4. ~Ronan~
Chapter 4
~Ronan~
“It’s not street fighting. You can use more than your fists.” I stepped up and took Zack’s place to face Bowie, while they both watched. “Don’t forget to use your legs.”
I demonstrated a sweep, taking Bowie to the ground quickly, then put a knee to his chest and raised my fist, all in about three seconds.
“Daaaamn,” drawled Zack on a laugh.
Bowie’s eyes glinted bright green, his wolf surfacing. I was used to seeing that in the ring. I stood and held out a hand to help him up. He took it.
I was grateful both Zack and Bowie had agreed to join my team, but neither had formal fighting experience. Bar fights on occasion, yes, but not cage fighting, which was a much more complex animal.
“Why don’t we just shift and then really take care of business?” Bowie combed a hand over his close-cropped dark hair .
He was built with more muscle, which made him tougher but slower.
I’d wondered about his unusual name. He said his Creole grandmother, who mostly spoke French, used to call him her little “beau,” meaning handsome man . He started calling himself boey which eventually became what everyone called him. His real name was Marcelle.
“If someone shifted, then it would turn to murder,” I explained simply. “Werewolf form is forbidden. You can use claws if you want, but that’s it. If you shift, you automatically lose the match and the fight is over.”
“Has anyone ever shifted in the ring with you?” asked Zack, leaning back against the old, gutted mustang, which had apparently been forgotten here behind the painting shed.
Zack was built leaner than his best friend Bowie. He kept his light brown hair a little long and shaggy. He always seemed to be smiling, but the kind of smile that looked like he was up to something, even when he wasn’t.
“Yeah.” I grinned. “I’m pretty good at pissing off my opponent.”
Bowie chuckled. “I bet.”
“This one guy, he was from New York. Was considered the best of the best. My opposing team in Austin brought him in to take me down.”
Zack and Bowie both grinned, then Zack said, “But he didn’t.”
“No way, man. This guy thought he was king of the mountain. He was about as big as one, though. Built like you, Bowie. But he was arrogant. I danced around him in the ring, getting a jab or a kick in, then circling.” I laughed. “He was big but slow, so I started mocking him for it. Trash-talking. Saying how I thought New Yorkers were quick when he was slow as fuck. Shit like that.”
Zack and Bowie laughed.
“It didn’t take long before that fucker was sprouting hair and shifting into his fifteen-foot-tall monster.”
“Damn.” Zack shoved Bowie. “He does sound like you.”
“What happened?” asked Bowie, seeming concerned. “How’d they keep him from killing you when he shifted?”
“There are handlers at every bout who carry tranquilizers that would knock down a rhino.”
“They tranquilized him?” Zack’s expressive eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh yeah. And everyone knows the rules. You fully shift, you’ll get darted. And that shit will knock you down fast and hard. You won’t wake up for a day or two and will have the nastiest fucking headache. At least, that’s what they tell me.”
“So you’ve never shifted in the ring?” Bowie asked.
“Nah.” I shook my head, my gut tightening. “I never needed to. I can beat anybody.” It wasn’t bragging. It was true. “And I’m going to teach you two to do the same.”
Bowie stood, ready to go again. “Well, let’s get to it.”
I spent the next two hours showing them different maneuvers, different combinations—kick and dodge, then punch as their opponent turns, double-punch, then sweep with the leg to get them on their back, corralling them to the cage so they could pin them and punch. We were all sweating by mid-morning.
“That’s enough for today,” I told them, panting as I picked up one of the bottles of Liquid I.V. I’d made this morning and chugged it .
I picked up the other two on the Mustang’s hood and tossed them to the guys. We drank in silence for a minute, catching our breath.
It was Sunday so the shop was closed to customers, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t work to do. I’d told Zack and Bowie to come in early so I could show them some moves and see if they were really interested in wolf cage fighting. After Ty had introduced us yesterday, I’d talked their ears off about the underground cage fighting in Austin, and they were hooked.
While it was illegal in Texas, it wasn’t here in Louisiana. They had their own league by region. This one called NOWFC—New Orleans Wolf Fighting Championship. That meant I could make a legit career out of it here without worrying about the local Enforcer shutting us down. I should’ve moved here with Uncle Shane a long time ago.
I was still waiting to hear back from this guy named Baron I found on Instagram. There were dozens of pics of him and his team—the Iron Claws, stupid-ass name—at actual fights, some in a gym sparring, and several of them holding up a champion- ship belt that had a giant golden buckle with a wolf head howl- ing at the center of a New Orleans skyline.
This guy Baron was at the center of almost every pic so I was sure he led the champion team here. He’d know where to register my team and when the next fight would be. The NOWFC website was temporarily down.
Until I heard from him, there was plenty to do. Train these two, find at least one more teammate, and find more time with that insanely beautiful witch, Celine. God. Damn. I needed to stop daydreaming about her and make my next move. I just still wasn’t sure how aggressive I should be. She seemed so gentle and soft, and my instincts to grab and claim weren’t the ones I should be listening to. Even as I thought about it, a deep, low growl rumbled in my belly.
What the fuck was that about? I hadn’t heard my wolf—not fucking once—since my mother died.
“What’s got your wolf all riled?” asked Zack, wiping his sweaty brow with his arm.
I chuckled, realizing they didn’t know how strange that truly was. My wolf had been nonexistent my entire fucking life. And now, he wakes up after he takes notice of an awfully alluring witch.
“I was thinking about this girl I met the other day.”
“Yeah?” asked Bowie, smiling for the first time. “Where’d you meet her? You haven’t been here long.”
“In the garage.”
“No fucking way. That’s just my luck,” complained Zack. “Some hot chick brings a bike in the day I’m off.”
“Nah. She wasn’t a customer,” I explained, drinking the last of my Liquid I.V.
They both froze and stared, then Bowie asked, “Who was this girl exactly?”
“Her name is Celine Cruz.”
There was a second’s pause, then Zack and Bowie broke out into hysterical laughter, Zack doubling over and coughing out his water. I think he hurt himself laughing so hard.
“What the fuck?” I asked. “What’s so funny?”
“Dude,” Zack finally said between laughter, “don’t tell me you think you have a chance with Celine Cruz . ”
“If you prefer your balls attached to your body,” added Bowie, grinning like a fiend, “I’d highly recommend you forget about her.”
Forget about her? He was out of his fucking mind. I hadn’t stopped thinking about her since we met.
“Yeah, yeah. Ty already warned me. Protective dad and shit.”
“And brothers and uncles,” said Bowie.
“And every wolf who works in this shop.” Zack shook his head. “I get it. She’s crazy hot, but no girl is worth all that trouble.”
My entire body locked up like it did right before a fight, my wolf rumbling a warning. Just Zack’s mention of calling her hot had set him off. It was a strange new sensation to feel my wolf’s presence.
“Whoa, whoa.” Zack held up his hands, grinning. “I see how it is. Just be careful, man. Seriously.”
Bowie shook his head. “You just might be the bravest mother- fucker I’ve ever met if you face that firing squad.”
“Ronan!” Uncle Shane stood in the open back door of the paint garage, looking surly as always. He waved me over.
“Let us know if you hear from that guy about registering our team,” said Zack as I was walking away.
“Sure thing.”
Uncle Shane turned and walked off before I reached him so, of course, I followed. He kept going through the main garage until he was in his office. Then he closed the door behind me. The office contained a small computer desk and a table where he sat with clients to go over designs and price quotes.
He sat at the head of the table and clasped his hands—not a good sign—so I took a seat next to him. I had no idea what this was about unless. Maybe Celine? If he was going to give me another warning speech like all the others, I would get up and walk out of here.
But the fiddling of his thumbs as he scowled at the table told me it was something else. He was anxious and nervous, not angry.
Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “So Sarah told me you still haven’t ever shifted.” He paused. “Since your mom.”
Of course Aunt Sarah would tell him. “No. Never have.”
“I think it’s time we do something about that.”
I almost laughed. “Like what? He’s never come back. Not since Mom died.” Which was a lie, because he apparently raised his head and sniffed the air the second I locked eyes on Celine Cruz.
“I want you to see someone.” He leveled me with his scary uncle stare, the one that meant he was being serious.
“Are you saying you want me to see a shrink?”
“Hear me out.” He raised a palm like I was about to bolt. I was. “She’s a supernatural therapist, a witch, but she has medical degrees to back it up.”
“I can’t fucking believe this. And you think this shrink can make my wolf finally come out after being invisible my entire life?”
“I think you need to talk to someone about what happened with your mom,” he said gently.
“I know it wasn’t my fault,” I snapped, even as regret and shame still lingered deep where I’d buried it. “I don’t need a fucking therapist to hold my hand and tell me that shit.”
He didn’t respond to my anger with more aggression, which was what I expected. Rather, he appeared calmer and spoke even more gently, like I was an angry animal about to go rabid .
“Son, just do this for me. See her three times, and if you don’t think it’s worth it or helping, then I won’t say another word about it. I swear.”
I held his gaze, clamping my jaw shut, trying not to lose my shit over the fact my uncle thought I needed a therapist. Like I was mentally or emotionally damaged or something.
“You know, me fighting has nothing to do with all that,” I told him. “I’m just really fucking good in the cage. And I enjoy being the best at something.” At fighting.
He dipped his chin. “I get that.” Then he slid a cream-colored business card toward me across the table. “I’ve got an appointment set for tomorrow morning.”
My gaze dropped to my hands in my lap, realizing they were clenched into fists. I should’ve expected something like this. My uncle Shane was a fixer. Every visit to Aunt Sarah’s for the holidays, he’d pull me aside and give me the man-to-man chat about responsibility and growing up and anything else he thought I needed to be doing better.
“What if I say no?”
His brow rose. I waited for him to tell me to find another place to live, but instead he said, “That’s your choice. If you refuse, I’ll cancel the appointment. But I want you to go.” He paused. “I want you to try.”
I remained still, stewing in my anger and frustration. It’s not like I didn’t want my wolf to come out. I realized a long time ago that I was a freak of nature. Of my supernatural nature. I was strong and fast but not nearly as much as if my wolf would wake the fuck up and come back into my life. For real. Not just to fucking growl at a pretty girl he seemed to like .
“You know, I understand what it feels like to be a little out of control,” he started.
This was new. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t always have my shit together.” I huffed a laugh.
“Since when?”
“Do you know how I got here to New Orleans?”
I shrugged. I was a baby when he left Texas. Mom always said Uncle Shane found his true home in NOLA.
“I came here to kidnap a woman,” he said so matter-of-factly I thought I’d imagined it.
“Come again?”
His mouth ticked up on one side. “It’s true. I was so fucking angry, full of rage. An old friend of mine who’d left Austin for New Orleans had met this woman, this witch, who could inject spells into the ink of tattoos. The kind that could help supernaturals connect with their magic.”
I nodded. “I’ve heard of that.”
“Yeah. Her name is Violet Cruz. She taught other witches how to do it. She’s pretty famous for it.”
“Violet Cruz ?” I clarified, my brain fixated on her last name.
“She’s a good friend of mine now too. Her husband, Nico, was the old friend I mentioned. They live here.”
“Are they related to Celine Cruz?” It couldn’t be a coincidence.
“You met Celine?” He frowned.
“Mm-hmm.” I waited for another lecture, but it didn’t come.
“Violet and Nico are Celine’s aunt and uncle. Anyway, I’d been so angry because witches never gave us the time of day.”
“Many still don’t,” I interjected .
“Old prejudices take a long time to die, son. But the Savoie family—that’s Violet’s maiden name—they’ve done a lot to turn that around. Anyway, I made a stupid move and kidnapped Violet, thinking that was the only way. So many of us in the Blood Moon Pack wanted more control over our wolves, so we wouldn’t be prone to uncontrollable violence.”
It was so interesting to hear him say this because I’d never been prone to it. Since my wolf had remained dormant and silent, I always had complete control over my emotions. It was the perfect ally in the ring since I was mostly fighting hotheaded werewolves. I’d gotten a reputation for being ice-cold in a fight. No one could ever provoke me into anger. And they hated it because that’s where wolves made mistakes. And I always beat them when they did.
“Let me guess,” I said, “it was a mistake.”
He chuckled, wiping a hand down his close-cropped beard, darker brown than his blond hair that was the same shade as mine. “I learned real quick not to mess with a wolf’s mate.”
“Damn.” I couldn’t help but outright laugh. “I bet he wanted to kill you.”
“He almost did. But Violet took care of herself just fine. Her telekinetic powers could smash a bus into a building like swatting a fly.”
He laughed again, most likely at my surprised expression. “Anyway, I’m just saying, I had a lot of anger built up inside me and I let it take control. I made some stupid mistakes because of it.”
The thing was, I wasn’t full of anger. But I did hold a well of remorse and shame close to my heart .
He tapped the table with his index finger next to the business card still sitting on it in front of me. “Go see her. Eight a.m.”
I didn’t say I would or wouldn’t as he stood and walked over, opening the office door.
The radio in the garage was playing “Fear of the Water” by SYML. A tool clanged against something metal. Uncle Shane stopped and turned before he walked through.
“And Ronan?”
I tore my gaze away from the card, wondering if I should go. “Hmm?”
“Texas was your home. This is your home now.” He offered a small smile. “And I’m glad you’re here.”
Then he closed the door behind him, and I just stared at it. A little dumbfounded. Uncle Shane wasn’t the sentimental type. Neither was I.
I swallowed hard, the emotion sticking in my throat. I’d moved in with my grandfather when my mom died, and I had driven him crazy, so Aunt Sarah had taken me in. She was kind and patient and she’d tolerated me for as long as she could. But I never felt like I belonged. For the first time since I was twelve, I thought maybe I finally found the place where I did.
My gaze lowered to the card still staring up at me, waiting to be picked up off the fucking table. I heaved a sigh and stood, taking the card and tucking it into my back pocket before I left.