8

CLAY

I still smell like her. My fingers. My cock. My hair smells like her nest. I stand naked behind a closed door, every male Claw in formation behind me. Through the gray metal, the scent and sounds of a thousand shouting shifters and humans seeps through, but I focus on her. If I don’t, I’ll shift and kill as many of these pieces of shit as I can until they put me down. Then, they’ll make her pay for what I did.

There is only one way out of this. Do the impossible. Drop Killian Kelly in the first round.

Maybe I could if I’d trained for years, or if I could flip-shift at will, but no matter how they bait me, I can’t do what I did that day on the wall when John Broom dropped his putty knife. I don’t know how I did it, and my wolf would do it again if he could, but he doesn’t know, either.

Even if I managed to flip-shift again, I don’t have a prayer. This is Killian fucking Kelly, undefeated heavyweight champion of the circuit since he first stepped into the ring. He’s the largest male wolf in the five packs, the alpha of a pack whose leader is chosen by combat, not bloodline. He’s fought for his rank, and he’s held it since he was not much older than a pup.

I cannot win, but I’ll die before I let them hurt her, and so I’ll die, and she’ll be alone and helpless, and I can’t fucking bear it.

My gaze careens around this narrow corridor. There’s no way out, nothing I can use as a weapon. There are two-dozen males behind me, reeking of aggression and the chemicals they inject in their asses in the locker room. I can’t fight my way through them.

The booming voice of the announcer crescendos, and the doors to the arena fling open. The howling of the crowd crashes over me.

Eldrick prods me forward. “Showtime.”

I have no choice but to walk down the sloping concrete aisle. I have no choices at all. On either side of my path, bleachers full of howling humans rise to a second and third tier that disappears into the rafters. They stomp their feet and swill beer and shout down at me. They don’t know who I am. They’re cheering because they know they’re about to see Killian Kelly tear me limb from limb.

On numb legs, I stride to the low stage where the officials make a show of weighing me and checking my mouth for contraband. Usually they pat the fighters down, too, but there’s no need since I’m stripped naked. North Border has promoted this fight as the old guard versus new blood, flip-shifter versus flip-shifter. Boxing trunks would only get in our wolves’ ways.

I could shift now, run hard and fast, follow the bond to wherever they’re keeping Wrenlee. Make it so that they kill me right in front of her.

I steel my spine. A deafening roar erupts from the other side of the arena. Killian Kelly must be making his way to the ring. My gaze lifts to the jumbotron. The camera has zoomed in on his face. He’s older than me, and he’s bigger, too. He’s got every male in North Border beat for arrogance. He strolls down the aisle alone, and although the people scream his name, no one dares crowd too close.

The cameraman zooms in on his swinging dick, and the arena goes crazy. He’s grinning when he ducks between the ropes and raises an arm in acknowledgment. I guess he’s above having to weigh in and stick out his tongue.

Eldrick slams his palm into my back. “Get in there. You have five minutes to knock him out.”

I start for the ring, but before I can take a step, he jerks me back by my arm. “If you don’t, I’m going to be the first in the ring with your sweet little mate, and she’s gonna wish she only has to go three rounds. Understand?” He flashes his fangs.

I stagger as my wolf leaps for Eldrick’s throat and barely catch him before he breaks out of our skin. I grapple him to the ground, pinning him inside with all my strength, and still, he almost gets free, but then he catches a scent, somehow, amid the beer and body odor. He’s instantly distracted.

“Save that energy for Kelly,” Eldrick says, and slaps my back again.

I don’t hesitate in climbing into the ring so I have a better vantage point of the arena. A ref guides me into the center, and he’s talking, but I have no idea what he’s saying. My nose has caught the scent, now, too, and it’s her. Wrenlee. I scan the rows and rows of screaming males, the rail where bets are still being furiously placed, and the back sections reserved for females. I can’t see her.

I close my eyes and reach for the bond. I’ve been ignoring it with everything in me so that I don’t go mad, so it takes a second to tune in, but when I do, heat suffuses my chest. It’s pure sweetness. Not cloying or sickening, not like candy or syrup. Like honeysuckle. Light and airy. Delicate. My heart cracks. I didn’t have enough of her. Not nearly enough.

The bond leads my gaze straight to her. She’s close, huddled in a folding chair in the row surrounding the ring that the alpha added so he and his cronies could sit in front of the filthy rich humans who purchased front-row seats. Eldrick sinks into the seat next to her, smirking at me. Isaac is on her other side.

They’ve given her a dark-brown cloak, and she has the hood pulled forward to hide as much of her face as possible. She’s the only female outside the designated section, except, no, as I scan the area, I see she’s not.

There’s another female at the other end of the row, plain faced with a long braid. She’s wearing a cloak, too, but hers is a vibrant red. The Quarry Pack beta, Tye, sits to her right. I recognize a few of their other fighters, Ivo and Gael, standing behind her. She must be their new alpha female, the one with the bad leg.

“How about you look at your mate, and I look at mine, eh?” Killian’s voice booms in my ear.

Before I can respond, the announcer taps his mic, and feedback screeches through the cavernous hall.

I’m out of time. My gaze flies back to Wrenlee. Her face is white with fear, and despite the heavy wool, I can tell she’s shaking. We don’t have a choice. She’s going to have to run. I’ll create a distraction. I’ll shift and go for the Quarry Pack alpha female. Draw everyone away. It’s our only play.

I try to communicate the plan through the bond. I attack. You shift and run.

There’s no understanding in her eyes.

I focus harder, picturing it as clearly as I can in my mind. Her tiny wolf darting under the chairs and between legs, escaping through a back exit.

I attack. You shift and run.

Her chin wobbles. She’s scared, and she’s not picking up what I’m sharing. Damn, but she’s the most beautiful thing in creation. The most precious. My wolf howls to hers, and I know that hers calls back, but there is no way her small voice could be heard over this cacophony.

The mic screeches again, and the announcer’s voice echoes from the rafters. “Ladies and gentlemen, males and females, it’s fight night!”

The people erupt in howls, human and shifter alike.

Killian studies me, his lip curled. It’s clear he sees no competition.

I gauge the distance between me and his mate. I’ll have to clear the ropes in a single bound and get as close to her as I can in a second leap. His people will pile on me as soon as I hit the floor. Wrenlee will have a fraction of a second to realize what’s happening and run. She’s only shifted once, and it’ll cost time, but she has a thousand percent better chance of escaping through the crowd as her wolf.

I catch her eye again. I attack. You shift and run. Shift and run.

I shout it down the bond, but all she does is study me as close as Killian does. Closer. Like she’s memorizing me.

The announcer blathers on and on—and representing Quarry Pack, ten-time heavyweight champion, Full Moon belt recipient, and uncontested, undefeated holder of the record for most shifts in a single round. I’m vaguely aware that Killian is following my gaze, but I don’t care.

Wrenlee’s eyes are on me, and until the very last second, mine will be on hers, even though I don’t have to memorize her face. She’s etched into every atom that makes me.

Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I see Killian reach out and grab the mic, plucking it from the announcer like a bottle from a babe.

“Give me a minute,” he says, and jerks his head toward the ropes, shooing the announcer to give us space.

The male scurries away. The crowd hushes, but there are too many souls packed too tightly for the arena to become quiet. It’s just a duller roar.

Killian steps into my line of sight, blocking Wrenlee. My wolf snarls. His snarls back louder. I expect my wolf to subside and show neck, but he doesn’t. He goes harder, gnashing his teeth and snapping them in the air.

Our wolves keep at it, rattling our ribs and tearing at our throats, until Killian pounds a fist against his chest, and I drag my wolf from the border between us and heave him into the dark distance of whatever world it is that he inhabits.

Killian grins. “New blood, eh? What are you? Fireside’s bastard?”

Bastard young aren’t common, but they aren’t unheard-of. I’m my father’s spitting image, though. I shake my head.

“Can you really flip-shift?” he asks.

“I did once.” I wish he’d shut up and move to the side. He’s wasting the little time I have left.

“And you think you can beat me?” He cocks an eyebrow.

I amuse him. His smirks, his arrogance effortless. I’ve never met such a male. Even Alpha Fireside is careful of his pride. He’d never stand in the middle of a packed arena, hands on his hips with his dick out, amused.

“I have to,” I answer him. What can the truth hurt now?

His smirk fades, and he glances over his shoulder—at Wrenlee. My wolf surges to the fore again, prickling against the inside of my skin. When Killian looks back, his blue eyes are ice-cold. “Your mate?”

I grunt. “Yes.”

“You’re going to let her watch ringside while I make you bare your neck?”

I clench my teeth, and my wolf howls.

Killian’s brow knits, and something almost like remorse flits across his face. “You don’t have a chance, young blood. Whatever they’ve told you, whatever they’ve promised you, you won’t win.”

Up at the rail in the second tier, a bookie rings the bell signaling the last chance to place a wager.

A mad, wild, impossible idea bursts into my head. “Want to bet?”

The smirk is back. “What could you have that I’d want?”

Before Wrenlee, I never had anything of value. I’d never even touched something worth enough to interest an alpha. But I have now. In the forest, there’s a plot of pretty white flowers worth a hell of a lot to a very powerful witch.

“Ashbalm,” I say. “If you win, my mate will lead you to a garden of ashbalm on the verge of full bloom.”

“Ashbalm,” he repeats. He knows what it is. Under the arrogance, there’s a note of interest in his voice. “My own mate is fond of growing shit.” He glances in her direction, and his attention is instantly captured. He has to shake out his arms to refocus himself. “And what do you want if you manage to do what no other shifter has ever done? And your first time in the ring, no less?”

“I want you to take my mate with you back to Quarry Pack.”

His smirk slowly disappears. I watch as he does the calculations in his mind. He looks at Wrenlee again. His gaze rakes from my head to my feet. His nostrils flare. “We don’t take in males from other packs. You’d give her up?”

“Never. But I would give her into your care. If you take her to Quarry Pack, make sure she’s fed and warm, I’ll get you the ashbalm.” My fists clench so tight that my nails draw blood. “She’s a good female. A hard worker. She won’t be a burden. If—” I drag down a breath. “If she is with child, the pup will be a good worker, too. Ditches breed strong.”

“Your alpha would let a female of his pack leave?”

“My alpha could stop you from taking her?”

Killian considers me. A pulse tics at his temple. Finally, he grins. “Well, if you beat me, maybe that old windbag could take me, too. I guess we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.” He slaps his hands together and calls to the ref. “What are you waiting for, ref? Are we going to hold hands and say a prayer? Sound the buzzer. Let’s go!”

Everything bursts into motion. The crowd surges to their feet. The ref shouts, “I want a good, clean fight. Touch fists.” We do. The buzzer sounds.

Killian swings.

Wrenlee screams.

Knuckles bulldoze into my jaw.

I wake up. I’m a Ditch. I’ve been fighting to keep my bread since I was old enough to waddle away from my dam. He’s bigger, and there are more eyes on us, but I’ve done this before.

I go for him, fists flying, and as soon as I get within range, I headbutt him. It’s like ramming my skull into a brick wall.

He bursts out laughing.

The ref blows his whistle. The clock stops. “Foul. Butting with the head.”

Neither Killian nor I stop. He drives an elbow into my throat. The ref blows his whistle again. The clock is still paused.

“Foul! Twelve to six elbow, throat strike.”

I hack, tears streaming down my cheeks, as I wildly knee him in the gut. I miss and nail his nuts. He howls.

The whistle tweets on and on. Killian sweeps my leg as he clutches his dick.

“Fighters to your corners!” the ref shouts. “Corners, now!”

We ignore him, grappling, testing each other, searching for weakness. He has none. I have too many. He finds each of them and hammers them. I swing. He ducks and drives a fist into my rib. I kick, and he grabs my leg midair and flips me to the mat.

I’m losing, but that’s fine. Inevitable. I cannot win against this male. I have to survive him until Fate gives me an opening. It’s my only chance. Skill and courage and strength cannot help me now. It’s down to faith, so that’s how I’m going to win. I am going to believe harder than this motherfucker.

I take blows to the face, the gut, the head. For every punch I land, I swing wide twice. I stumble into the ropes. I fall to my knees. The ref raises his whistle to his mouth. I stagger to my feet.

And then, from a distance, a buzzer cuts through the screams of the crowd and the roaring in my head. Killian drops his fists to his sides, rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, and strolls to his corner. I stagger to mine.

I stand alone, propping myself up on the ropes, sweat dripping down my body, blood blurring my vision, my skin blossoming in bruises. I swipe my eyes and find Wrenlee. She’s crying. My guts twist, and I gasp from the pain.

Eldrick’s face is contorted in fury. The entire arena is alive—reenacting what they’ve just seen, raising their mugs for refills, laughing, opining—except the contingent of Claws seated around my mate. They scowl. A few are tinged gray or green. The odds of me knocking Killian Kelly out in the first round must have been a thousand to one. If they had won, they’d have been set for life. For generations. If they bet it all on me . . . they were fools.

Broke fools are dangerous.

I keep my eyes on Wrenlee. The only way out of this is through.

Eldrick bares his fangs, and slowly, so I am sure to track the move, he wraps an arm around Wrenlee, hooking his elbow around her neck. She becomes very, very still. I cannot smell her fear, but I can feel it rushing through my own veins.

There is a yard between us. I could cover it in two bounds. My wolf bounces on his paws. He’s ready.

And then, a male holds the ropes and a human woman in a neon-pink bikini swings herself through. She lifts a card high over her head that reads 2 and struts around the ring. Shouts turn to howls and echo from the rafters.

Killian and I move to meet in the center. His team has wiped him down and sutured the quickly disappearing cut in his eyebrow. He’s as fresh as a newborn babe.

I grasp for strength, summoning what little stamina I have left. I take a last glimpse at Wrenlee and try to channel my rage at Eldrick into my muscles and blood, but it’s her wet cheeks that catch me up. That unman me.

Killian slaps my chest, drawing my attention back to the moment.

“I have a question, pup.” He skewers me with his ice-cold blue gaze. “If another male is touching your mate, why are you in the ring with me?”

The blow lands harder than any so far, crushing my lungs. I wait for the big-breasted woman to round the last corner and the buzzer to sound, but when she steps down to the floor, Killian holds his palm up, and the entire proceedings pause.

He wants an answer.

What does he want me to say? I’m weak, unequal to the gift Fate has given me? I know it. My pride is nothing, though, if Wrenlee is not safe. Shame is the easiest price to pay.

“This is where she needs me.” It’s all I can say. It’s the truth.

He doesn’t seem satisfied, but he waves toward the male who pushes the buzzer. It goes off, and the clock begins its countdown.

Killian swings, I block, and we dance, back and forth. He’s done with testing me; he’s settled in to wearing me out. He gets me against the ropes, and somehow, I duck away. He knocks me to the ground, and I drag myself up. He pins me, and at the last moment, when the ref is on the ground beside me, his palm raised, ready to slap the mat, I wrench myself free.

And all the while, whenever he’s near my ear, Killian peppers me with questions. “Why do those males by your mate smell like they’ve just lost big?”

“They bet I’d beat you in the first round.”

“Are they stupid?”

“No. Greedy.”

“But seriously, why the first round? That’s fucking nuts.”

“The odds were longest. The payout was huge.”

“Well, you shit the bed, my friend.”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t go down.”

“Not in the first round.” I grant him that.

Killian snorts and slams a fist into my jaw. The buzzer sounds.

I spit blood onto the mat and brace myself on my knees. “You will in the third,” I say between gasps. “Friend.”

Killian throws his head back and laughs, hands on his hips, dick dangling.

The woman in the pink bikini climbs into the ring again. When she passes, I rest against the ropes, or rather, my body collapses, and the cords hold me upright. My eyes find Wrenlee. Hers are already on me. We hold on to each other.

She’s not crying anymore, and she’s not shaking. Her shoulders are square, and her face is hard like it was that day at the shed when I turned away from her.

Does she know I’d give anything to take that back?

She is so brave and strong. If Fate has blessed us, she will be the best of dams. I wish I could see her grow round. She’ll be beautiful with a big belly.

I think she knows. It’s flowing between us, maybe along the bond or maybe in the understanding we wove together as we worked alongside each other all those long days, as we stole kisses from each other in the dark.

I’m a lucky male. The luckiest.

The buzzer jolts me alert. The woman with the card is gone. Killian is waiting in the center of the ring. I haul myself straight.

I have five minutes. There will be an opening, and I will seize it. This cannot unfold any other way.

Killian seems almost reluctant as I swing. He bats my arm away and lands a blow to my gut. I grunt, but I don’t fold. I hardly flinch. I can’t live in this body anymore; the pain is too all-consuming. I have to hover above it and watch, wait. There will be a moment. He will blink.

We trade punches and kicks. He’s not having fun anymore. His face is grim, almost thoughtful. One minute passes. Two. Three.

My mind might be above bodily concerns, but there is a point that I cannot ignore that I’m made of mere flesh. There is a broken bone in my left leg, and no matter how hard I focus, it won’t hold weight. I can hardly see out of my right eye. My fingers and toes are shards. I throw them against Killian, but I’m not doing damage; I’m just grinding them down into finer pieces of dust.

At four minutes, Killian plants a heel in my spine, driving me to my knees. He follows it with an uppercut. I slump to my side, and momentum rolls me onto my back.

On the jumbotron above me, I see myself lying flat, my leg twisted at an unnatural angle, my skin mottled red, my chest barely rising with each excruciating intake of breath. My face is meat.

Killian leans over me. High above on the screen, I see the back of his head. His sweat drips on my chest.

“Stay down, friend,” he says.

I tilt my head, blinking blood out of my eyes, searching for Wrenlee. If I see her, I’ll be able to stand. She's magic. The brightest light in the whole fucking world.

And she is there, reaching for me. Eldrick and Isaac hold her back, and she doesn’t have room to struggle, but she’s leaning forward as much as she can, fingertips stretching.

I can do anything. I stare at my carcass on the screen and will it to sit. Somehow, it does. The ref lifts his arm to slap the mat. Killian grabs his wrist, but he’s not looking down at the paunchy human in the striped shirt. He’s gazing past the ropes into the crowd, toward his people, a strange expression on his face. He closes his eyes as if he’s straining to listen to a very quiet voice.

And then, with a long sigh, his shoulders fall, he drops the ref’s arm, and he offers me a hand up.

“All right, then, young blood,” he says. “Let’s finish this thing.”

I take the hand. By silent accord, we back away from each other to either side of the ring. I stagger. He struts.

This is it. This is when I find my opening. I search for my wolf in the swirling darkness in my chest, and he’s there, on his feet, ready. He understands what he needs to do.

The impossible.

The buzzer sounds.

I take a breath, picture Wrenlee in my mind, and I run.

I leap.

I snatch a miracle out of thin air. In the blink of an eye, I become the wolf.

Killian doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t duck, he doesn’t block, he doesn’t move at all except for the slightest curve of his lip.

My wolf slams into his chest, full force, knocking every bit of wind from him. Killian topples flat onto his back like a felled tree, his lungs wheezing.

A female screams.

The ref moves quicker than I’ve seen him yet, crashing to his knees and slapping the mat. “One! Two! Three! Knockout!”

The crowd goes wild, the ring’s padded poles vibrating from the volume of their unbridled howls.

Killian pushes himself to his elbows, grinning ruefully.

“Mate!” The female in the red cloak limps toward the ring.

Males race to help her, but Killian’s wolf snarls, and they back off, leaving her to hoist herself onto the platform and through the ropes until she’s plopped on her bottom at Killian’s side. He makes no move to get up, resting like he’s sunning himself beside the river.

He grins even more dopily, and she prods at his chest as her lips move a mile a minute. I can’t hear her above the roars, but she’s clearly giving him a piece of her mind.

As she worries at the bruise spreading across his pecs, her braid falls over her shoulder. He grabs the tip and brushes it against his smiling lips. She stops her fussing, sits back, and bursts into tears.

Overhead, the jumbotron replays the last seconds of the fight, and the crowd quiets somewhat to watch. I can finally hear the scene unfolding feet from me.

“No, mate. No tears,” he rumbles. He hops up, lifts her to her feet, and tucks her into his side. “All is well.”

“You’re hurt!”

“Is that not what you asked for?” He smiles down at her indulgently.

What does that mean?

I don’t have time to puzzle it out. My wolf is eyeing Eldrick, gauging the distance, and Wrenlee is also crying, sunken into her chair.

I thank the wolf as I wrest our skin back and stand alone in the center of the ring. The announcer crows, and the crowd roars. My wobbling right leg holds my whole weight, and my heart is cracking.

My eyes are fused with Wrenlee’s, so I don’t see Alpha Fireside approach. He only catches my attention when his beta holds the ropes apart so he can climb into the ring.

The crowd hushes.

Killian shifts his mate so that she’s behind him. “Alpha.” He drops a curt nod, greeting Fireside without an ounce of deference.

“Alpha,” Fireside replies, flashing his oily, toothy smile. “A historical day, is it not?” He straightens his brocade jacket, although it is not the least bit out of place.

His guards follow at his heel as always, splayed in a semicircle at his back. He won’t tolerate males taller than him in his guard, so they’re all an inch shorter and as wide as barn doors. They glare menacingly at the naked Quarry Pack male standing with his head high, his fists on his hips.

Killian shoots them a dismissive sneer. “First for everything,” he answers easily.

Fireside turns to me. “And where have you been hiding all these years? On the river wall, I’m told?”

I incline my chin enough to not give offense. My head is swimming, blackness edging my vision. I need to stay upright long enough to see this through. It’s almost done. She’s almost safe.

“Well, Son, let it not be said that North Border does not award accomplishment, even when it arises from the most unlikely of places. You’ve brought honor to your pack this day. Tell me, what boon would you have of your alpha? The keys to the city? A grand home overlooking the river? Ask and it shall be yours.”

The corners of his lips curl high up his cheekbones, his plucked, swooping eyebrows lifting to his artificially darkened hairline. This close, he has a jester’s face, but from the rows beyond the lights, his expression must be fond. Paternal. Congratulatory.

Maybe this is why he never deigns to walk among us. We’d see the drops of black dye collecting at his temples.

This is a bad male. He stinks of other people’s shame.

I don’t need him to be good, though. I need him to keep his word this one time. I bend my neck in earnest. “My deepest thanks, Alpha. I only ask for one thing—that my mate and I be granted leave to travel to Quarry Pack.”

He is silent. I can see the wheels crank behind his eyes. “You have a mind to see the world, pup?”

I keep my aching back straight. “Yes, Alpha. That is the way of it.”

He takes my measure, his gaze raking down my broken body. He knows I’m lying. I would not have thought a lie would trip off my tongue so easily, but it does.

For a moment, the pack holds their breath, and the humans’ whispers hush. They all know I’m lying, and that somehow, this is a challenge. No one challenges Alpha Fireside. No one gets close enough to have the chance.

But then Fireside flashes his widest smile. “I am truly sorry, young Ditch, but your pack cannot spare a talent such as yours at this time, at the very beginning of what promises to be an extraordinary career. Why, think of all you must teach your fellow Claws.” He casts Eldrick a veiled look. “But I suppose if your mate would like to visit our sister pack without your company, she may.”

He turns the veiled look on me. There is no choice. There never has been.

“She will go,” I say.

“Clay, no!” Her voice breaks, but I don’t look her way. I can’t. “Clay!”

I catch Killian’s eye.

He nods. “Ivo. Tye.” He jerks his chin toward Wrenlee.

There are footsteps. A scuffle. “Clay, no! We go together! Clay!”

I stare into the crowd, the gawking, gaping masses, while her voice rips my heart to pieces.

“Look at me, Clay Pulley! Don’t you dare turn your back on me again!” she screams from farther away.

I still don’t move. My wolf rages, the bond tears at my soul, and I stand alone in the middle of a thousand shouting souls while my mate’s voice fades and disappears into nothing.

And I thank Fate.

I bless her with everything that is left of me, because my mate will be safe.

And then blackness rushes in, and I crumble to the ground.