Page 14 of Ignited

That crazy, challenging smile came over her face. She reached over and took the announcer’s microphone. “I choose him.”

And she pointed straight at Boomer.

Chapter 7

The room went silent, and then there was a roar—cheers and catcalls and a bunch of people telling each other how he was going to get beat to the ground in less than five minutes.

He didn’t fucking care. It wasn’t about that, and he didn’t have the kind of ego that would be crushed by losing to a woman. He just knew he had to get close to the Tiger Queen. Had to catch her scent, had to know if it was her. After all these years.

“And then what?” his brother murmured, reading his mind again.

And then… who the fuck knew what.

Boomer put down his beer and began handing off his phone, wallet, dog tags and concealed weapons to his brother.

Cisco was pouting over not getting picked. “You’re gonna get your ass kicked,” he told Boomer.

Boomer didn’t need his shit. To piss Cisco off even more, he said, “She’ll still be on top of me, so it’s a win-win.”

Matéo said, “When I want to get laid, I just buy the girl a few drinks and maybe a plate of nachos. Or potato skins, if she’s the classy type.”

Boomer didn’t even try to delve into the Matéo logic of why potato skins were classier than nachos. He also didn’t bother to explain that he wasn’t doing this to get laid.

Probably.

He shouldered his way through the crowd of disappointed challengers. Karisma watched him the whole way, her eyes boring into him.

At the edge of the ring one of the club’s corner men took his shirt, his boots and his socks, and patted him down for more weapons in case he had the poor sportsmanship to knife his opponent if he started to lose.

Boomer’s skin prickled while the corner man taped up his knuckles and handed him a mouth guard. He could barely stand still; his wolf was quivering inside him. She’s there, she’s there, she’s right there.

Stop that, he told himself. It’s not her.

He climbed into his corner, barely hearing the announcer introducing them, making up some lame-ass fighter name for him.

All he could see was her; all he could feel was his awareness of her body. Every move she made, the way the blood pulsed in her veins, right under the surface.

Whoever she was, whether she was the one or not—he somehow felt like he knew her. Like she was a childhood friend; a missing twin.

The referee called them to the center. They bumped fists. The ref moved out of the way.

Karisma gave him that wicked smile, and said, “Let’s see what you’ve got, Colorado Kid.”

Boomer froze. She recognized him.

It was her.

The knowledge stunned him just long enough for her to land a punch to his face that laid him out on the floor. The crowd laughed and catcalled, but the sound seemed so distant it hardly registered.

Colorado Kid. He’d grown up in Colorado, in a little town on the edge of the Rockies. That was where he’d released the captive shifters into the wild, the night of the carnival fire.

He could count the people who knew he came from Colorado on one hand, and still have enough fingers left to smoke a cigarette.

Karisma leaped over him, ready to land on him with a knockout blow, but he wasn’t having that. He grabbed her by the shoulders and heaved her backwards over his head, helping her along with a shove from both feet.

She flew across the ring and bounced off the ropes, flipping to her feet just as he finished the backward roll and sprang upright.

He was on her before she could regroup, grappling skin to skin. Her rich, hot scent brought back the past—the smoke, the heat, the feel of the sawdust under his hands and face as she dragged him out of the fire.