Chapter 32
YVAINE
Ashock of cold struck my cheek. I touched it, and my fingers came back wet.
Sometime during the game, the drizzle had turned into a full rain, slicking the field and increasing the dangers of an already extremely dangerous sport, if you could even call it that.
Could you call gladiators fighting against lions a sport? Could two tribes of apes competing for territory be called a sport? Maybe from a third primitive tribe’s perspective, yes.
The crowd howled, snarled, and screeched like a zoo on fire. All the animal sounds. The Terminator’s fans made chicken noises.
There was something about the way the Terminator moved. Unhinged. Lethal. It completely enraptured me. He knew no fear as he sprinted across slick grass turning to bloody mud, barking commands to his teammates with codes and numbers that only the Dark Diamonds players understood.
His very being erupted with domination. Every feint, every fake-out, every brutal shove told the arena, Bow. Or break.
He wasn’t just playing; he was hunting.
Rain plastered his blond hair back as he drove through the Comets defense. Right, left, then a cruel feint to the right before blasting forward, faking a pass. His legs churned like engines, throwing mud up behind him.
My eyes fell on the 140-yard line at the exact same moment that Logan pulled his arm back, the ball flying seventy yards down the field in a perfect spiral. At three times the size of a human stadium, werewolf arenas were huge.
My lips parted slightly as I watched the ball’s arc. His teammate caught it cleanly, with an easy hop, and Logan’s fist punched the air in pride, teeth baring in a vicious smirk.
And then all hell broke loose. A Jester pounced on him from the right, while a Comets player blindsided him from behind.
My hand slapped over my mouth as two sets of fangs sank into his forearms, blood spilling from the tattooed cracks.
“Yeah, that’s it! Chew those cheating arms off!” Tiziano shouted through the megaphone, his own exposed fangs dripping foam.
Logan rammed his elbow backwards, driving it into the Comets’ gut so hard that the guy folded like a camping chair.
Then something odd happened.
Logan turned on the colossal Jester, whose fangs were entirely buried in his flesh. His lips peeled back, fangs bared, and gave one stare—cold, feral—made the beast whimper, tucking its tail before bolting to find easier prey.
My fingers clenched around my necklace, tracing the half moon, the L engraved inside.
I understood it then.
Why my pack shuddered at his name. Why Lachlan bristled like Logan was the meteor that would end the world.
Because maybe he was.
“Fucking Alpha Carrion’s son isn’t bad. Not bad at all.
Damn him and all his bloodline!” my dad barked, his face blotchy and red with rage.
I bit back a smile, because only my dad could praise someone while threatening to murder their ancestors.
“I’ll personally make sure to kick his fat ass for raising that irritating son. ”
I considered telling my father the truth, but an automatic reply came out instead. “Dad, that wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Fuck that,” he grumbled instantly, not even noticing that he was answering me.
“Husband!” My mom whacked him across the skull so hard that I heard the smack over the roar of the crowd. “Language!”
Dad’s green eyes whipped to me, contrite. “Sorry, sweetheart, I—”
And then my mom cupped her hands around her mouth and bellowed, “Come on, Highlander, fuck their shitty asses to pieces!”
My dad and I looked at each other, wide-eyed and incredulous, upon hearing Mother’s words. She just shrugged and kept cheering.
“What? I’m supporting my son!”
Before we could recover, Uncle Andrew jumped right in, his voice booming across three rows. “Yeah! Break their spines, lad, and we’ll use ‘em tonight for toothpicks!”
By then, the Comets had managed to score twice, but the Dark Diamonds had answered with three consecutive touchdowns. Skeleton Man and two other walking tanks had literally dismembered four Comets players.
Was that their strategy? To exterminate players until we were outnumbered?
It seemed so.
Just then, Skeleton Man pinned one of the Comets. He grasped his left hand and bent four fingers backwards. The sickening crack, followed by the player’s scream, made my stomach churn.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Skeleton Man crooned, a madman’s smirk on his face. “Sing for me, you Comety mutt.” The shameless instigator then stood, wiggling his fingers at our section of the stands. He dove in the next moment, tackling Gaius, who’d just caught a flawless pass from my brother.
Makena yelled, hands cupped around her mouth, “Get out of there! Do it for the blow job!”
Gaius heard her, or maybe he heard the B-word. Sometimes men had a special skill—filtering for reproductive reasons. Gaius freed himself from the attack, leaped onto one of the players’ shoulders, and used him as a support to kick the other two right in the face.
“Damn it, Gaius!” Dad roared, nearly launching himself over the railing. “That was a perfect pass! One more wrong move, and I’ll kick you out of the pack! You hear me? Out!”
As I patted Dad’s shoulder to comfort him, I squinted down at Skeleton Man. Again, he looked familiar. A flash of maple-brown eyes…
That was him! Gentle Eyes.
Except, in retrospect, his eyes weren’t gentle at all, and my nickname might have been given too fast considering he looked like the heir of Satan now.
Still, I couldn’t be sure, since he wore that ridiculous mask with the laughing skeleton.
I thought about asking Makena or Dad if they recognized him, but it wasn’t worth taking my eyes off the arena.
Anything could happen, and I needed to make sure it didn’t.
I could finally breathe again during the first break, my lungs deflating in defeat. I needed annual leave just to recover from that first quarter.
While the players disappeared into the changing rooms, I grabbed my phone and fired off a text to Rudy.
Interesting game. Did you see my so-called mate straight up murder poor Sillas? For no reason! That boy’s completely out of his damn mind!
I looked around the enemy stands, half expecting to spot a reindeer staring at his phone, but it was like searching for a tumor the size of a poppy seed in a CT scan.
I was about to trail after Makena and Amaia for food, maybe find an IV drip for me, when my phone rang.
Rudolph was calling me.
With a small grin, I slipped away from my relatives and friends so nobody would overhear me.
“Where are you? Could you at least wave at me, Lucien?” I used his real name, saying it like some crazy, clingy wife.
That deep, husky chuckle distracted me for a second.
“Hello to you, too, Bunny Doc. Where are those famous polite manners you brag about all the time?”
His voice was rougher than usual, as if someone had punched his vocal cords. He’d probably been shouting a lot to cheer his team on.
“Stop pouting like that,” he admonished.
My jaw dropped. I looked around, trying to find him. The endless sea of faces wasn’t helping.
“Now I can add spy to the long list.” I rolled my eyes, and he laughed again.
“What list?”
“The list of your nicknames, Rudolph.” I rubbed my chest from the stress. Honestly, this game was going to put me in an early grave.
He snickered. “So. You enjoying watching your mate?”
My face burned. “You can’t possibly know that!”
“I can see you from the crowd. You’re practically drooling all over him. Damn, Yvaine, I didn’t take you for that kind of girl.”
“Well, he’s mine, so I can stare as much as I damn well please!”
“Sure you can,” he breathed out, slightly annoyed, “but you’re distracting him. It’s obvious from how he’s playing.”
I scoffed. “He’s not exactly flopping out there. Unless ‘playing well’ now means spending half his time turning my packmates into minced meat. And besides, what would you know, anyway? I thought you were an antisocial nerd, Rudy.”
“A nerd?” He laughed louder. “What makes you think I’m a nerd?”
“I have my sources,” I said haughtily.
“Sure, Bunny Doc. Sure.”
As there was neither a point nor the time to argue about that, I changed the subject. “Why did he attack Sillas? You think he knows I’m wearing his sweater? Maybe he smelled it on me and—”
A snarl rattled through the speaker. I glanced across the stands just in time to see a whole bench rolling through the air, two werewolves scattering like pigeons. It was a typical wereball sight. Yet—
“…Rudolph? Was that you?”
Muffled sounds erupted from the other line.
“Of course not.” His reply came smoothly. “Probably a crazy fan.” Then, sharper, “Why the fuck are you wearing his sweater?”
My brows shot up. “No need to be so rude!”
“You like it when I’m rude. Or how else would you get to call me Rudolph?”
“Don’t change the subject!” I hissed. “Why does it matter to you what I wear?”
“You’ve met your mate, and you’re accepting presents from other males? Males?” He growled the last part.
“What present? It started raining on the way here, and my brother had nothing to give me but Sillas’s sweatshirt after he took it by mistake.”
A pause, then a reluctant grunt. “…Fine. Still don’t like it.”
“Well, I don’t like his stupid fan club signs! Did you see them? I wish I had a flamethrower.”
“Mmm,” he hummed, way too entertained. “I like that image. My mate with a flamethrower, torching fangirls.”
“Lucien, I’m serious! Some of them literally want to bear his children!”
His husky chuckle bothered me. “He’ll only have pups with you, Bunny Doc. Pretty sure he can’t wait to fill you up with little bunnies.”
I slapped my cheek, scorching with blush. “Lucien!”
“I have to go now, Bunny Doc. Certain matters need my attention!”
“What matters—”
“I’ll call you back later! Mwah!”
I pulled the phone away, jaw hanging.
“Did he just…mwah me?”