Chapter Sixteen

The fights were rarely held in the same place two weeks in a row, but Blake had been to enough of them over the years to know that all windowless warehouses and grungy basements shared three important features: they were dark and gloomy, they filled up fast, and if the stench of spectators crowded in close didn't kill you, the sound of their bloodthirsty screams probably would.

These concrete pits were everything he loathed about humanity. The press of bodies, the stale air. He felt cut off from the world, from the earth and the wind and everything alive. The people here moved too fast, too carelessly, flinging their limbs in every direction, as if they owned their space and his as well.

He bristled when they jostled him, fighting back the urge to answer insult with action. He wasn't here to educate them. He was to fight, to bleed, to entertain. Maybe even to chase a little pain, because cracked ribs and a busted face would hurt less than his heart right now.

"Ivan said you were here," a low voice drawled, somehow carrying over the din. "I told him he was full of shit. Shows what I know."

Fucking Ivan. Blake tensed, turned slowly, and watched the werewolf parting the crowd by intimidating size alone. Dex was huge, strong, and had a cheerful violence in his eyes that rivaled Mac on a good day.

And there was no way he'd just happened to show up tonight. "Well, Ivan didn't tell me you were going to be here."

"He said you seemed tense." Dex shook his head. "Always the diplomat. Anyway, he was afraid you'd knock someone's block off, so he gave me a call."

"Yeah?" It was such an Ivan thing to do, cleaning up behind wolves, nudging circumstances to avoid exposure. Not even out of a sense of nobility—Ivan made his living serving as an intermediary between wolves who wanted to hide and a world that had progressed too far to make that a simple task. "So what am I supposed to do? Beat on you?"

"Sure." Dex clapped a jovial hand to his shoulder. "You whoop my ass, and we both make a shit ton of money. That's a win-win."

Blake snarled. It was too easy. A toothless match, a mere show to get the humans' blood pumping, and when it was over he would still be hurting too much and not nearly enough.

"What's wrong, sunshine?" The other man's dark brows drew together. "You're usually more cheerful than this. Well, a little bit more."

"Nothing." It came out more harshly than he'd intended, and not very convincing, so Blake rolled his shoulders. "I'm out of practice at this. At dealing with them."

"Eh, they're not so bad." Dex gestured to their left, toward a sultry redhead in a tiny skirt who kept glancing their way. "Take that one. Home with you after the fight, I mean. She's half in love with you already."

The girl was pretty. She was smiling. She looked more than willing to leave with Blake now—or stay. Hell, she might even follow him into a bathroom or a closet or let him take her up against the wall in a shadowed corner.

A few weeks ago, he would have done it. He had done it in the past. The women at fights like these knew what they were getting—someone rough and raw and wild. It had been a useful physical outlet for a lot of years.

And it left him cold now. Not her, but all of it. The redhead wasn't in love with him. She didn't know him, or want to. Not the good and damn sure not the bad.

Ashley knew it all, and still loved him. For now.

Dex was watching him with too much awareness, so Blake shook his head. "Not looking for that right now. She's all yours."

"Suit yourself." Dex hesitated. "This have anything to do with that rumor I heard about your pack?"

Blake kept his expression blank. "What rumor?"

"That you've got yourself a brand new member, and she's a hell of a lot prettier than Mac."

Rumors like that had put Ashley in danger in the first place. Blake flexed his fingers and felt that stupid kid's throat beneath them again. "That could get someone hurt. Or worse."

"Only if it's true." He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. "Holy shit. It is, isn't it?"

Dex was a loner. A wolf who traveled between worlds, like all of Blake's pack brothers had been before Lucas sold them on a better dream. Dex had always seemed decent enough, but the knowledge that Lucas had two unmated females under his protection could rouse dark instinctive urges in damn near anyone.

It was rousing some pretty dark instincts in Blake right now. Dex expected their fight to be for show, but accidents happened—and a wolf with a broken neck couldn't confirm any unfortunate rumors. Or try to act on them.

Dex just grinned. "Cool the death glare, buddy. I'm not after your woman, and I can keep my mouth shut."

She's not mine.

He couldn't say it. If he said it, it would be real. "You sure you still want to fight me?"

Someone halfway across the warehouse shouted Dex's name, and he raised one hand in casual greeting. "I wasn't before, but I am now. Bring it, Blake."

For the first time since he'd hit the city limits, Blake smiled. "Oh, you can count on it."