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“If you lose, you die.”
41
Lukka advanced on Bill’s position as the crowd closed in, forming a circle around the pair. Loren noted women, men, and children among the watchers, their faces sporting varying degrees of fear and…
Excitement.
Tall and wiry, Lukka still managed to cut a striking figure as he stripped his shirt and faced Bill, his head lowered with determination.
Then, with seemingly no word spoken between them, both men shifted. A black wolf took the place of McGoven, growling low. Across from him was a leaner, more gracile creature with a golden pelt that blazed like sunlight.
From Bill’s scattered recollections, Loren had no idea what to expect when it came to how a challenge might unfold. She sensed, however, that this one lacked any of the usual ceremony. All the better—the only thing that truly mattered was action over all else.
The first thing that struck her was the smell—musk tainted the air. Human sweat and a primal, animalistic undercurrent that made her nostrils itch. Then a growl drew her notice to the darker of the two wolves.
In a beautiful, chilling display, the creature threw back its head and howled.
The bloodcurdling lament echoed on the wind, and the sound seemed to trigger an avalanche of actions taking place simultaneously. The first was a swarm of people who seemed to come from nowhere, swelling the crowd three times its original size until Loren found herself fighting toward the center.
Someone larger muscled past her, knocking her off balance—only a stern grip on her arm saved her from falling.
“Careful!” That voice made her look up. Sure enough, a familiar figure appeared by her side seconds later as if drawn from thin air, his green eyes more serious than she’d ever seen them. Micha.
“Stay close,” he warned, shouting to be heard over another howl—this one was shriller, as if answering the call of the black wolf. Lukka? As Loren struggled to keep up with the scene unfolding, she heard Micha mutter, “Get ready. This could get messy.”
She hated to agree. With only a jacket slung over his waist, she suspected he’d shifted to arrive here in time. Not far behind him was a grim, fully clothed, Naomi followed by a panting Sonia who appeared in the distance, racing their way. Given that she wore only a thin sweater, Loren guessed she had been the source of Micha’s makeshift ensemble.
How had they managed to get past the barriers?
Now wasn’t the time to parse through the logistics. In the center of the chaos, the two beasts finally faced each other from either end of their makeshift ring. Displaying restless energy, they began to circle each other, fangs bared.
At a glance, the apparent mismatch of the two was painfully obvious. Lukka’s form was smaller and compact, composed of solid muscle that rippled beneath a golden pelt. Visually, he seemed no match for McGoven’s larger mass.
Without even an officiate or referee to signal the start of the combat, both wolves lunged.
Loren winced as they collided, her heart in her throat. It wasn’t a fight as much as it was a beautiful dance of violence and muscle. Their bodies rippled in a grisly unison, as they grappled for control.
Loren bit her lip, wincing as McGoven growled, thrown back as Lukka collided with him. She had imagined what this moment would be like. None of her worst fears had come close. It was bloody. Almost instantly, scarlet speckled the road at their feet, and it became clear that, despite the size difference, both lycans seemed equally matched. Where McGoven was strong and domineering, Lukka was wiry and fast.
Lightning quick, his jaws latched over McGoven’s side, and a howl ripped from him. Then, just as quickly, the black wolf turned the tables, putting the other on retreat. Snarling, he caught Lukka’s leg between his jaws, biting so hard the latter yelped and threw him off.
But it wasn’t over.
Suddenly, Lukka took off with McGoven nipping at his heels, disappearing beneath the trees.
“This is wrong,” Sonia said fearfully. “This must be done in view of everyone. Lukka knows that. What the hell is he doing?”
Loren knew exactly the reason for the trick.
Ironically, she might have had her own plan in action—though it entirely depended on the one person other than Lukka who wanted Bill dead.
She could only pray that she’d reached him.
And that, beneath the hate, the love for his sister would prevail.
42
Bill ran blindly, despite every ounce of common sense he possessed warning him to go back. Pride wasn’t the sole reason why he continued to give chase. Cynicism played a part—to back down now would be to admit defeat. Lukka would spin any ounce of hesitation to his benefit. Whether he liked it or not, he had no choice but to follow.
