Jacques dragged a towel down his sweaty face, and then he took a quick glance at the man on the other side of the makeshift fighting ring. The opponent was a wolf shifter just like him, but they were bound by the underground fighting rules for the human-owned operation, so at no point in time could they present their wolves during the fight. His opponent’s underlying scent told Jacques that the guy was also a member of another wolf pack.

The lighting in the old warehouse was non-existent and all Jacques could see was the guy dancing and shuffling around on the dirt floor in animated anticipation of the second round. He was putting on quite a show for the crowd, but the way Jacques saw it, all that did was use up energy reserves. But that was exactly what Jacques wanted his opponent to do. During the first round, he’d gotten a good whiff of the guy and could tell right away that he’d been fueled up on some kind of performance enhancement agent. A hefty dose, at that. That only meant that Jacques had to work smarter to beat him. No amount of agent or drug would keep Jacques from winning this fight. He had goals to fulfill. Bills to pay…

The crowd of viewers jeered and heckled in the background. More bets were exchanged. Even a side fight or two had broken out outside the ring. But Jacques wasn’t concerned with anything else but the beat down and knockout he would deliver in exchange for cold hard cash.

An attendant shoved a bottle of water in Jacques’s face, but he pushed it away and stood up again. The timer was counting down. The second round was set to begin. The crowd grew quieter. Anxiously waiting…

Jacques put his fists up, his attention on his opponent’s eyes—ready to anticipate his every move and his every intention. The moment the bell rang, the opponent rushed at Jacques, swinging first with his right arm and then his left. Jacques dodged both and returned with a quick jab and then a right uppercut. His opponent blocked the right uppercut with his forearm, but the hastened attempt knocked him slightly off balance.

On and on, they fought in the ring with the crowd closing in and hollering each time a fist made contact.

Jacques focused on the opponent, learning his vices and his weaknesses. When he laid out the bait, his opponent jumped right on it. He came at Jacques, dishing out a swift left punch that nearly clipped his chin. Jacques leaned back on his favored leg and then used most of his body weight to rebound forward. Jacques’s left hook connected with the opponent’s gut. He heard the air blast right out of his lungs. The opponent lost his balance and, apparently, his strength to punch back. Jacques brought his right fist up in a sharp uppercut that caught the opponent on the side of the face. The guy was out before he hit the dirt. The dust still hadn’t settled by the time the crowd cried out in support of Jacques’s victory. The sole referee in the ring checked on the opponent, jostling him conscious again. The opponent grunted and tried to hoist himself up on his knee, but failed miserably. He probably didn’t even have the strength to shift if he really wanted to. This was the end of the road for him. At the direction of the referee, the attendants rushed in to carry the unconscious opponent from the ring.

Of course, Jacques could’ve lengthened this out another round, but he was tired of the dancing around and entertaining the crowd. He’d worked a twelve-hour shift at the day job today and he was eager to get home to his bed. He knew the crowd was looking for a show, but he wasn’t that kind of fighter. He went in, knocked a motherfucker the hell out, collected his cash, and got out. It was that simple.

Jacques was relieved when the official master of the ring confirmed the victory. He pulled off his punching gloves, and this time he accepted the towel and the jug of icy water they handed to him. Just before the crowd closed in on him, he picked up his bag of belongings and went to collect his winnings.

“We need more thoroughbreds like you. Do you want to stick around for a later fight?” the master asked. “Pot has been tripled and the night is still early.”

“Naw, I’m good.” Jacques shoved his winnings into his duffle bag.

“We’ll see you around the same time next week, right?”

“Yeah, probably,” he replied, just before moving toward the locker rooms where he showered and changed. On the way out, the guards moved aside without a word as Jacques made his exit.

As he approached his bike, some of his wounds had already begun to swell and tighten. The bruises were more annoying than painful. All he really wanted to do was go home and hit the sack. Maybe he would see the sexy, irresistible redhead again tomorrow. And maybe this time, he’d formally introduce himself. When they had run into each other on the sidewalk, she’d captivated more than just the man. She had stirred his wolf’s soul. He’d never forget her scent of ginger and mint. Like a memory, her aura was now deeply ingrained into his subconscious.