Page 6 of Fighting the Alpha

Max and Marcus exchange a concerned look, but they know me well enough to know when to give me space.

“Okay, buddy,” Marcus says. “You fought well tonight. This fight’s done; on to the next. Ice that cheek when you get home and get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

I give them both a grateful nod as they see themselves out, collapsing onto a stiff sofa when the door clicks closed behind them. I drag my hands over my face, flinching when I accidentally catch the rapidly forming bruise on my left cheek. There’s a mirror hanging on the wall opposite where I’m sitting, and I stare at my own haggard face, still flushed from the exertion of the fight, the skin around my eye already darkening.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter.

The silence in the room is a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the last few hours, but it doesn’t last.

When the latch clicks less than five minutes later, I don’t move at first, assuming Max or Marcus has forgotten something, or maybe one of those persistent reporters finally broke through security.

Then the scent hits me.

Linen. Warm sun.Triumph.

Levi slips into the room, all taut sinew and glistening muscles, the gratification of his win radiating off him and crawling under my skin. I stay seated on the edge of the sofa, watching him with open disdain.

“No ‘congratulations’?” he taunts, sidling over to me. “No handshake for the new champion?”

“You won, Bastien,” I growl, the words sticking in the back of my throat. “What more do you fucking want?”

“Oh, I think you know,” he says, a knowing smile on his smart-ass French face that makes me want to drive my fist right through his teeth.

He stops directly in front of me. He’s so close now that his scent is everywhere, his arms crossed and his hips at eye level. Dominant. Provocative. He’s squeezing every last drop of humiliation out of this defeat for his own sick pleasure, and I want to pull him down and tear him apart for it. And yet, something about the way his scent fills my nostrils has me pinned to this uncomfortable fucking sofa, my hands hanging uselessly at my sides, my inner alpha paralyzed by an inexplicable inertia.

“And you got rid of your boring trainers for us,” he continues, looking around the the room as if he’s in a waiting room rather than invading my space after we just beat the shit out of each other in front of a crowd. “Such a good boy for me.”

“Go fuck yourself, Bastien,” I ask, my voice rough. I finally muster the strength to push myself up from the sofa, sending a hot throb of pain through my bruised ribs. But I need the extra few inches of height just to claw back some semblance of dignity. “You’ve had your fun. The cameras got their show.”

“Oh, my fun is only just beginning,” he smirks, leaning in to me conspiratorily. “We had a deal, Dylan. I believe my words weretotal submission, hmm?”

I run my hands through my hair, trying to get a read on him and coming up empty. There’s every possibility that he’s still fucking with me, trying to see how far he can push me. But then again, we’ve never made a wager we didn’t stick to. For all our competition and mutual hatred, neither one of us ever brokeour word. It’s probably Levi’s only redeeming quality. And if the shoe was on the other foot, and I had come out on top in the ring… would I expect him to stick to his end of the bargain?

Deep down, I know the answer isyes. In fact, I was counting on it.

I swallow thickly. Levi doesn’t move. He just takes a single step forward, closing the gap between us. Our bare chests are inches apart, the heat rolling off him. His green eyes narrow slightly, the lazy smirk fading just a fraction, replaced with an intensity that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“You were always a man of your word, Dylan,” he murmurs, his accent thick and low, the showman persona evaporating in the quiet of the room. “Don’t tell me you are going to back out now?”

“Don’t lecture me on honor, Bastien,” I rumble, though the defiance feels hollow, even to my own ears.

The truth is, I can’t seem to take a full breath. His scent is thick enough to choke on, and mine is spiking just as hard, a potent cocktail of alpha pheromones that bypasses my logic completely.

Levi tilts his head, reaching out to grip the edge of my silk robe, which is hanging open around my chest, and trailing his fingers up the smooth fabric. His fingertips brush against my pecs, my collarbones—my neck—and I have to suppress a violent shiver.

When he slides his hand up to my jaw, his thumb pressing deliberately against the edge of the fresh bruise on my cheek, I flinch at the sharp sting, a ragged breath huffing out of my lungs. But I don’t pull back. I can’t.

“I am not lecturing you,mon grand,” Levi murmurs, his gaze dropping to my lips before snapping back to my eyes. The cliché showmanship is gone now, replaced by that predatory confidence as he realizes I’m not running scared. That this isreally happening.Fuck, this is really happening. “Six years ago, in that dirty locker room, you paid your debt because you couldn’t bear the thought of breaking your word. You’ve been thinking about it ever since. Don’t lie to me.”

The reminder of that night sends a hot, electric shiver down my spine. Every alpha instinct screams at me to twist his wrist, throw him against the ground, and show him exactly how much power a heavyweight alpha still commands when he’s cornered. I want to shatter his smug pride.

But as his fingers slide into my hair, pulling my head back just enough to expose the line of my throat, a terrifying, forbidden urge stops me in my tracks. The thickness of his scent is dredging up something deeper from the far reaches of my psyche, something that overrides all the alpha rage and takes me right back to that fucking locker room.

“As if you haven’t,” I whisper.

Levi smirks, his breath ghosting over my mouth, his scent surging in answer. “So show me you know how to pay your debts, Dylan. Or do I need to force you to your knees?”

Andfuck. Oh, fuck.I exhale sharply, and my stomach does a complicated flip. The speed with which my body betrays is horrifying. Dizzying. My legs go weak, and I slide to my knees as I look him dead in the eye.