CHAPTER 9
MATHIS
Mathis bundled up the last of his clothes and threw them into his bag. How had he managed to make such a mess in his room in one night? Less than one night, even—it wasn’t as though he’d slept there, after all.
Just thrown everything I owned on every available surface. Mathis did a final sweep of the room. He didn’t think he’d been that messy when he’d unpacked, but he’d already found his phone under the bed and his toothbrush on the dresser instead of the bathroom, so who knew what else he’d accidentally hidden?
Satisfied he’d found everything, Mathis squinted out the window to check the sun. It was low in the sky. Late afternoon.
His lion was itching to get moving. Harper hadn’t offered any resistance to Mathis’ plan to leave—but bureaucracy had. The moment Mathis had reached his room to start packing, Julian had turned up again with what felt to Mathis like a thousand unnecessary busywork forms for him to fill out and non-disclosure agreements to sign. But now, finally, it was almost time to go. To find Chloe, and begin his life with her.
He heaved his bag over one shoulder and pushed through the door. The fighters’ quarters were quiet; Mathis guessed most of his soon-to-be-ex-colleagues were out exploring the island, or in the on-site gym. He hummed softly to himself as he walked outside. Part of him was sorry he’d never really gotten to know the other fighters, but most of him was happy to leave this part of his life behind.
The midday sun was bright, and pleasantly hot. A light wind played through the decorative shrubberies around the resort buildings. Mathis glanced up at the main building before turning toward the staff quarters.
He meant to go straight in and find Chloe, but something made him stop. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and inside him, his lion’s muscles tensed.
Something’s wrong.
His eyes flicked back to the central building. Its two towers made it look like a fortress, crumbling in the elements. Its pale blond stonework looked like something from the Mediterranean. Sunlight glinted off its windows.
There was no one else around. Not staff, not guests—no one. Inside him, Mathis’ lion’s hackles rose.
He turned his back on the staff quarters and hurried towards the main building. Something was very, very wrong—and he intended to find out what it was.
His feet moved silently over the paved path, and he slipped inside without a noise. Without actively trying, he had moved into hunting mode, stealthy and precise.
Mathis’ nostrils flared as he looked around the grand atrium. Empty. Where is everyone?
He thought of Chloe, waiting for him in her room. He hated to leave her hanging, but he couldn’t shake the sensation that something was just… wrong. His lion wouldn’t let him go and find her until he was sure everything was okay.
Mathis prowled across the foyer, ears pricked. The building was almost eerily silent. The only sounds he was picking up were his own heartbeat, the noise of the wind brushing through the trees outside, and—there! Voices.
He turned towards the distant murmur of human voices. No, shifter voices. They were up the stairs, and he followed the layout of the building in his mind: the lounge where he’d been shown off to the guests the night before, after his fight. He frowned and put one hand on the banister.
Stop. His hand clenched on the banister. This is the wrong way.
He couldn’t explain how he knew it. The information was just there, embedded in his mind, as clear and true as the moment he’d met Chloe and known she was his mate.
Mathis turned and stalked back across the room. An unobtrusive door let him out of the guest area, and a few turns took him to the familiar concrete-walled corridors that led to the fighting ring. An unwashed, musky scent filled the dry air. Mathis’ heart thundered in his chest. He still didn’t know what was going on, but he knew he was meant to be here. It was important. Something deep inside him was certain of that.
His pace increased as he approached the northern tower. The fighting ring. Inside him, his lion was on its feet, eyes fixed intently on his target.
A heavy steel door appeared in front of him. He didn’t hesitate. His shifter instinct was pushing him on, a constant, insistent urge that he couldn’t resist even if he wanted to.
Mathis pulled the door open.
In the space between one heartbeat and the next, he stared at the scene in front of him. Chloe was backed up against the opposite wall, terror etched on every line of her face. Facing her, with his back to Mathis, was a hulking white man whose back and shoulders were crisscrossed with scars.
The secondary door, the cage-like grill, was still open. The man must have come through the door just moments before Mathis. He raised his fists and moved towards Chloe, his intentions clear.
Mathis’ mind whited out with rage. He didn’t know what was going on, or why Chloe was here—but there was no way he was letting anyone touch his mate.
Months of training in dodgy gyms and underground fights came to his aid. And one night of fighting as a lion. Mathis launched himself at the other man. He transformed mid-air, slamming into his opponent’s shoulders just as they bulked out and became covered with thick white hair.
The rank smell of unwashed shifter filled Mathis’ nose as he and the other man crashed to the floor. Any hesitations he had about attacking his opponent from behind vanished as the polar bear twisted under Mathis, roaring in fury.
Mathis got one glimpse of the bear’s ice-pale eyes as it snarled and threw him off. He circled the scarred polar bear, putting himself between it and Chloe.
Every atom of his body was intensely aware of her. Chloe. His mate.
He could hear her breathing behind him, short sharp breaths that were just this side of hyperventilation. She was terrified, and her terror broke his heart in two.
But he had no time to reassure her, even if she could understand him in this state. The polar bear lowered his head, and thick muscles moved under the ragged fur on his shoulders.
He’s about to charge. I can’t let him get past me to Chloe.
Mathis moved before the bear had finished preparing for his charge. He feinted to the left, then as the bear’s head swung around he leapt in at his opponent’s neck.
The bear reared back. Mathis’ jaws closed on air, and he struck out with his front paws instead, clawing at the polar bear’s undefended belly.
This wasn’t like any fight Mathis had been in before. He wasn’t fighting for glory, or adrenaline, or as a test of skill. He was protecting his mate, and his mind was white-hot with rage.
Mathis’ claws raked across a network of scars and grubby white fur. Then a piercing pain struck his shoulder, a dozen knifepoints cutting into his skin. Mathis roared. The bear crunched his jaws further closed, and shook his head, tearing at Mathis’ shoulder.
Behind him, Chloe screamed.
The noise seemed to encourage the polar bear. He shook his head again, and then threw Mathis against the wall. Mathis grunted as the impact forced air out of his lungs, but landed on his feet.
His eyes found Chloe’s. The cage doors had slammed down and she was pressing herself against one as though she could force herself through it by will alone, and shelter in the space behind it. Her dark eyes were like black holes in her pale face.
The bear had turned away from Mathis the moment he dropped him, and was stalking closer to Chloe. Ignoring the hot trickle of blood running from his shoulder, Mathis growled and threw himself at the polar bear before it could reach her.
The fight seemed to take forever, and no time at all. Mathis’ body ached with the force of the blows he exchanged with the polar bear, taunting him away from Chloe and trying to weaken him.
Mathis blinked. Sweat was trickling through the fur of his forehead, threatening to drip into his eyes and blind him, even temporarily. It was a risk he couldn’t take. The fighting ring was so small, even losing concentration for a second could be too long. It would only take the polar bear a moment to leap past him and attack Chloe. He couldn’t let that happen.
He shook the sweat off his face, and blinked again—the spots that fell on the concrete floor were red.
Not sweat, then, after all.
Mathis and the bear circled each other warily. Chloe kept behind Mathis, clinging to the wall. Her breath was more even, now, no longer panicked. But she must be thinking the same thing he was.
What happens next?
There were no lights in the viewing room above. No sign of anyone else who might let them out. He and his mate were trapped here with a violent shifter, and that could only end one way.
Mathis’ stomach went cold. He was a fighter, not a killer. But he couldn’t let his mate be hurt.
The polar bear was tiring, but still alert. He was protecting his stomach now more—and Mathis was limping from his injured shoulder. They were evenly matched, but one good bite or blow from either of them could turn the tide.
The cold in Mathis’ stomach turned to ice. Could he kill, if it came down to it?
He glanced up at the dark viewing room. No way of knowing if anyone was up there or not. If not, then no one was coming to help them. And if there was someone up there—
His glance was one split-second too long. The bear rushed him, catching him on his injured shoulder with a blow that knocked him off his feet. Mathis roared in pain. He was dimly aware of Chloe running out of the way.
Red filled his vision as the bear crashed down on him. He pinned him, but not firmly enough. Mathis twisted, struggled, and sank his teeth into the other shifter’s neck from below.
A pulse throbbed under his teeth. This was it. Mathis hesitated—
And brilliant floodlights slammed on, filling the room with cold white light.
Chloe gasped. The polar bear shifted his weight and Mathis released his neck, wriggling out from under him and taking guard in front of Chloe.
“Look,” she whispered, her voice shaking. Mathis followed her gaze.
The viewing room wasn’t empty.
Dozens of faces lined the windows. And they weren’t all standing in the VIP lounge; part of the higher wall had slid back, revealing another window along the other side of the circular room.
Harper was looking down at them, his usually open face grim. Next to him, Mathis recognized Julian, and a few of the guests. Mathis noted briefly that he couldn’t see Grayson among them. Behind them, black-clad members of the kitchen and housekeeping staff stood, horror clear on their faces.
Mathis only recognized a few of the men from the opposite window. There was the wolf shifter he’d fought the night before, and some others he vaguely recalled from the fighters’ quarters.
Sven caught his eye. Mathis saw the corner of his mouth twitch down in—sympathy? Resignation? He was too far away to tell.
“That will do, Cane!”
Harper’s voice rang through the room. The polar bear shuddered, and shifted back into his human form.
Mathis stayed lion, watching the other shifter warily. The polar bear shifter—Cane—turned his strangely flat, pale eyes on Mathis and Chloe, then trudged across to the door he had come in by, and stood there placidly as though waiting for the next thought—or order—to enter his head.
Behind Mathis, Chloe shivered. “Creepy bastard,” she murmured under her breath. Mathis grunted in agreement.
He heard Chloe take a step forward, and hesitate. He swung his head around, and caught her gaze. Chloe’s face was still pale, but her jaw was set in determination and her hands were fisted at her sides.
Mathis nodded at her. *Come here.* He knew she wouldn’t be able to hear him, but hoped she would understand.
Chloe took another step forward. He watched her take a quick, deep breath, and then she buried one hand in his mane, her whole body trembling.
Mathis’ heart twisted. He longed to hold Chloe in his arms, and, eyes closed, he reached inside himself, found that feeling and wrapped it all around himself.
Shifting while he was injured always hurt. It was as though the healing process resented being interrupted, and forced to start again in a differently-shaped body. But Mathis couldn’t have cared less. He gathered Chloe into his arms.
Chloe grabbed him and didn’t let go. “What the hell is going on?” she whispered into his chest.
Mathis couldn’t answer. He raised his eyes to the VIP lounge window again, staring straight at Gerald Harper.
Harper met his gaze. His hand moved to the intercom button set into the window.
“Mr. Dell,” he announced, his voice tainted with a smug superiority that made Mathis’ insides crawl.
“What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Harper?” Mathis yelled, sheltering Chloe in his arms.
Harper smiled. “I told you I’d get your request sorted by dinner, didn’t I?” He made a show of checking the time on his watch. “Just on time. I’m so glad you weren’t late.”
Chloe wriggled in Mathis’ arms, turning to face Harper and the silent figures standing behind him. “What is this—some sort of sick trust exercise?” she gasped.
“Ah. The interloper speaks at last,” Harper sneered. “Did you really think I hadn’t noticed what you were up to, Ms. Kent?”
Chloe’s spine stiffened against Mathis. He squeezed her reassuringly, glaring up at Harper.
Harper grinned. The change in his appearance was striking. He looked as open and friendly as he had when Mathis first met him.
It was all fake, Mathis thought grimly.
“I’m so glad I left dealing with you until today, Ms. Kent. What luck that you and Matty here have such a special connection.”
“What?” Chloe muttered.
Harper kept smiling, but his eyes were hard. “I hope you both understand what this little demonstration was in aid of. Sorry, Matt, but you’re prime meat—I can’t just let you leave! You’ll stay here, and fight for me and my guests… or your mate will pay the price.”