Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
CHRISTIAN
It had been years since Christian stepped into a cage.
But the feel of it hit like muscle memory—the stink of sweat, the shouts from the crowd, the sharp slam of adrenaline as the door clanged shut behind him.
He grinned at his adversary, savage and excited.
His wolf was snarling, exulting in the challenge and ready to fight.
When the horn sounded, Christian dropped low and began to circle, reading the twitch of muscle, the weight shift in Raptor’s stance, the tension behind his eyes. He was looking for the crack that was somewhere in every man.
Raptor mirrored him, shoulders tight, fists clenched. The crowd jeered, hungry for blood, and Raptor snapped. Christian sidestepped his charge, drove a knee into his gut, and sent him sprawling.
Raptor scrambled up quickly, rage in his eyes, and lunged again. The fight settled into a brutal rhythm, with stillness and circling broken by short bursts of fury.
A punch glanced off Christian’s jaw, sharp, but nothing serious.
He let the pain fuel him, dodging a wild right hook and driving Raptor into the cage wall hard enough to rattle it.
They grappled for a second, muscles straining, before Raptor surged forward, aiming for a takedown.
Christian let it happen, moving with the momentum.
He hit the mat on his terms, twisting them both, his legs locking around Raptor’s torso and squeezing tight.
Raptor twisted and snarled. Christian only tightened his hold until, with a vicious growl, Raptor tapped.
Christian climbed to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose where Raptor had landed a lucky punch. He was buzzing now, high on sweat and blood. But it wasn’t enough. He needed more. Needed to test himself against someone who could take what he gave and dish it right back.
A prickle down the back of his neck alerted him, and he looked up. That shifter was still there on the catwalk, watching him. Not just a shifter—this close, Christian could feel the pressure, like standing too close to an electric fence, hum and threat and warning. He was an alpha.
Christian stared back for a beat too long, because his pulse kicked harder and his wolf whined, caught between the urge to eliminate the threat and the instinct to submit.
He turned away sharply and strode out of the cage. Shrugging off that feeling the best he could, he made his way to Mal, still sitting behind his table. “Who’s next?” he demanded. “And when?”
“You go up against the winner of the next fight,” Mal said.
“As for how long, there’s three more fights, then you’re up again.
” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively in a way that reminded Christian of Bryce.
“Plenty of women around here love a winner if you’re looking to blow off steam while you wait. ”
The rush was still burning through Christian, but now that he was out of the cage, his awareness started to widen again. People were watching him. It seemed as if half the room had clocked him now, sizing him up, maybe trying to place him.
He didn’t care. He wasn’t interested in any of them.
He just wanted Dave, who saw beyond the blood and the fury and still stayed.
Dave always brought him back, not just from the cage, but from whatever edge he’d been about to go over.
He looked at Christian like he was a person, not a weapon waiting to go off.
But that wasn’t why Christian loved him.
It was simpler than that. He loved him because he was Dave.
His stomach dropped as he scanned the crowd and still couldn’t see him. Dave should be close—he always was. But now? Nothing. No flash of gold skin. No steady blue eyes, waiting to meet his. No scent.
Something ugly knotted in his chest. He turned in a tight, fast circle, searching harder, suddenly aware of how exposed he was in the center of the floor. His hands twitched. Every instinct was flaring at once.
Too many people. Too much noise. No Dave.
The adrenaline that had buoyed him just seconds ago now felt sharp-edged and poisonous, scraping under his skin. He turned on his heel and shoved into the crowd, breath coming quicker.
Where the fuck was Dave?
DAVE
Dave had stood the moment the fight ended, ready to go to Christian. But when the crowd converged on Christian like flies to honey, he sank back down, hands clenched around his beer bottle. No need for Dave to make sure he was okay—he self-evidently was, bloodied and triumphant.
“Your friend’s impressive,” Justin said. “Raptor’s not the best, but he’s nowhere near as bad as he was made to look.”
“That’s Christian,” Dave said, and there was a world of pride mixed with weary resignation in his voice. “Fighting’s an art form for him, as well as something he loves doing.”
“Yeah? If that’s so, I wouldn’t be surprised if Barton offers him the chance to stay. We could always do with more good fighters, ’specially as we’re about to start streaming. More fights mean a bigger audience.”
“We’re already part of a pack,” Dave said. He didn’t know if it was his imagination or if Justin looked disappointed at that. Maybe he was the pack’s recruiter.
“Hey.”
Dave hardly had time to look up before Christian was on him, straddling his lap, sinking hands into his hair, tilting his face up for a kiss.
And oh, God, Christian after a fight was like nothing else.
He was heat and hunger, and a sharp, wild high.
Dave gasped as Christian claimed his mouth, grinding down against Dave, all slick muscle and coiled force.
Clutching at bare skin, still damp with sweat, Dave let himself be swept under.
Before he knew what was happening, Christian was pulling him across the room and out the door, the doorman opening it for them with a smirk on his face that made Dave think he looked as dazed as he felt.
They stumbled around the side of the building, away from the parking lot and into the darkness, where Christian shoved him back against the wall, sending all the breath rushing out of him.
Christian’s mouth crashed against his, hot and rough, and Dave answered with a hungry sound, needing this. Christian’s hands framed his face, holding him close, and Dave arched into the press of his body, already hard.
“God, yes,” he breathed, and that was all Christian needed. He spun Dave to the wall, and Dave went willingly, bracing himself, legs spreading even before Christian tugged his jeans down.
Over the sound of his breathing he heard Christian tearing the top off a packet of lube and spitting it out. His finger pressed in, blunt and sure.
“So good,” Christian growled in his ear, and Dave pushed back with a broken sound, desperate.
Then Christian was there—thick, relentless, sliding all the way in until Dave’s fists clenched on the bricks.
“Wait,” he said, and hated himself for it, but it was too much, he needed time. He could feel Christian trembling with the effort of staying still, but he did. He would never hurt Dave.
Then Dave moved, just slightly, and it went from too much to fucking amazing. Christian’s name fell from his lips in a jumbled sound of need, and Christian started moving.
The rhythm was almost brutal between them, Christian grinding deep, and Dave meeting every thrust. Fullness inside him, teeth on his neck, a hand on his cock—Dave cried out, coming with a shudder. Christian followed with a hoarse groan, spilling inside him, still pressed tight.
They stood there in the still night, sounds of cheers echoing from the building beside them, the only other sound their rough breathing.
“God damn,” Christian said at last.
Dave agreed with the sentiment, but was too boneless to speak as Christian pulled out of him.
The wall was the only thing keeping him upright, and he pressed his hot cheek against its roughness as his breathing finally started to ease.
And then Christian’s hands, capable of such violence, were gently easing away the strands of his hair that had gotten caught by the rough surface of the bricks.
He turned Dave to face him, his hand cupping his face.
“Dave,” he said. That was all, but it was enough to make Dave feel like his bones had melted. For that instant, Dave could see right down to his soul and the love he felt.
He kissed Christian, slow and soft and open. Because he wanted to. Because he could. And for once, he didn’t worry if he was asking too much, not when Christian kissed him back as if Dave was the only thing in his world.
Sometimes, Dave wished Christian could see himself like this—after the fire burned out, when he was still and soft and holding Dave like he meant it. He wished Christian could believe this was what made him worth loving.
But Dave saw it. And he chose Christian, and he chose this, every wild, tangled, wordless part of it.