Fighting for Wolves (Shifter Country Wolves Book 3) (11 page)

He blinked. Nothing. His brain felt emptied, and he looked at the time on the big wall clock: 8:45.

Isaac’s fighting in fifteen minutes
, he thought. His heart twisted in his chest.
Please let him be okay,
he thought.
And please let him not be angry that I’m not there
.

He shook his head quickly, rubbing his temples. After questioning Shovel for hours, it felt like his brain was ready to leak out of his ears.

Even though I’m the one who should be angry
, he thought.
He told me he was done, and now this?

He sighed, fiddling with a stray paperclip on his otherwise-spotless desk.

It’s hard to give up what you love
, he thought.

Ramirez walked back through the room, heading for the interrogation room, and Dane’s eyes tracked him. It was probably time to go back, but Dane had no idea what else he could do to get the man to talk. It was unbelievable that someone so dumb had gotten so lucky.

He glanced at the clock again. 8:48.

Twelves minutes until Isaac fights
, he thought, feeling adrenaline shoot through his already-jangling nerves one more time.

Dane exhaled and stood, then opened the drawer on the right of his desk, dropping the paper clip neatly into its holder.

As he closed the drawer, he looked down, and stopped.

On the bottom of it was a single yellow square post-it note, and on that post-it note was one of the ugliest hearts he’d ever seen. The right side was nearly flat and the left side was weirdly oblong, and extra pen-strokes connected the two halves. If anything, it looked more like a very bad map of Africa.

Dane would have known Isaac’s drawing of a heart anywhere.

He stared at it for a long time, until Ramirez came back in.

“You coming?” Ramirez asked.

Dane licked his lips, then swallowed. He didn’t take his eyes off the heart.

“Something’s come up,” he said, finally shutting the drawer and looking Ramirez in the eyes. “I need to go take care of some family stuff. He’ll still be here in the morning, right?”

Ramirez just nodded.

“Hope everything’s okay,” he said, then wandered into the back of the police station.

Dane grabbed his jacket and practically bolted from the police station, glancing at the clock one last time on his way out.

8:49. Eleven minutes.

Rustvale was small, but Dane ran to the liquor store anyway, and he made it in five minutes flat. The clerk barely looked up from his phone. Inside, a whole bunch of wolves milled around, mostly trying to look innocent.

Dane opened the door and went down the stairs. Tobias was in his usual place at the bottom of the store, and raised his eyebrows at Dane as he ran down the stairs.

“You again?” Tobias asked, good-naturedly.

“Personal business this time,” Dane said. “You need to frisk me?”

He held his arms up cooperatively.

“You’re good,” Tobias answered, not bothering. “Isaac’s fighting tonight, right?”

Dane felt a brief thrill of irritation run through him.

Did everyone know except me?
He thought, immediately shaking it off.

“Yeah,” Dane said. “Am I in time?”

“I think the first fight just finished,” said Tobias. “He’s headlining, you know.”

“Thanks,” said Dane, and strode for the door to the fighting pits, past the empty poker table. Two more huge, burly bear shifters stood by the second door, but they just nodded at Dane without speaking.

The sub-basement radiated with body heat from the crowd, and all the smells hit Dane smack in the face, taking him straight back to his own fighting days: sweaty fur and blood and dirt, human perspiration and excitement, spilled beer. Right away his stomach leapt into his chest and his heart pounded.

You’re not fighting
, he had to remind himself.
Just Isaac, and he’ll be fine, because he’s always fine and you don’t need to worry about him. Right?

Dane practically ran down the steps and elbowed his way through the crowd, shoving his way toward the front.

There was no one in the ring, though he could see the divots and gashes in the sand that the last fight had left, complete with a small spray of blood, quickly darkening as it sunk into the sand.

I made it in time
, he thought. He rested his hands on a rail, finally looking around the room.

A few people gave him weird looks, but he recognized most of them. They were either people who’d been in the wolf fights with him, or people who knew he was a police officer.

Dane shrugged to himself. At the moment, he didn’t particularly give a shit about what other people thought — he just wanted to see Isaac make it out okay, one last time.

As his eyes drifted over the crowd, his gaze slipped past a short, curvy girl wearing jeans and a red shirt on the other side of the fighting pit, talking animatedly with Pete.

Dane’s spine straightened and he frowned.

It was Grey. He stood up straight and made for the other side, pushing people out of his way and quickly coming abreast with the girl and Pete.

“Hi there,” he said, hovering one hand protectively over Grey’s back.

“We were just talking odds,” Pete said, with a smile that showed too many teeth.

Dane raised his eyebrows.

“Speculatively, of course,” he said. “I’m sure no money is changing hands,” Dane went on.

“None at all, Officer,” said Pete, flashing that same hollow smile.

“We should go get our spots around the other side,” Grey said, a little too quickly and loudly. “Let Pete talk to someone who might actually make him some money.”

Then she blushed, quickly, looking at Pete and then at Dane.

“Not that he’s doing anything like gambling,” she said, sounding flustered.

Pete just laughed.

“Not me,” he said. Then he shot a quick glare at Dane.

“Enjoy the fight,” he said, and turned away.

“Thanks,” said Grey, turning toward Dane. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I wanted to come see Isaac, but then Pete saw me and waved me over and he started talking about bets, and I just...”

She blinked.

“You showed up just in time,” she said, trying to sound sunny. “Let’s go watch the fight.”

Dane felt that sinking feeling in his stomach again.

This is why you came here,
he reminded himself.
To see Isaac, and be supportive, even if you’re pissed
.

They made their way back to where Dane had been standing. Across the ring he could see Pete, doing business and staring at the two of them, but he didn’t care anymore. Grey held onto his hand tightly as Dane shouldered people aside, practically growling at anyone in their way until the two of them were right in the middle, prime, front-row seats.

Grey didn’t let go of his hand, even when they were standing there, and it made Dane feel better, anchored somehow.

“Isaac’s next,” she said, almost needing to shout over the din.

Dane just nodded and squeezed her hand, and the lights over the crowd dimmed.

The floodlights on the pit clicked on, brighter than daylight.

“Now for our headlining fight,” said an announcer over the PA system. Dane looked around for the man, finally finding him standing next to one of the wolf pens, a skinny guy with cowboy boots and a Stetson.

“All the way from Las Vegas, Nevada, three-time Western States champion, Emmanuel Colson!”

A spotlight shone into the wolf pen where Emmanuel stood, growling, and the wolf let out a long, blood-chilling howl as the crowd cheered.

“And from right here in Rustvale, Cascadia, in his final fight of his career, five-time Cascadian All-Around Winner, two-time Western States champ, and national runner-up, Isaac Yates!”

Isaac didn’t make a noise, or growl, or even acknowledge the crowd. Instead he paced inside his wolf pen, utterly focused on the match ahead.

Dane squeezed Grey’s hand and she squeezed back, his heart thundering in his chest.

Chapter Twelve

Isaac

A couple of minutes before the match, Isaac paced back and forth. It had been a long time since his last match, and he couldn’t quite remember what he’d done just before matches, what his good luck charms had been. He no longer had a routine.
 

Drink some water and shake it out
, he thought.
Jump up and down, limber up
.

Get a kiss from Dane.

Not having that hurt the most, but Isaac knew that he was the one who’d fucked up. He shouldn’t be here, fighting again, and most of all he shouldn’t have lied to his mate.

If he was forgiven, he’d be the luckiest wolf in Cascadia, and he knew it.

As he was jumping and pacing, nervously glancing around the crowd, Pete walked over and pointed at him.

“Three minutes,” the older man said.

Isaac nodded. He knew what that meant.

He hopped into the waiting pit, a hole the size of a deep hot tub dug from the earthen floor of the sub-basement. Quickly, he disrobed completely and tossed his clothes back up to Pete, who took them to the makeshift locker room —
 
a folding table and a couple of chairs behind strung-up sheets.

Then he shifted, finally letting the wolf inside him take over. The smells intensified, sounds grew louder and more articulated, and he got shorter. Wolf-Isaac felt every vibration in the earthen floor of the sub-basement: people walking above, stomping around, someone running.

The other wolf, past two thick wooden gates, pacing around in his own pen, waiting for the fight. Isaac turned in a circle, a weird wolf thing that always calmed his brain and made him feel better. Whenever he was in wolf form, he was vaguely aware that he acted just a little like a dog, but he couldn’t help it.

The house lights went down and the pit lights came on with a click, the bright white light washing over the sand in the pit, illuminating every single grain.

Adrenaline and nerves coursed through Isaac’s body so hard that he trembled, pacing back and forth just behind the gate. The announcer’s voice boomed, announcing the other wolf’s name and his titles.

Step step step step turn. Step step step step turn.

Then the announcer said his name, and Isaac’s heart expanded into his entire chest, loud as a kettle drum. Any minute now, the gates would swing open, and then it was a minute or maybe two of teeth and fur and claws, with little more than pure instinct to guide him.

The announcer went quiet, building the moment of anticipation for the fight to begin. One last time, Isaac glanced through the wooden slats at the crowd standing above the pit.

He could just barely make out Dane, and standing next to him, Grey.

He came
, Isaac thought.
 

Then the gates swung open and he trotted into the pit.

The other wolf was someone he’d never fought before, but he was huge and brown, bigger than Isaac, bigger than most of the other wolves Isaac had ever fought.

Slower, then
, thought Isaac’s wolf brain, and without waiting for another moment he charged the other wolf, feinting to the left and dodging to the right at the last moment. He nipped one of his foe’s legs before running past.

He was right: the other wolf was slow, not swinging his head toward Isaac’s feint until long after the smaller, faster wolf had sailed past. He turned around, baring his teeth in a growl.

Isaac never bothered with that sort of posturing. Wasted energy. Instead, he trotted in a circle around the other wolf while it snarled and snapped, always one move behind Isaac.

For a little while, Isaac darted toward the other wolf and back, snapping and feinting, never letting the other guy actually get close. Whenever Isaac fought, he felt like time slowed down, but it wasn’t more than thirty seconds he did this, getting bits of bloody fur between his teeth but not doing any real damage.

Then the other wolf got him, swinging his head around just in time. Sharp teeth raked across Isaac’s shoulder, sinking in past his thick skin and thicker fur, opening a deep gash from the base of his neck to the top of his left front leg.

He could hear the crowd gasp — he thought he could hear Grey especially — but he blocked it out, retreating to the other side of the ring. He knew he was leaving a trail of blood behind him, but the adrenaline blocked the pain as he paced there, baring his teeth just a little at the other wolf.

Sometimes, instinct took over and he couldn’t help it.

The other wolf came closer and closer, and suddenly, Isaac realized that he was being cornered. Just as the other wolf lunged, he sprang out, just barely getting past those teeth. He circled back, going for the wolf’s shoulder on the opposite side, counting on his speed to save him.

His teeth barely grazed the other wolf’s skin when the wolf rolled, whipping Isaac’s head around, lethal teeth sinking into the flesh around Isaac’s ribcage. Off balance, Isaac yelped and fell over, panic flooding his body as he lay on his back, bleeding side exposed.

“ISAAC!” screamed a girl, probably Grey, and if he’d been human, Isaac would have smiled.

The other wolf came on again, charging Isaac from a low angle, ignoring best practices in favor of getting in another quick hit and ending the fight, but Isaac held his breath.

Wait,
he thought, his nerves on a hair trigger.
Wait.

The other wolf was in his face, then his breath was in Isaac’s nose, his teeth just closing around Isaac’s muzzle.

Then Isaac sprang, both of his powerful back legs catching the other wolf right in the chest, catapulting him backwards into the dirt wall with a solid
thud
.
 

Bleeding from his shoulder and ribcage, Isaac was on his feet again before the other wolf could even blink. He came up behind him, locking his teeth around the back of the enemy’s neck, growling the whole time, pure, primal wolf energy flooding through his body.

This is why I fight
, thought Isaac. The other wolf struggled, but Isaac held on, his teeth sinking deeper and deeper.

Somewhere above, he heard a human counting. When they got to seven, the bigger wolf went crazy, thrashing and trying to free himself, but Isaac hung on until ten.