Cold light. Grey light. The howls rise in my ears.

The concrete walls never change, but at night, they close in. My lion can see in the dark but that doesn’t mean night doesn’t affect me. I always know when it falls.

And those howls.

I don’t know whether they’re real, or imagined. I’ve killed so many. Their screams are my penance. Awake or dreaming, it’s all the same. My life is the nightmare that never ends.

Someone, somewhere is singing.

“When Irish eyes are smiling...”

Barred sunlight trickles over my face. I’m in bed, not a cot. The walls are no longer concrete but dingy white. And paper thin. I hear voices murmuring in the living room, along with the Irish caterwauling. The sound washes over me and my knotted muscles relax.

My vision, tinged red, clears as my lion retreats. I’m in a bedroom, not a cell with guards outside the door waiting to burst in. But my animal is ready to fight. He always is. Years of abuse have permanently broken him.

Sweat soaks the sheets under me. Another bad night, filled with dreams of being locked in a cell. Or flashbacks. But sometimes, the dreams feel more real.

I pull myself out of bed and make it with military precision, like I have every damn day since week one of bootcamp. “You can take the man out of the army, but not the army out of the man,” my drill instructor told us. He was right. But sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be able to take the killer out of my lion.

As soon as I open my bedroom door, the singing stops.

“Nash?” a head pops into the hall.

“What are you doing here?” I glare at the shifter, a young face with a shock of prematurely grey hair.

Parker shrugs and steps back so I can enter the living room. “Got kicked out of my last place. They saw my animal running around and told me no pets. And you have an extra room.”

I have nothing to say to this, so I turn to the other two interlopers lounging on the battered couch. Two men, one with black hair and a bottle of rotgut in his hands, the other taller than all of us and too thin. The tall one wears glasses and blinks constantly. The black haired one is grinning.

“I told you not to come here,” I growl to the room at large.

“You’ve got the biggest place.” Parker hides a smile. For a moment I consider wiping it off his face, then wiping the floor with him. But no. He’s my manager. If I kill him, who will schedule my fights? Bleeding an opponent on a regular basis is the only thing keeping my animal alive.

“Hey.” I point to the black-haired man, who’s opening a bottle with an illegible handwritten label. “What the fuck is that stuff? Stinks like paint remover.”

“This? Just a wee bit o’ hair of the dog. Had a good night last night drinkin’ and such. This will perk me up right quick.” The Irish accent penetrates and my brain throws up a name. Declan. Shifter—animal unknown. He smells a bit like a wolf, a bit like… something else. A shifter mix, a product of the experiments in the underground labs of Data-X. The Irishman is one of the few that survived. I’d call him lucky, but he’s not. The lucky ones died.

“Ya want some?” Declan offers the bottle. My lion surges to the fore. I beat him back down. As tempting as it is to get drunk before noon, I didn’t break out of the prison lab to waste my days.

“No. Drink it outside. Or better yet, use it to kill the grass in the driveway.”

“Right ya are, sir.” The black-haired man throws off a mock salute. “You’re the alpha.”

I’m not your alpha,” I call as I head to the kitchen. Breakfast. Food. Normalcy. Go through the motions, even if normal is a foreign country I’ll never visit again.

“You’re the king of the beasts, aren’t ya now? If you’re in a pack, you’ll be at the lead.”

“We’re not a pack.” I open the fridge and grab the first thing that looks good—a carton of milk. I tip it up and drink straight out of the carton, ignoring Parker leaning in the door.

“Ready for the big fight?”

I grunt.

“Another grizzly shifter. This one from Saskatchewan or some Godforsaken place. I swear all they do in the lumber yards is fight.”

“Good.” Less chance my lion will kill them.

“Betting’s pretty evenly split,” Parker muses. “The bruins are the only ones who can take you.”

A plastic container filled with some sort of homemade biscuits sits on my counter. I tap it. “What’s this?”

“Scones. Laurie made them.” As soon as he says it I smell the feathery scent of the owl shifter along with the sharp sugary tang of the baked good. I open the container and take two.

My pocket vibrates and pull out my phone. A text from an unknown number.

Layne and I are driving over. We have intel for you.

I type back, I’ll be at the Pit. And because I can’t stop myself. What intel?

Kylie got a hit on a woman living alone in Temecula. Going to confirm now, but we think it’s Denali.

Denali.

Red. Black. The cell door opens, I stand at ready. The guards come in, weapons trained on me. I expect them.

I don’t expect her. The scent of cinnamon fills the air. Cinnamon… and arousal.

“Nash? Nash?”

The memory goes dark, and ebbs away, leaving Parker’s worried face. Behind him, Declan and Laurie stand at the door, staring at me.

The world tints red for a second. My lion trying to take hold.

“I gotta go.” Two steps to the door, and I reverse, grabbing another scone and holding it up for the tall man to see. “Thanks. These are good.”

The owl shifter blinks at me from behind his Coke-bottle glasses.

I leave out the back door.

* * *

This time of day, the Pit is mostly deserted, which is a good thing, My lion is riled up enough at the lingering smell of shifters. I let him out and prowl around the grounds. We’re far enough in a run down industrial district that no one will see a lion pacing the perimeter of a dingy warehouse. No one comes back here but shifters, and the shifters who come here will recognize me. This is my territory. My kingdom. I let my mad lion mark his territory, slinking along the chain link fence that surrounds the parking lot, then I shift and head inside for a drink, trying not to think of how pathetic I’ve become.

A few minutes later, a sandy-haired man steps inside, sniffing the air. At the bar, I raise my glass in invitation. He nods and steps back, allowing his companion to enter before him. A striking, young woman with long dark hair approaches. She stares right at me. I meet her gaze in mild challenge. She’s a new shifter, and dominant. My lion normally wouldn’t tolerate her boldness, but right now he doesn’t see her as a threat. This is a meeting of allies, and he knows he’s about to get what he wants.

Sam sits. Without a word, he lays his phone on the bar, screen up. There’s a picture of a woman leaving a house, her face half shuttered behind the screened door.

My chest tightens. Denali. The room blurs, turning red.

Sam puts a finger on the screen and swipes to show me the rest. Denali headed down the drive, entering a car. Long legs in cutoff shorts, a plain white tee showcasing lean taut arms. “My contact took them this morning. Confirmed the address of the house. She seems to be living there.” Sam slides a piece of paper to me, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the picture. In every photo, there’s a serious expression on her face—not quite sad. Distant.

“Is this her?” Layne asks.

“Yes.” I find my voice. “It’s her.” Denali. Mine, my lion roars, shaking the bars of his cage. He wants to come out and go on the hunt. Find Denali, make his claim. Mine.

Red clouds my vision. I blink and everything goes black.

I raise my head, realizing I’ve been silent for a few minutes. The air is thick with tension. Layne’s eyes are shifter bright.

“Sorry it took so long,” Sam says. The hair on his arms stands on end, but his voice is calm. He might not be the biggest shifter, but he’s a cool head under pressure. Unlike the rest of them. “I thought for sure we had her last time.”

I nodded. “She moves around a lot.”

“She seems to have settled. The landlord of this place says she moved in six months ago. Longest she’s been in one place.” Sam flicks the paper bearing the address. “But we better move fast. Layne and I can—”

“No.” I pocket the paper. “Just me. Alone.”

“With all due respect.” Sam eases off the barstool a second after me. He doesn’t try to get in my way but he steps too close. Red explodes behind my eyes. Darkness dances at the corners, then takes over.

A second later, I come to. My hands are fisted in Sam’s shirt. I’ve slammed him against the bar. His hands go up, spread in surrender, but my lion doesn’t care. My canines ache as they grow, a growl blasting from my throat.

A second later pain explodes in my back.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” A purr in my ear, soft and sibilant. The claws in my skin flex and tighten, ten points of agony, needle sharp. “Be a good kitty and let him go.”

Wrenching hold of my lion, I release Sam’s shirt, and snarl as the claws bite deeper.

“Layne,” Sam murmurs. A half purr, half growl and the weight leaves my back abruptly. I stretch, ignoring the shriek of pain along my spine, and turn slowly. The little woman faces me, staring straight at me with almond-shaped cat eyes.

“Most wouldn’t provoke the King of the Beasts in his territory.”

She says nothing. Sam slips to her side and she takes his hand without breaking her gaze. Then don’t threaten my mate, she seems to say. My lion grudgingly approves.

“Maybe it’s best if you do go alone.” Sam tugs Layne to the door.

As soon as they step outside, I cover my face with a hand. My forehead is clammy with effort from keep my lion on a chain. He’s violent, lashing out at friend and foe. Desperate. I’m dying, and there’s only one cure.

Denali.

The paper in my pocket nudges my palm. I crumple it, and fight the rising red tide that threatens my vision. It hurts, but I push it back.

“Well, boss? You gonna get her?” Parker stands in front of me.

“I can’t,” I force the words out, ignoring my lion’s howl of loss.

“Ya must,” Declan says at my side. “Your lion can’t hold on any longer.”

“I know.” I close my eyes. I was supposed to find Denali, go to her. Apologize. Make sure she’s safe.

It’s too late. My lion is out of control, and I need to find someone to kill him. To kill me.

“If someone was able to kill you, they would’ve by now,” Parker points out and I realize I spoke aloud. “You fight every night—and win. The biggest baddest shifters, the half deranged—anyone who will step into the ring. Sometimes two at a time.”

“Ya can’t stop fighting,” Declan murmurs. “Not that I’m complaining. Business is good. Bets are up. The cops stopped sniffing around, and the Shifter Fight Club only made us more famous.” He swirls his drink. “The Pit. Home of the King of the Beasts.”

I snarl. I’m tempted to walk out, to drive to Denali’s house and tell her everything. She might forgive me, once she gets over the shock.

But I can’t. Between the dreams, and my lion’s insanity, I’ve built a cage stronger than any Data-X used to hold me.

* * *

Later that night, I head into the ring. The crowd cheers, but all I hear are screams. How many did I kill as a soldier? They’re here, ghost like faces turned vicious, ready to drag me to death.

My vision goes red, then black.

Next thing I know, I’m in the ring and Parker signals the start of the match. The bruin turns and his profile reminds me of one of the Data-X guards. A sadistic fuck who liked to strap down small shifters and pump them full of juice until they smoked. Snack-sized, he said.

Red. Black. The bruin falls, his face a bloody mask. The bouncers enter, drag him out. Another fighter takes his place. Young. Cocky. Like the prisoners when they entered, thinking they were part of an experiment. A master race.

“We’ll find the best for you Nash,” the doctor said. Light hair like Sam’s. I don’t remember his name. “You’ll breed the Master Race.”

Red. Black. Another fighter in the ring. Two this time. They rush me together and their fists fall. Pain washes me clean.

I’m back strapped onto the chair, sides bruised. Mouth parched, body smoking. “Not so strong now?” the guard asks. Raises the stick.

I roar and two startled faces blur in front of me. I reach through the red haze, grab both by the scruff of their necks and slam their skulls together. Two in one.

The crowd screams. My head rings. Declan stands in front of me, offering water.

“How many?”

“One more.” He sounds worried. “But you don’t need the fight. We can—”

“No.” I lumber to my feet as a mean-looking fighter lumbers into the ring. My lion won’t be deprived his prey.

“We need to stop it,” Declan says to Parker, who nods. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

Parker turns and raises his megaphone. “That’s all for tonight, folks—”

The crowd boos. They want blood. I’ll give it to them.

I rise to my feet and plod to the center of the ring, the crowd’s cries washing over my bruised flesh. “Nash. Nash.” They chant. “King of the Beasts.”

My opponent turns with a mean smile. I grin back, and let loose my lion.

Red. Black. Black. Black.

“Nash, stop, stop!” Grey head flashes in front of me. Parker, shouting, mouth open and wild. “You won. He’s down. Stop before you kill him.” The air is heavy with the scent of blood. My lion approves.

“You won,” Parker repeats. I try to take a step and stagger under the weight of several bouncers. Panic rises and I thrash to throw them off. No use. The prison guards have shock sticks.

“Let him go,” Parker cries and the men release me, jumping back. But I run, claws out. I’m blind, blood streaming into my eyes. I reach the fence. It’s not electric. Someone turned the power off. This is my chance.

“Nash—” Declan is on the other side of the fence.

I raise my hands—now tipped with black claws—and swipe through the metal.

My claws tear and I howl but don’t stop until there’s a hole big enough for a lion to rush through.

Then I run. My lion is out, people are screaming, scrambling out of my way. Red claws at my eyes, black lurking in the corners, threatening. One final burst of speed and I’m outside. Falling to all fours, I let the darkness consume me.

* * *

I wake in the car, my mouth full of blood. I cough on the tang and almost spatter the wrinkled piece of paper lying on the dash. Denali’s address. The lion found it and put it there.

“All right. All right.”

Every inch of my body screams. My hands are swollen, bloody. Over the past few months, the shifter healing works slower, and that can only mean one thing: I’m dying. It’s only a matter of time. It’s only a question of how many I take with me.

I can’t risk Denali. But the next time I black out, my lion might take me to her door. There’s no telling what he’d do.

He’s made it clear, if I let him die, he’ll take everyone he can down with him.

I put the car in gear and drive, not sure if I’m a dying man headed for the gallows, or a cure.

* * *

The address leads me to a little house in Temecula. I pull up and idle a moment. My hand shakes as I park. Excitement? Or the last stages of madness?

It’s a mistake to come here. I know this as soon as I step onto the little porch, and her scent hits me. Blackness curls from the edges of my vision, pulling me under.

* * *

The guards have guns on her. My lion surges to the fore, angry. It’s been so long since he’s killed. But when the woman stumbles forward, I catch her. My arms close around her body. She’s tall, her head coming just under my chin, soft hair a cloud in my face. The cinnamon scent hits me again, until I taste it.

“Another one for you, Nash.” The guard’s voice is harsh, mocking. They see what I do with the women they bring me. There are cameras in the corners of the room. They watch.

My grip tightens on the woman’s body, she turns her face to hide it in my chest.

“You know what to do. Get to it. Or else.” The threat hangs in the air.

The door scrapes as they leave.

I don’t want to move. I could hold her like this for the night, and never feel wanting. But desire’s there too, bubbling up, the first hint of warmth after a long winter.

“Hey,” she says. Shy, but not embarrassed. I sense anger in her, rising, matching mine. Frustration. A spirit uncowed. Brave. Naked and defenseless, but not afraid.

Filling my lungs with her delicious scent, I tip her face up to mine. “What’s your name?”

* * *

“Denali.” I whisper. Inside, my lion waits, patient on this hunt. I follow the cinnamon scent on the air to the screened door.

And I see her. Long, lean limbs, flawless dark skin. She’s barefoot at her kitchen counter, weight on one hip, pert ass encased in cutoff shorts. Her elegant neck curves as she looks down at what she’s doing.

Unable to stop myself, I push the door open and enter silently. I’m back in the jungle, a soldier, a predator stalking my prey.

Her head turns slightly.

Her name is on my lips when she turns. Her eyes flare with an amber light.

“Nash?” she chokes out.

I walk toward her. Her head rears back on her lovely neck, chest fluttering.

“It’s all right, Denali.” I stop and lift my hands. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

A tremor runs through her. Once, twice, and the spiced scent rises between us.

Mine. My lion snarls. My mate.

“Denali, I—” my voice cracks but it’s too late. She whirls and runs out the back door.

Nash

I’ve survived suicide missions in war zones. Shifter prison labs. The worst torture imaginable.

Nothing knocked me off my feet... until the beautiful lioness they threw in my cage. We shared one night before our captors ripped us apart.

Now I’m free, and my lion is going insane. He’ll destroy me from the inside out if I don’t find my mate.

I don’t know who she is. I don’t know where she lives. But I’ll die if I don’t find her, and make her mine.

I’m coming for you, Denali.

Denali

They took me from my home, they killed my pride, they locked me up and forced me to breed. They took everything from me and still I survived.

But one night with a lion shifter destroyed me. Nash took the one thing my captors couldn’t touch—my heart.

Somehow I escaped, and live in fear that Nash and the rest will come for me. It’s killing my lioness, but I’ve got to hide. I’ve got to protect the one thing I have left to lose: our cub.