A wildcat scream sounded from the ring. Iona shot past Shane, the sound of Eric in pain propelling her.
Graham, still a huge black wolf, scrambled back from Eric, blinking and breathing hard. Eric was on the ground, his Collar silent, but he writhed in agony. Blood coated his fur, but Iona knew that wounds weren’t causing the pain.
Eric had moaned in the same kind of agony last night in his bed. Unexplained pain was again twisting his body, his wildcat snarling and rolling to try to stop it.
Graham’s Collar was going off like crazy. The wolf rose on its hind legs, shifting on the way, until the human Graham stood up, hands on hips, panting, Collar still sparking.
“It’s over!” Graham, gray-faced with his own pain, yelled at the refs. “He’s done. I’ve won.”
Iona ducked away from Shane’s outstretched hand and leapt into the ring. She was half changing, her limbs becoming the cat’s, but her feet still propelling her like a human.
Dimly she realized this half state had never happened to her before, but she didn’t care. She turned a snarl on Graham that made him blink.
“This isn’t you,” she shouted, her voice coming out guttural and strange. “You didn’t do this.”
Graham glared at the refs. “Get this bitch out of the ring.”
One of the refs started forward, but when Iona swung on him, he slunk back. Iona ran the final steps to Eric’s side and dropped to him, lifting the leopard and cradling him against her.
She smelled another scent similar to Eric’s and saw Jace land next to her. “She’s right,” Jace said to the refs. “This isn’t because of the fight. I’ve seen this before. Collar malfunction.”
“Which means I win,” Graham said. “The alpha is down.”
Iona flowed back to her full human self, still holding Eric’s wildcat. Her shirt was torn, her black lace bra visible in the wide gap, and she couldn’t be bothered to care.
“Eric, I’m here.” Iona stroked his fur, never minding the blood. His wiry coat covered a heavily muscled body, which was hot but trembling all over.
As she smoothed his fur, Eric’s shaking calmed a little, though his moans of pain didn’t cease. Iona felt him start to shift, this one difficult for him.
He took a long time to change to human, and when the wildcat vanished, Eric was curled up, fetal position, half in Iona’s lap, skin covered with dirt and blood.
Graham stood next to them, his massively muscular legs also covered in blood. “I win the Challenge,” he declared. “The mate-claim is mine.”
Iona looked up at him, meeting his alpha stare. “You didn’t win, you asshole. He’s hurting from something else. He was beating you!”
The flash in Graham’s gray eyes told Iona she was right about that and he knew it. “All I see is Warden on the ground, and me standing over him. I’ve won you, bitch. Get it through your head.”
The refs closed into a knot with each other a few yards away, talking rapidly. The rest of the crowd alternated between concern for Eric, anger at the refs, and yelling for Graham’s blood. Diego, Shane, and Xavier positioned themselves around Eric, Jace, and Iona, the solid barrier of their legs comforting.
One of the refs broke from the other three. He addressed the crowd, keeping his colleagues between himself and Graham. “The fight’s a draw. No winner.”
The crowd screamed its approval, though shouts for Eric to rip open Graham continued. Graham snarled, but the man had the good sense not to dispute in a crowd that clearly hated him.
“Then the Challenge stands,” Graham said in a loud voice, cutting over the noise. “Another time and place, Warden. I’ll win her.”
Eric’s eyes were still closed, his breathing labored. Iona gently moved him to Jace’s lap, then she stood up.
Graham didn’t move as Iona stepped toe-to-toe with him and looked up at his tall bulk. Graham’s gaze swept over her open shirt and bra, but Iona didn’t have time to worry about it.
“Eric,” she said in a clear, loud voice, still looking at Graham. “I reject your mate-claim.”
“What?” Jace bellowed, and the crowd’s shouting diminished into startled murmurs.
“I said, I reject Eric’s mate-claim,” Iona said, holding Graham with her gaze. “Cass, does that mean that Graham’s mate-claim is good, and the Challenge is no longer necessary?” Cassidy had been teaching her about Shifter rules all day. Archaic, Iona found them, but she was starting to understand how they worked.
“Yes,” Cassidy said with reluctance.
Graham smiled down at Iona, his teeth still pointed like his wolf’s. “Yes,” he said in triumph.
“Good.” Iona smiled too, hers so full of malice that Graham’s faded. “In that case, Graham McNeil, in front of witnesses, I reject your mate-claim.”
The Shifters roared with laughter and appreciation. Some applauded. Graham’s snarl returned. “You fucking—”
“Eric told me you hate Felines,” Iona interrupted him. “You don’t want me as mate, you only want to take me away from Eric. So stop this bullshit and make your fights about what really matters.”
Graham’s eyes were flat with rage, but something else glimmered in there—approval? Maybe even respect? No, couldn’t be.
Graham motioned for his seconds, who came forward with his clothes. “You really are a bitch, you know? Warden can have you. That means, when I take him down, you go with him. The leader and his alpha mate burn together.”
“I’m not his mate,” Iona said, never taking her eyes from Graham’s. “I just rejected his claim—weren’t you listening?”
“Oh, you’re his mate, sugar,” Graham said, sliding a T-shirt over the drying blood on his torso. “You are so his mate. The blessings of the Goddess be upon you.”
Giving Iona a final sneer, Graham turned his back on her and walked away, grabbing the rest of his clothes as he went. The crowd, as much as they’d chanted for Graham’s blood, parted to let him through.
You are so his mate. Graham had said the words derisively but with conviction. Iona thought of the black fury that had risen in her at the sight of Graham ripping into Eric, and watched the wolf go in stunned silence.
“Iona.” Eric’s voice was weak, and Iona’s fear returned. She knelt next to him again, touching him, her pulse speeding.
“Iona, mate of my heart,” Eric rasped. “Please, get me the fuck out of here.”
Graham went home to the house in Shiftertown he’d commandeered on arrival, and showered off the blood and grime of the fight. He hurt like a son of a bitch, his chest gouged by Eric’s wide claws, a piece of his shoulder ripped by the wildcat’s teeth.
In the mirror, he studied the bruising on his neck caused by his Collar that had continuously shocked him during the fight. Shifters down here went to that fight place for fun? They had to be seriously crazy.
Admittedly, it had been good to get his adrenaline going, to work off his frustration on his biggest obstacle—Warden. Fighting him had given Graham a new appreciation for Eric’s strength. The man wasn’t leader by chance. Eric would be tough to beat.
Strange that Eric’s Collar hadn’t gone off at all, even though the man had gone down, writhing in pain, and not because of anything Graham had done. Eric’s cub had claimed that a Collar malfunction had taken Eric down, but Graham doubted that. Something was going on, and Graham would find out what.
He’d lathered off with the new soaps his nephews had been buying at the nearby grocery store. They smelled girly, but they got him cleaner than he’d been in a long time. The supplies up in his old Shiftertown had been meager.
Graham’s energy was still high when he emerged from the steamy bathroom, despite his wounds and Collar fatigue. He could either walk around Shiftertown and listen to people crowing that Graham had lost the fight—which was bullshit—or get out of here for a while.
Dougal and Chisholm had talked about a bar called Coolers, which admitted Shifters, so Graham went there to see what the place was like.
&nb
sp; Full of Shifter groupies, Graham saw when he walked in. He wrinkled his nose at their rank scent.
Shifter groupies admired and copied all things Shifter—many wore fake Collars, and some made up their faces to resemble wildcats or wolves, complete with whiskers and fake ears. The groupies, both male and female, for some reason loved to hang out around Shifters, talking to them, having sex with them, or just being near them.
A few groupies had hung around Graham’s Shiftertown in northern Nevada, but not many. A person had to be dedicated to drive out to the middle of nowhere in hopes of seeing a Shifter.
Not many Shifters were here tonight, Graham noticed as the bartender shoved a foaming mug of beer at him. They were either still at the fight club, which was having more fights that evening, or back in Shiftertown supporting Eric.
That Iona woman was a feisty bitch. Graham had barely contained his amazement when she’d got in his face and told him, basically, to fuck off.
He had to chuckle, even through his anger. She’d been feeling the female’s need to protect her mate, the instinct that overrode every ounce of common sense and turned females into furious balls of sparking crazy. Eric was going to have his hands full with her.
It was too bad Eric would have to slap a Collar on her. They were obviously pretending Iona was human for now, but word would get out to the humans that an un-Collared Shifter was hanging out in Shiftertown, and the humans—especially those like that dickwad, Kellerman—would be all over her. Eric had better have some kind of plan in place for that.
“You a Shifter?” The question jolted Graham out of his thoughts.
A human woman was sitting on the barstool next to him. Her question wasn’t eager—she sounded almost bored.
Graham looked her over. The young woman had dark brown hair pulled back into a sleek braid, a sexily plump little body, shown off by a silky, sleeveless dress, and assessing brown eyes. She studied Graham without fear but without much interest either.
“Yeah, I’m a Shifter,” Graham said, after looking her over a moment. “You a Shifter groupie?”
The woman gave a delicate snort. “Not me. My friends are. They dragged me here tonight. Said it would be fun.”
“You’re not enjoying yourself?” Graham asked.
“Neither are you. You’re as bored as I am. Picking up Shifter groupies not your thing?”
“Don’t know. Never tried to pick one up before.”
Her gaze roved him again. “You okay? You look…beaten up.”
“Fight.”
“You lost, right?”
Graham started to bristle, but it was hard to work up anger at this little morsel of a female.
He wasn’t a good judge of human age, but he put hers about thirty, older than the college kids who flocked here, and old enough to have acquired a cynical outlook on life. She’d already learned that the world wasn’t always a happy place.
Graham took a sip of his beer. “Fight was a draw. We were working off steam.”
Again the assessment. “Must have been a lot of steam.”
Graham let out a laugh. “Yeah, it was.”
“I thought Shifters couldn’t fight. They have Collars.”
“That’s true.” Graham wasn’t about to tell a stranger that he’d learned to fight through the pain—most Shifters had. How Eric had learned to suppress his Collar like that, Graham wasn’t sure, but he’d find out.
“So how’d you fight tonight?” she asked.
“Carefully.”
She laughed, the sound somehow soothing. “I’ll bet. I’m Misty, by the way.”
“Misty?” Graham stared down at her. “What kind of fucked-up human name is that?”
She didn’t look offended. “It’s what my mother calls me. My real name is Melissa, but I couldn’t pronounce it when I was little. They tried to call me Missy, but I kept saying Misty. So my mother decided that would be my nickname.”
“My name’s Graham. Everyone calls me Graham.”
She grinned. “So, what kind of fucked-up Shifter name is that?”
Graham held back a laugh. “It’s Scottish. My family comes from Scotland.”
“A Scottish Shifter? What do you turn into, the Loch Ness monster? Or maybe a sheep?”
Snarky little human female. Graham could take her out with one blow. Then again, her brown eyes were sparkling, her scent was nice, and she was more interesting than anyone else in this place.
“Wolf,” Graham said. He bared his teeth. “Big, bad wolf, sweetheart.”
“Sure.” Misty’s gaze moved to his tattoos. “Don’t get the idea that I’m going to let you pick me up, Graham. I don’t like Shifters, and I don’t like guys with tatts.”
“What’s wrong with tatts?” He stretched out his arms, now scratched and bruised, and displayed the tattoos on his muscular forearms. “A true artist made these.”
They were flames, red and yellow and orange, outlined in black. The lines were delicate, finely drawn, each flame different from the others. The tatts had taken a long time and much patience from both Graham and the artist.
“Yours are kind of pretty, I admit. But I can’t imagine anyone painting on me with needles. It’s painful, right?” Misty displayed her bare arms, which were delicate and pale but not too thin. Graham didn’t like skinny women.
“Not as painful as a wildcat biting off half your shoulder,” he said.
“Is that what happened to you tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Ow.” Her gaze went to his shoulder under his T-shirt. “You okay?”
Graham stopped. Her voice held concern. She was worried that the fight might have hurt him, that he might even now be sitting here in pain.
No one spoke to Graham McNeil like that; no one had in years. No one asked about his well-being—to ask might force Graham to admit a weakness. A pack leader, clan leader, and Shiftertown leader could never show his pain.
He thought about Eric’s people closing in around him to help him and take him home. Eric would be no less their leader tomorrow, even though his sister, son, mate-to-be, and even his human in-laws had converged on him to take care of him.
Graham never had been able to risk showing weakness. His wolves didn’t so much have his back as were waiting to take him out the first chance they could. He understood—they’d lived on the edge of feral for so long, they didn’t know how to behave any other way.
“I’ll be all right,” he said gruffly.
Misty put her hand on his shoulder, and Graham winced a little. The bite did hurt. Eric had sharp teeth and knew how to use them.
“I hope so,” she said.
Her touch, her concern, her voice loosened something inside him. Graham’s worry, anger, and frustration didn’t go away, but they eased the slightest bit.
Because a human woman had touched him, had spoken to him like she cared.
Shit.
Misty glanced behind her and grimaced. “I have to go. It looks like my friends have given this place up as a bust tonight. I guess I’m the only one who got a Shifter.” She laughed and patted Graham’s arm, right on the tattoo. “See you, Graham. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Graham said. He lifted his beer in a silent toast as she slipped off the stool and made her way through the crowd to meet two women wearing fake cat’s ears. Misty’s legs weren’t long, but the mile-high shoes she wore made them strong and sexy.
“Misty,” he said, trying out the word. He liked it.
A human. Interesting.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Eric leaned back in his tiled shower, hot water washing away the blood. He was weak and sick, doubly so because Iona had rejected the mate-claim.
Water cascaded over the deep scratches and gouges in Eric’s body, cleansing him, but unable to ease his pain.
He knew why Iona had done what she’d done. Smart move. She’d shut out Graham and made him admit that he didn’t want her in the first place—in front of the entire Shiftertown. A bold stroke by
a female, one that hadn’t been done before. Eric was proud of her.
Proud and bereft. Once he got his strength back, though, he’d convince Iona that she needed to stay with him. Eric didn’t trust Graham not to find another way to use her, or hurt her, plus the other Shifters now knew she was technically free of Eric, making her fair game again.
She couldn’t leave. Eric wouldn’t let her.
The bathroom door opened, steam swirling like fog in wind. Iona closed the door, undressed, and walked into the shower stall.
Eric remained against the wall, the cool tiles at his back. Iona came against him, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him.
A slow kiss that opened in him all he was trying to shut down. Eric’s arms went around her, and he scooped her slick, warm body to his.
He was falling in love with everything about this woman. Her scent, her touch, the way she knew when he needed her. Iona was afraid of being Shifter, and of her mating hunger, and of losing the life she’d made for herself. And yet, she’d come to him.
“Better?” she whispered.
For answer, Eric turned around with her and pressed her into the wall. The shower poured over them, soaking Iona’s black hair, beading on her skin. Eric licked the water from her breasts, loving how full and round they were, how dark her nipples grew under his touch.
Eric ran his tongue around her breast before drawing the nipple into his mouth. Something eased inside him. She tasted like sunshine.
Iona sucked in a breath, her hands smoothing his wet hair. Eric widened his mouth, wanting more of her, her breast heavy on his tongue. Her body moved, a slow rising to him as he suckled.
He finished feasting on one nipple and took the other, giving it as much attention as the first.
His pain ebbed as he sucked on her. The touch of the mate, Eric had told her. It calms and heals.
Whether she’d rejected the mate-claim or not didn’t matter, he told himself. Mate-claims, Challenges, and the rituals to finalize the mating were trappings Shifters had invented to keep themselves from going feral.