30. Wylder
30
WYLDER
“ W ylder, I don’t recommend fighting without the tape.”
I roll my eyes at the referee beside me.
I don’t recommend needing a referee, but I keep my mouth shut. I’d much rather fight until someone passes out. Preferably not me. It’s never been me, and I’m not concerned now.
The tape isn’t going to make a difference. I like the bite of pain while it lasts, but as a wolf, it doesn’t take long for me to heal once the fighting is done. The sting inflicted with every punch I throw fuels the adrenaline coursing through my veins. It’s an electric life force, one that makes me feel alive yet grounds me all at once.
The ref clearly doesn’t understand that. I don’t mind; nobody seems to. Lincoln, Tatum, and Asher all nod eagerly along with Ref Collins’s recommendations, but they don’t fight, not like me. They don’t understand that this is what I live for; it’s what I breathe for. But it doesn’t matter if they get it or not. They don’t have to. They just have to let me be me.
“Anything else, Collins?” I ask when he doesn’t take my silence as an answer, and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his ring-covered fingers.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Son,” he mutters, shaking his head and making his gray hair ruffle with the movement.
“As long as it’s the death of you and not me, I’m good. And I’m not your son,” I grunt, slapping my hand on his shoulder more harshly than necessary, but he doesn’t grimace. He’s built as broad and strong as me, but he likes to follow the rules while I…skirt them at best.
“One of these days, Wylder?—”
“I’m going to regret the decisions I make. Yada, yada, yada. I get it, Collins. You can tell me you told me so over my dead body. Damn, you can etch it into my headstone if you want. But for now, do me a favor and fuck off. I’m trying to prep.”
Thankfully, he takes the hint, stomping toward the locker room door without pause, but I don’t miss the muttering under his breath as he goes. Something about me being a godforsaken wolf with no damn brain cells, but I let it go over my head as I focus all of my attention on being ready for the real opponent I face tonight.
Dominic Turner.
He’s been making a name for himself, that’s for sure.
Not in my ring, though.
No, not in The Aurum.
Everywhere but my territory.
It’s time I brought his reign to an end.
My distaste for him grows stronger with the knowledge that he’s a vampire, but none of that matters when we step inside the ring. With our magic restricted, we’re just two men relying on our strength and power to reach victory.
The locker room door swings open, the whoosh of air coating my skin as I turn to find Minnie.
“Are you ready? Your song is starting.”
I roll my eyes again. I’ve told them a million times I don’t want a damn song playing as I make my way to the ring, but the organizers insist on running this place like the humans do. The only humans in sight are those tainted by the blood kin curse; otherwise, they have no knowledge of our existence. I’ve heard of underground fighting in the human world; this is even deeper than that. Known only by the supernaturals invited.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Lincoln grunts, launching to his feet with his finger aimed in her direction.
I knew he was going to say something the second I laid eyes on her, and any other time, I would find it amusing. Right now, though, I don’t have time for it.
“She’s wearing a dress, Linc. It’s short, but you’ve definitely seen shorter. Now back off and leave her alone,” I grumble, earning a deathly glare from my friend, who swiftly turns his attention to Asher and Tatum sitting on the benches to my left.
“Help me out, guys,” he grumbles, waving a hand blindly at his sister, but they both shrug, aware he’s looming his overbearing tendencies over her again. “Whatever,” he snaps, turning back to Minnie. “Don’t think I’m letting you out of my sight dressed like that,” he warns, and she scoffs, shaking her head dismissively.
“Please, you’re going to get out there, catch some eye candy, and leave me in the dust,” she states, her words facts. This man is always the same. She glances over his shoulder, meeting my stare, and her eyes glisten with a silent message that I instantly understand.
She’s here.
What did he call her?
Midnight.
Damn.
I didn’t realize how much I wanted her to show up until now, and my dick definitely likes it, but I can’t be distracted. Not by rule sticklers like Collins, not by my brother getting unnecessarily protective, and definitely not by pussy. Even if it is virginal.
“Let’s go,” I order, sensing Asher and Tatum rising from their seats, and the five of us head for the door.
With my family around me, I storm through the short corridor, the bass of the music vibrating the ground as I step out into the walkway. The crowd is packed tight, but they’re all a blur. My sights are set on the man already in the ring.
He cracks his neck from side to side, running his tongue over his teeth as he watches me approach. He lifts his hand, rubbing his jaw, and I see the tape firmly wrapped around his knuckles. A grin splits my face, but there’s nothing nice about it. It’s all menacing, just like my thoughts as I consider every way I can break this man in two.
I round to a stop at the foot of the steps, feeling a pat on the back from each of my three brothers before Minnie squeezes my shoulder. It’s almost a ritual at this stage before they disperse into the crowd, leaving me to take the final steps to my damnation alone.
I plant my foot on the first step, and that’s when I catch a flash of bright blue eyes, made only brighter by the darkness of her locks.
Fuck.
She’s here.
Knowing it and seeing it for myself are two very different things. My muscles bunch and excitement gets the better of me, but I keep the vision of her in the corner of my eye instead of turning to give her my full attention.
She’ll be my prize when I win. For now, I just have to make sure I put on a good show for her. She did dye her hair, after all. Maybe she deserves a prize of her own.
Quickly pushing the rest of that thought to the back of my mind, I climb the remaining steps, relishing in the cheers I finally allow past my senses.
She’s not the only one who deserves a show. People come here to see me fight, and that’s precisely what I’m going to give them.
The second I slip between the ropes, two guards approach and I hold my left arm out, ready. The bite of magic linked to the chain that cuts into my flesh sends my adrenaline haywire and I smirk in amusement as I spy my opponent hiss at the contact.
“I’m going to bring you down, Wylder. You’re going to wish you never invited me here,” Dom snarls, baring his teeth as I feel the blocker solidify between my magic and me.
“That’s Mr. Aires to you, dick face. Only those who beat me get to call me Wylder,” I grunt, and he scoffs.
“No one calls you Wylder inside the ring,” one of the guards states, and I smirk.
“Precisely.”
I settle my stare on my opponent, watching his every move. From the way he rolls his shoulders back to the half-step he makes with his right foot every time he sways from side to side. Taking him down is going to be easy, too easy, and with my prize waiting in the audience, I’m ready to wrap this up as quickly as possible.
“You both know the rules,” Collins states, appearing between us with his hands raised like I can’t play nice and might charge my opponent at any moment. “No death, no magic, no ignorance.” What he really means is no ignoring him if he makes a call. I nod like always and Dominic follows suit. “Fight fair, fight clean, and don’t get blood on my shirt,” he adds with a smirk before the bell rings. He steps back, creating a clear path between me and my target.
He’s instantly bouncing on the balls of his feet. I heard he likes to try and tire his opponent out, but I’m not falling for that shit. I remain stoic, frozen in the center as he dances his adorable little fucking two-step around me. I don’t move when he moves to my side, reaching my back, and it must confuse the fuck out of him because it takes him a whole two seconds to swing his fists in my direction.
I let the first hit fall. Nothing fuels me like the swift greeting of someone’s knuckles against my flesh. Tingles run down my spine, the heat from the contact blossoming, and just as I hoped, he takes the victory of his first hit to come at me harder. Except the second punch doesn’t connect as I spin, catching his wrist in the next breath.
Wide eyes collide with mine as I turn to face him, yanking him closer with my left hand as I swing with my right. The crush of my bare knuckles against his face earns a holler through the crowd and I grin at the crunch that erupts beneath the force of my blow.
I release his wrist, letting him cup the damaged area as blood drips down his chin.
“What the fuck?” he spits, glaring at me, and I shrug, my grin growing wider as the crowd goes feral.
He clearly hasn’t done any research on me; I’ve pulled this shit before. Too many times, really, but a man’s ego is nothing to be messed with. It gets them every time.
Wiping the back of his hand across his face, he lifts his fists, finding the rhythm in his feet again. I regret not hitting him with my favorite double tap, so this would be over with already. But delayed gratification comes in many forms, and this is one of them.
He aims his fists in my direction, punching forward once, twice, three times with no luck before he starts swirling around me again. Unfortunately for him, I follow him this time, a fact that makes his nostrils flare as he stumbles over the little half-step he’s been doing since he entered the ring.
I could do this all night, until I catch another glimpse of baby blues and jet-black locks over his shoulder. She doesn’t know the influence she has on me. I sure as fuck don’t either. I don’t usually chase witches; I know my place as a wolf. Maybe I would venture at a full moon party, but not like this. Not outside of the night air and not as intensely as this.
I miss the trigger that warns me he’s going to swing and Dominic’s fist collides with the side of my head.
Fuck. That.
The stained red hue falls over my eyes, like an infrared beacon in the night, honing in on one thing and one thing only…Dominic’s face.
My muscles coil tight, the heat from his punch vibrating through my entire body as I swing with my right hand, making his defenses drop before I throw an uppercut with my left. I connect; the snap of his jaw slamming together is a euphoric sound in my ears, but nothing beats the way his eyes roll back, accompanying his fall.
He lands with a thud and Collins is standing over him instantly, hand raised in my direction to keep me back, but I know I’m done here. My pulse thrums in my ears, making it hard for the cheers to echo in my mind, but I hear them enough to feel the buzz it offers.
The crimson tint to my vision isn’t gone, though.
No.
Now, it’s directed elsewhere. I move an inch to the left, spying my new target immediately.
Someone grabs my wrist, lifting my hand in the air in victory, and the roars around the room turn insane, but I have no interest in basking in it. I’m over the rope and stomping through the crowd before they’ve even finished announcing my name.
Her eyes latch onto mine, wide with surprise as her jaw hangs loose.
Hot.
Hands pat at my arms and shoulders, murmurs of congratulations ring in the air, but none of it matters. I’m locked in, taking the stairs deeper into the crowd two at a time until I’m at her row. Thankfully, it’s her friend in the end seat, and she’s right beside her.
I consider holding my hand out, relishing the delight of feeling her skin against mine, but I’m not in the mood to take no for an answer right now. Especially when I know Lincoln is likely watching me. Especially when he will recognize her and want to claim her for himself.
Not tonight.
She’s mine.
Wrapping my hand around her wrist, I tug her toward me, my free hand latching onto her waist as her chest lands against mine. She looks up at me through her lashes, her shoulders rising and falling with every breath, and it’s intoxicating.
I take a step back and she instinctively takes one toward me.
Perfect.
Slipping my hand from her wrist to her palm, I lace our fingers, tugging her behind me as I move with purpose back down the stairs. Her digits are stiff in my grasp, but when I squeeze tighter, she relaxes or relents; either way, she curls her little fingers between mine and I move faster.
Lincoln appears in my periphery, but it’s not me he’s looking at, it’s her, and there’s no way in hell he’s getting between me and my prize right now. I don’t even care that the magic binder is still around my wrist. I just need to move.
Exiting the open space, the noise quiets as I drag her a step behind me down the small corridor before thrusting the locker room door open. It ricochets off the wall, barreling back toward me quicker than I expect, but we manage to slip inside before it closes. The second it shuts, I turn the latch, desperate for the privacy as my attention finally circles back to the woman before me.
Her teeth worry at her bottom lip as she rakes her eyes over me, chest heaving in time with mine as she struggles to catch up with what’s happening.
Releasing her hand, I lift my fingers to the tips of her hair. “You went with the black,” I breathe, and she nods, her eyes finding mine.
“That was…some fight,” she states, a tremble running through her, and I grin.
“Yeah. Some might say it’s brutal, but I say it’s fucking glorious,” I rasp, taking a step toward her, but this time, she takes a step back.
She’s not scared. I would sense it if she were.
No.
It’s something else. I just don’t know what. I’m more than happy to put the work in to find out, though.
“What is it, Little Witch?” I whisper, and she shakes her head, continuing to retreat as I prowl toward her until her back presses against the cool stone wall.
She gasps, pupils blown as she blinks at me.
“Wylder.”
Fuck.
My name on her tongue is a sin.
I infiltrate her space until we’re chest to chest again, our breaths mingling between us as we drown in one another.
“I’ve got you, Polaris,” I murmur, watching her brows gather in confusion.
“Got me how?”
“Lincoln doesn’t do virgins, but I can help with that.”