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But he was moving slower now. He took a punch from one side, and as he struck back at his opponent, another danced in behind him.
His opponent threw another brutal punch to the back of his head, and Sebastian crumpled. He lay there, motionless, the fight draining out of him along with the blood from his split lip.
I scrambled off Greyson’s lap and ran to him. Greyson leapt to his feet and strode beside me as I fell to my knees, reaching for Sebastian. He was unconscious.
“Enough!” Greyson’s command cut through the noise, and the remaining fighters backed off, their chests heaving.
Standing over the two of us, Greyson looked out over the assembled Jackals. “These are our fellow Jackals now. Our brothers.”
I glanced around at the violent men who made up this volatile brotherhood. Jack’s jaw clenched, and he looked so worried about Sebastian that it made my heart melt. Carter’s eyes were cold and unreadable, but he gave a small nod.
Greyson’s gaze met mine, full of a fierce protectiveness that sent a shiver down my spine. They all had mixed feelings about being reunited. But they would all fight for me, and that struck me with awe.
Someday, I hoped they would fight for each other.
The medic came out to see Sebastian, carrying his bag over one shoulder. He knelt across from me, and Sebastian began to revive, letting out a groan. I grabbed his hand, and he seemed to force himself to come alive again. His gaze met mine, and he managed to smile through cracked lips.
Carter and Jack helped get him up.
“Clean up,” Greyson said. “I’ll have my men bring you upstairs when you’re ready. Welcome home.”
His voice was mocking. Carter’s fists clenched, but he nodded. Carter and Jack half-carried Sebastian as he staggered back with them.
“Come with me,” Greyson murmured, his hand finding mine. He pulled me away from the scene that had unfolded in the ring and the blood still smeared across the floor.
“I never want to see anything like that again,” I said quietly.
“Then you don’t want to come with us when we face the people who attacked you,” Greyson warned me, his voice cold and steely. “That was nothing compared to the blood that will be shed.”
When we emerged onto the first floor, the party upstairs was a stark contrast to the violence below. Servants were beginning to circulate with cocktails, champagne, and food.
And no matter how sick I had felt downstairs, I could always summon some excitement for crab rangoons. But Greyson pulled me through the crowd, single minded.
Greyson’s attention never left me. His fingers brushed the small of my back, sending sparks dancing across my skin. People tried to snare him, but his focus remained laser-sharp on me.
The intensity of his gaze was disarming. It was as though the rest of the world faded to nothingness when he looked at me like that.
As we ascended the staircase, his grip tightened, possessive and demanding. And when we reached the top, he didn’t pause to greet anyone else; instead, he led me straight to one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind us with a click that seemed to seal us off from the rest of existence.
In the muted silence of the room, away from the chaos of the party, Greyson’s hands found my hips, pulling me flush against him. I could feel every line of his body, hard and unyielding, pressed against mine. My breath hitched as I looked up into his eyes, the blue of them dark with desire.
“Kennedy,” he breathed, and his lips met mine in a hard, claiming kiss.
I kissed him back, because no matter how maddening he might be, he was mine and always would be.
But the door opened before things could go further. The music and talk from downstairs bled into the room.
Greyson’s hands stilled on my hips as Carter, Jack, and Sebastian filed into the room. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and something more metallic, like blood, lingered on them despite their attempts at cleaning up.
“Alright, boys,” Greyson's voice cut through the tension. I followed his gaze to the tattoo equipment on a small table by the window. “Time to make it official.”
His gaze flicked over each of us, lingering on me for a moment too long before he poured shots of liquor into glasses.
“You’re going to tattoo us?” Jack asked in disbelief.
Greyson handed him a shot glass. “Touching, isn’t it? I always tattoo my Jackals.”
We tossed back the fiery liquid, the burn in our throats momentarily distracting us from what was to come.
