Feral Heat
Page 4
Dylan was the black-maned lion snarling in the middle of the ring, his paws moving lightning fast as he battled the bigger bulk of the Kodiak. Ronan was fully shifted to bear, his ruff standing up, his eyes alight with fighting fury. Ronan’s Collar sparked deep into his fur, but Dylan’s was quiet.
“Unfair advantage,” Jace said into Deni’s ear. “Dylan knows how to keep his Collar from going off.”
Deni had to turn her head and stand on tiptoe to answer into Jace’s ear. His hand in hers was warm, and she leaned close. “That’s why he only fights the strongest: Ronan, or Spike, who’s the champion. Sometimes Dylan lets his Collar go off on purpose, to keep things interesting.”
“But he usually wins anyway,” Jace finished.
He had a rumbling baritone that tickled inside her ear, his hot breath making Deni tingle even more. She squeezed his fingers a little, and was rewarded with an answering squeeze.
Ronan roared. His Collar was sparking, his mate yelling her encouragement, but Deni saw her worry. These matches weren’t to the death, but Shifters could be badly hurt in them.
Deni could scent and sense Elizabeth’s excitement tinged with fear. She also caught Sean’s tenseness as he watched his father battle. If something went wrong, if one of the Shifters was hurt so much the Guardian was needed, Sean would have to plunge his sword into the heart of either his father or his close friend.
Deni caught his sorrow—Sean had had to send one of his brothers to dust a dozen years ago—which laced through the sorrow in her own heart. Deni wished her cubs were here, her boys, but they were working at their jobs in the city, earning what little money Shifters were allowed to earn.
Dylan backed away from Ronan’s onslaught, ears flat on his head. He didn’t roar—Dylan’s roar could shake apart the town—but his growls filled the space.
The sound caught in Deni’s nerves, calling to the feral inside her. All Shifters had the instinct to throw off any polish of civilization, to revert to their wild forms, to return to the time when they’d been bred to fight and hunt. Even after a thousand and more years, Shifters retained the same basic instincts—fight or be killed, hunt or be hunted.
Shifters had come up with strict rules made to tame their inner beasts. To keep themselves from tearing each other apart after they’d fought free of their Fae masters, Shifters had agreed to certain rituals that must be performed in regard to mating, fighting, and even death. Take those away, and they were simply animals who could make themselves look human.
Deni’s motorcycle accident last year had robbed her of the veneer of calm Shifters strived to learn. The wreck must have jarred something loose in Deni’s brain, because she’d been fighting her instincts ever since, often losing. Knowing the bastard who’d run her down was dead had helped her begin to heal, but she wasn’t there yet.
In the midst of the growls, snarls, roars, and cheers, with the scent of blood and sweat pouring from the ring, Deni’s thoughts began to tangle. Her scent sense heightened, bringing in the excitement of the Shifters, the bloodlust in Dylan, the singed-fur smell from the sparking Collars, the strong male scent of Jace Warden next to her.
She probably would have been all right with Jace’s calming hand in hers, if the fighting Shifters had been anyone else, but Dylan had a powerful Shifter presence. Being alpha didn’t simply mean winning fights and scaring Shifters into submission. It was an indefinable something about the Shifter—scent, timbre of voice, subtle compulsion to follow this male. In animal form, it was more apparent, and Dylan was broadcasting his force loud and clear.
Since the accident, Deni had been able to use her animal senses fully in her human form. All Shifters retained some of their superior senses of hearing, scenting, and tracking ability when human, but they were muted, distant, able to be pushed aside so the Shifter could live as human without going crazy.
Not so for Deni. She had to constantly fight herself not to shift, attack, or even kill when she was confused, afraid, or angry. Going feral was the term. Her Collar tried to shock sense into her, but that only resulted in more pain, more confusion, more anger.
Deni smelled Dylan’s fighting blood, which announced to everyone there he was far stronger and meaner than the giant bear he battled. Ronan continued swinging his enormous paws, landing blows on the smaller lion. Dylan’s lithe body moved and flowed with the hits that would have crushed any Shifter who’d stood still and taken them. Dylan’s lion’s paws moved in a flurry, batting back the bear with the swift, manic strength of a cat.
Deni’s wolf howled to life. She wanted to leap into the ring, rush to Dylan’s side, and help him fight. He was her alpha—he’d been leader of all Shifters for a long time before conceding his position to his son. Ronan was lesser than Deni, and he dared to confront Dylan. Now Ronan must pay.
Deni clenched her free hand into a fist, jaw so tight it ached. She shouldn’t be here—she should have gone home and not let the compelling Jace talk her into watching the battle. She now wanted more than anything to break all the rules of the fight club and run into the ring. Ronan would knock her senseless before he could stop himself, but her wolf didn’t care. The bear needed to go down.
Deni started to growl, the sound rising in her throat. Her Collar snapped a spark into her, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. And that terrified her most of all.
“Hey,” a deep voice in her ear rumbled. “Hold it together.”
Jace. His warmth covered her side, his stern command reaching her inner beast and stilling the need to shift. Deni realized her fingers had already changed to wolf claws, and fur ran from her head down her back, which was bared by the sarong.
Jace didn’t let go of her hand, though she felt her claws pierce his skin. He ran his other hand, warm and broad-palmed, up and down her back, which returned to human smoothness.
“Want to go?” he asked her.
Deni nodded. She couldn’t see much anymore—the fires and lanterns blurred into one whirling light, the shouts and growls blending into a mass of animal sound.
Jace tugged her away, again becoming the lifeline that drew her through the crowd. In the howling, swirling madness, Jace was a constant, his warmth pulling her onward.
He took her into the parking lot, turning her away from the lights. Once the cool night air touched her, darkness erasing the maddening lights, Deni drew a long breath. Her fur and claws receded, leaving her on her human feet, shaking.
“Unfair advantage,” Jace said into Deni’s ear. “Dylan knows how to keep his Collar from going off.”
Deni had to turn her head and stand on tiptoe to answer into Jace’s ear. His hand in hers was warm, and she leaned close. “That’s why he only fights the strongest: Ronan, or Spike, who’s the champion. Sometimes Dylan lets his Collar go off on purpose, to keep things interesting.”
“But he usually wins anyway,” Jace finished.
He had a rumbling baritone that tickled inside her ear, his hot breath making Deni tingle even more. She squeezed his fingers a little, and was rewarded with an answering squeeze.
Ronan roared. His Collar was sparking, his mate yelling her encouragement, but Deni saw her worry. These matches weren’t to the death, but Shifters could be badly hurt in them.
Deni could scent and sense Elizabeth’s excitement tinged with fear. She also caught Sean’s tenseness as he watched his father battle. If something went wrong, if one of the Shifters was hurt so much the Guardian was needed, Sean would have to plunge his sword into the heart of either his father or his close friend.
Deni caught his sorrow—Sean had had to send one of his brothers to dust a dozen years ago—which laced through the sorrow in her own heart. Deni wished her cubs were here, her boys, but they were working at their jobs in the city, earning what little money Shifters were allowed to earn.
Dylan backed away from Ronan’s onslaught, ears flat on his head. He didn’t roar—Dylan’s roar could shake apart the town—but his growls filled the space.
The sound caught in Deni’s nerves, calling to the feral inside her. All Shifters had the instinct to throw off any polish of civilization, to revert to their wild forms, to return to the time when they’d been bred to fight and hunt. Even after a thousand and more years, Shifters retained the same basic instincts—fight or be killed, hunt or be hunted.
Shifters had come up with strict rules made to tame their inner beasts. To keep themselves from tearing each other apart after they’d fought free of their Fae masters, Shifters had agreed to certain rituals that must be performed in regard to mating, fighting, and even death. Take those away, and they were simply animals who could make themselves look human.
Deni’s motorcycle accident last year had robbed her of the veneer of calm Shifters strived to learn. The wreck must have jarred something loose in Deni’s brain, because she’d been fighting her instincts ever since, often losing. Knowing the bastard who’d run her down was dead had helped her begin to heal, but she wasn’t there yet.
In the midst of the growls, snarls, roars, and cheers, with the scent of blood and sweat pouring from the ring, Deni’s thoughts began to tangle. Her scent sense heightened, bringing in the excitement of the Shifters, the bloodlust in Dylan, the singed-fur smell from the sparking Collars, the strong male scent of Jace Warden next to her.
She probably would have been all right with Jace’s calming hand in hers, if the fighting Shifters had been anyone else, but Dylan had a powerful Shifter presence. Being alpha didn’t simply mean winning fights and scaring Shifters into submission. It was an indefinable something about the Shifter—scent, timbre of voice, subtle compulsion to follow this male. In animal form, it was more apparent, and Dylan was broadcasting his force loud and clear.
Since the accident, Deni had been able to use her animal senses fully in her human form. All Shifters retained some of their superior senses of hearing, scenting, and tracking ability when human, but they were muted, distant, able to be pushed aside so the Shifter could live as human without going crazy.
Not so for Deni. She had to constantly fight herself not to shift, attack, or even kill when she was confused, afraid, or angry. Going feral was the term. Her Collar tried to shock sense into her, but that only resulted in more pain, more confusion, more anger.
Deni smelled Dylan’s fighting blood, which announced to everyone there he was far stronger and meaner than the giant bear he battled. Ronan continued swinging his enormous paws, landing blows on the smaller lion. Dylan’s lithe body moved and flowed with the hits that would have crushed any Shifter who’d stood still and taken them. Dylan’s lion’s paws moved in a flurry, batting back the bear with the swift, manic strength of a cat.
Deni’s wolf howled to life. She wanted to leap into the ring, rush to Dylan’s side, and help him fight. He was her alpha—he’d been leader of all Shifters for a long time before conceding his position to his son. Ronan was lesser than Deni, and he dared to confront Dylan. Now Ronan must pay.
Deni clenched her free hand into a fist, jaw so tight it ached. She shouldn’t be here—she should have gone home and not let the compelling Jace talk her into watching the battle. She now wanted more than anything to break all the rules of the fight club and run into the ring. Ronan would knock her senseless before he could stop himself, but her wolf didn’t care. The bear needed to go down.
Deni started to growl, the sound rising in her throat. Her Collar snapped a spark into her, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. And that terrified her most of all.
“Hey,” a deep voice in her ear rumbled. “Hold it together.”
Jace. His warmth covered her side, his stern command reaching her inner beast and stilling the need to shift. Deni realized her fingers had already changed to wolf claws, and fur ran from her head down her back, which was bared by the sarong.
Jace didn’t let go of her hand, though she felt her claws pierce his skin. He ran his other hand, warm and broad-palmed, up and down her back, which returned to human smoothness.
“Want to go?” he asked her.
Deni nodded. She couldn’t see much anymore—the fires and lanterns blurred into one whirling light, the shouts and growls blending into a mass of animal sound.
Jace tugged her away, again becoming the lifeline that drew her through the crowd. In the howling, swirling madness, Jace was a constant, his warmth pulling her onward.
He took her into the parking lot, turning her away from the lights. Once the cool night air touched her, darkness erasing the maddening lights, Deni drew a long breath. Her fur and claws receded, leaving her on her human feet, shaking.
