Page 49 of Filthy Beginnings

N’gal Verish’s green skin mottled yellow as Damien’s arm flexed around his throat, denying the fighter breath. He pressed his mouth to the gasping male’s ear and whispered something, both of their gazes locking on her.

Ice skittered through her veins.

What had Damien said? What was he doing?

Murmurs turned into rumbles within the crowd.

He needed to let the other male go. Now.

She willed Damien to calm down. To gain control.

But the same recklessness and ferocity in him that thrilled her worked against them now.

He was going to ruin everything.

Worse, Egan Avitus was letting him.

Because by now, Egan should have done something. Fighters and trainers murmured among themselves. Called for action.

But Egan did nothing. He simply watched her Alpha strangle the other male, that familiar calculating smirk on her handler’s face.

Because once Damien crossed the line and broke protocol to choke out an opponent who’d tapped out, the consortium would have the excuse it needed to ban him from the tournament.

She opened her mouth to warn Damien—except someone beat her to it.

“Enough!” It wasn’t Egan who made this command. Nor her brother Luc.

It was Kadon Stormhart.

He broke from the other fighters and strode toward Damien.

Thankfully, his shout was enough to bring Damien to his senses. He shoved N’gal Verish away, just as Kadon came near.

Coughing, N’gal staggered to his feet with a snarl. “I’ll get you for this.”

“Try it.” Damien beckoned him forward.

Kadon stepped between them, hands up. “To your corners.” It wasn’t truly his place to issue such an order, but he’d always been a leader. “Skolov, you are one stupid mistake away from getting kicked out of the tournament—and then where will you be? Out of luck, with no chance of winning the prizes you seek.”

Damien’s gaze flew to hers. His arms dropped back to his sides. His chest rose and fell fast, but he appeared to have regained control.

Stormhart had done them a great kindness.

The vise around her chest loosened.

Until she saw Egan striding to the mats, that familiar smirk ghosting across his face as he glanced at her and back to the fighters once more.

“Disaster averted.” Cunning glittered in his stare. “The fights will continue, no harm, no foul.” A roar went up around the room. “But I’m sure you’ll agree,” Egan shouted over the din, “Kadon Stormhart deserves a boon.”

Dread thundered through her.

Stormhart scowled.

Damien tensed, his fists clenching.

“Bring the prize to me.” Egan pointed to the ground at his feet. “She will give Stormhart a private dance in his quarters as a way of showing our appreciation.”

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