Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
CHRISTIAN
The place smelled like metal and sweat, with something older underneath, something sour and ingrained that no amount of industrial cleaner could scrub away.
Christian liked it. He liked the way it clung to his skin as they entered the canning plant, and he liked the familiar throb of music, the crowd jostling and surging around him.
He’d been aching for this and hadn’t even known.
Dave was beside him, close but not touching.
Christian glanced sideways and saw him already scanning the crowd, alert in a way that said he wasn’t at ease.
The day had been warm and easy and slow, and Christian had caught himself more than once thinking about how he wanted to hold on to that.
But here, part of him was crackling with energy.
His skin felt too tight. He wanted the cage.
He wanted the feel of fists on flesh, of pushing himself, of winning.
Of never again being beaten down, unable to fight back.
Tony met them and jerked his chin in a half-greeting. “You’re on third tonight,” he said. “One fight only. Barton’s got a list of fighters he wants to watch.”
Christian automatically looked up to the catwalk, but it was empty. He didn’t like that. Barton had felt dangerous and, while Christian too was dangerous, he preferred to know where the threat was coming from. Not to have to keep looking over his shoulder.
He was also disappointed at the prospect of only one fight, but he figured complaining about it wouldn’t change anything. “Okay,” he said.
Dave didn’t say anything, just nudged Christian’s arm and faded away into the mass of people. The crowd was considerably larger than last night, perhaps because it was Friday.
Christian watched the first two fights, bouncing on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders, willing them to be over already. He didn’t want to wait.
By the time he was called forward, his muscles felt like coiled springs.
The crowd roared as the cage clanged shut behind him, and he faced his opponent, a non-shifter.
Shifters’ instincts gave them an advantage when it came to detecting unseen threats, and their enhanced sense of hearing was something he didn’t know how non-shifters lived without—their world must be so dull and muted.
But in a fight like this, face to face, strength against strength, they were equal.
Except for the wolf inside Christian, urging him ever on, needing to win, to remove all threat, all memory of a time long gone. That edge drove him now, letting him forget being small and helpless, and no one coming. He would never be powerless again.
A sharp left to the ribs took his breath, but he pivoted fast, catching the guy with an elbow that snapped his head back.
The non-shifter was good. Damn good. Fast, strong, and skilled. But Christian was better.
When his opponent tapped, Christian felt alive. Letting it all out, taking control again—it was what he wanted. He could do this again, keep going all night. When he felt like this, he could do anything.
He glanced around for Dave as he left the cage, but there were too many people pressing in on him. Normally he’d hate that, but right now, they all wanted to congratulate him, and it felt good. He was still riding the high, his skin buzzing.
But even through it, part of him was scanning the crowd. He wanted—no, needed—to find Dave. Not because he wasn’t proud of the fight, but because none of it meant anything until he saw him. Until he knew that Dave had seen.
Relief hit sharp when he finally found him, leaning against a wall next to a blond shifter. The same blond he’d been with before, maybe? Christian couldn’t remember. He hadn’t paid much attention.
But that was changing, because now? They were mirroring one another’s stance, one foot crossed over the other, heads tilted at the same angle as they talked.
Nothing in it, Christian knew—he knew Dave—but something about it hit him wrong. Left a nagging feeling that he couldn’t identify, deep inside.
Dave looked up and smiled at Christian like he always did, like no one else mattered. Something inside Christian unclenched, and he hated that it had been there at all.
Okay. He was fine. He was just tired, that was all.
DAVE
The canning plant had reeked of metal and sweat when they walked in earlier that evening, and Dave hated it. He hated even more that the scent was becoming so familiar.
As he’d wrinkled his nose against it, Christian beside him had dragged in a deep, satisfied breath. Dave wondered how they could have had such an amazing day together yet now feel like they were worlds apart. How was that even possible?
He should have said something in the quiet warmth of the afternoon sun.
Should have told Christian that he didn’t want the day to end in blood and bruises, that he wanted more days like the one they’d had.
But he knew that would be asking for too much, so he’d kept the words deep inside him, joining all those others he’d swallowed over the years.
The ones that would fester if he didn’t meditate every day and keep them from poisoning him.
Once through the door, they’d split up, Christian heading toward the fighters’ area, already loose-limbed and rolling his shoulders, hungry, while Dave faded into the crowd.
Far more non-shifters were around tonight, and he was going to have his work cut out to find shifters to talk to.
Or yell at, more like, given the way everyone was shouting to be heard over the thumping bass through the speakers and the mass of people.
A lot more women here too, Dave noticed, clustered near the front with drinks in hand, eyes scanning the fighters.
Probably here for the same reason the guys were—to see someone bleed, or someone beautiful. Or both.
He got a beer and skirted the edges of the room until he found a clearer spot by one of the loading doors.
Leaning against the wall, he pulled out his phone.
He knew he needed to talk to people, to ask questions, but most of the shifters were in a fairly tight-knit group, looking serious.
This definitely wasn’t the right time to barge in among them and start asking difficult questions.
Instead, he scrolled through the pack’s chat, where Tristan had posted another photo of Diablo, who he claimed was on strike, holding out for a higher apples-to-hay ratio.
And Riley, who was still documenting Jesse’s ongoing war with the chickens, shared a photo of a stand-off between Jesse and their rooster.
And honestly, in that one, Dave wasn’t sure who his money was on.
God, he missed them all more than he’d thought possible.
“Hey,” a voice said beside him.
He looked up to see Justin, a smile on his face and that casual way of standing that made him look open and friendly.
“Hey.” Dave shifted slightly to make room, sliding his phone back in his pocket. Justin accepted the invitation and leaned against the wall beside him.
“Sorry to disappear on you last night,” Dave said, because he’d been so swept up in Christian, he hadn’t even spared a glance for Justin.
Justin shrugged. “Post-fight adrenaline. Happens all the time.” He paused. “You and he are more than just friends?”
“Yeah,” Dave said. “Something going on?” He tipped his head toward the large group of shifters.
“Barton’s giving his orders,” Justin said.
Dave’s attention instantly sharpened, though he tried not to give away his sudden interest as he stared across at the group.
When two of the shifters moved away, he could see the man in the center who…
Dave had never known how to explain to a non-shifter what an alpha felt like.
It was as if they were the sun, drawing attention, pulling shifters into their orbit with something as irresistible as gravity. At least, the strong ones were.
Barton was definitely one of those. Maybe he felt Dave’s eyes on him, or maybe Dave was just unlucky, but Barton’s gaze met his and held it, just for a moment.
Dave looked away as soon as he could, as soon as the alpha released him, and found his mouth was dry.
That… yeah, he didn’t like Barton. Cold, powerful, and just… He didn’t like him.
He swallowed, trying to calm his wolf and to get back on track. He was here to find out facts. The sooner he learned what they were here to find out, the sooner they could go home and he could forget that cold, gray stare.
“You’ve already got your orders, then?” he asked Justin. Because it was kind of weird, Justin not being with all the other shifters, who were clustered close but deferential around Barton.
Justin gave a self-conscious laugh. “Yeah,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.
“Barton knows I’m not getting in the cage any time soon.
My job’s the same it’s always been, drifting through the crowd, looking for trouble before it starts.
Which on a Friday or Saturday is all the more likely, especially at the end of the month when people have paychecks to spend. ”
“D’you have regulars, or do you get different people showing up?”
“Bit of both,” Justin said. “It seems like you’re becoming a regular.”
Dave nodded. “Christian wants to fight.”
“Looks as though he loves it,” Justin said, his eyes focused across the room.
Dave followed his gaze to the fighters’ area. Christian was stretching, all focus and energy.
“That must be weird for you when you don’t,” Justin added.
Dave didn’t answer, Justin’s observation slicing too close to the bone.
Justin settled more comfortably against the wall, but didn’t say anything else. He just watched the cage, thoughtful.