The audience tittered. Their reaction wasn’t dutiful amusement. It was genuine humour. Nobody beyond himself and perhaps Scarlett expected him to do well here.
Moretti continued. ‘I know you will all have heard of Devereau Webb. He is already being hailed as a legendary werewolf, bitten four times before he was turned. Apparently he is a true maverick.’ Moretti paused for effect. ‘But whether he can live up to his own legend or not will be determined tonight!’
This time, the crowd bellowed in anticipatory delight. They were bloodthirsty, Devereau realised. Those people watching from up there were here for brutal violence and brutal violence alone. He noted several men and women whispering and passing over wads of bank notes and he hoped for their sake that they were betting on him and not his seven opponents although from their reactions so far he doubted it. Devereau circled slowly on the spot, displaying his awful costume – and lack of fear – to everyone watching. He was from London’s underbelly. He’d fought for everything he’d ever achieved and he wasn’t afraid to play dirty. These Italian werewolves wouldn’t know what had hit them. He scanned the crowd carefully, stiffening slightly when he spotted the lone figure wearing a motorcycle helmet behind on the second level. Solentino’s man had managed somehow to gain entry then. Devereau would certainly give him full marks for tenacity.
The trumpet sang out again. Moretti stepped back, leaving him alone on the stage. Devereau’s eyes sought out Scarlett for one short moment. He gestured surreptitiously towards Mr Motorcycle and hoped she noticed him. He didn’t have to time to check, however, because that was when then his first opponent appeared.
It was a young male werewolf. Late teens probably, judging from his juvenile yet muscular body. He was already in wolf form, displaying a lustrous black coat. If there were ever to be lupine shampoo adverts, this guy would be a shoo-in as the model. As Devereau watched, the young wolf spun round, enjoying his moment in the spotlight. He was the warm-up act, Devereau realised. While there was no doubt this would be an easy win, the kid had been a deliberate selection that had nothing to do with lulling Devereau into a false sense of security and everything to do with teaching the younger wolf what it was really like to fight. He approved. Rather than smack the kid down in the first blow, he’d allow him some leeway. It would do them both some good.
An older woman had taken up the microphone. ‘The first challenger,’ she boomed, ‘is nineteen year old Arsenio. He’s not yet a ranked wolf but there is no doubt that he’s going to go far.’
Arsenio’s shoulders rose up a fraction in response to the praise.
‘The fight will begin,’ the woman said, ‘in uno, due,tre.’
The crowd screeched in delight. Arsenio, with all the hallmarks of enthusiastic youth, wasted no time. He sprang towards Devereau, his lips pulled back over his teeth and his ears flat against his head. Devereau remained where he was for a beat, waiting as Arsenio thundered towards him. Then, with impeccable timing, he leapt up into the air. Rather than collide with him as he’d expected, Arsenio met thin air. His paws skittered on the wooden boards as he tried to change direction. Devereau landed directly behind him and, while Arsenio tried to find his balance again. Devereau reached out and tweaked his tail.
Arsenio growled and spun, glaring at him with narrowed yellow eyes which were a striking highlight against his midnight black fur. He snapped forward, chomping at air. Devereau stayed put. He wasn’t prepared to shift to his own wolf form yet. There were another six fights to go and he wasn’t going to reveal himself and give away any advance knowledge of his abilities to his future opponents. He would, however, permit Arsenio to get a few jabs in. It was the right thing to do.
Leaning to his left and blatantly telegraphing his next move, Devereau paused. Unfortunately, when he threw his weight forward, it was clear that Arsenio had missed the advertisement. Devereau’s fist connected with the side of his head. If he’d not pulled back at the last moment, he would have knocked the boy out. Arsenio was too wound up to think straight or to pay attention to what was happening. No wonder Moretti had tossed him into the ring to learn.
Devereau drew back, allowing the youngster some breathing time. Calm down, he ordered silently. Pay attention to what you’re doing. Pay attention to what I’m doing too.
It seemed to work. Arsenio’s chest heaved as he took a deep breath, a tiny cloud appearing as he exhaled. Devereau leaned to his left again. Watch. You’ll know where I’m going if you focus.
It worked. As Devereau repeated the exact same move, Arsenio got it. He swivelled away from the blow and lunged towards Devereau’s exposed flank, his teeth scraping against the daft plastic breastplate. Devereau angled himself slightly, permitting Arsenio to grab hold of the fake armour and tug. With one sharp move, he yanked it away. The plastic tumbled to the floor with a dull clatter and the crowd roared. Good, kid. Devereau thought. Good.
Emboldened by his minor success, Arsenio went for him again. Those young fangs would be painfully sharp and Devereau had no desire to bleed out because of a silly wound. All the same, he allowed Arsenio’s teeth to connect with the bare flesh on his arm, scraping the skin so that beads of bright blood appeared. The kid was so delighted – and astonished – that he’d drawn first blood that he lifted his head and let out an ecstatic howl. Devereau sighed. That was too stupid to allow to pass. He reached out, cuffed Arsenio on the side of his head, and he crumpled to the ground.
The announcer allowed a moment. The crowd watching from above stared silently at Arsenio’s body. He whined slightly and stirred but there was no chance he was getting back up again for more.
‘Ninety-three seconds!’ the woman bellowed into the microphone. ‘Devereau Webb wins the first fight!’
Three runners immediately appeared, darting forward to scoop Arsenio up and take him away for medical treatment. He’d have a slight concussion but he’d be fine. And hopefully he’d learnt something in the process. Devereau gave a mocking bow to the crowd and swivelled to walk off stage and grab a drink of water.
Scarlett handed him a bottle. He unscrewed the lid and tipped the contents into his waiting mouth. He’d only just drained the bottle when Moretti appeared.
‘That’s not what I was expecting from you,’ the Italian alpha said.
Devereau managed a grimace. ‘Yeah. First blood to a kid. I’ll never live that down.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Moretti told him. ‘As you are well aware.’
Devereau met his eyes. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
