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A weekafter my estranged mate had rejected him, Pax sat grumbling on my left as I drove us into the village where my fight with Puck was to take place.
“You don’t need to do this,” Pax said. He’d insisted on accompanying me, even though his wound prevented him from driving. I wanted to praise him for permitting me to drive his horses but his mood was as black as could be. Who knew being rejected by Beatrice could do that to a man? I almost whistled, I was so pleased with how he’d been thwarted by her.
“If it’s money—” he began.
“When have I ever fought for money, Pax?” I laughed, the feral excitement of going up against a fighter of Puck’s calibre ran hot in my veins. “Surely you know me better than that.”
He’d harangued me about the bout for days—though I suspected some of his displeasure had to do with the knowledge that Beatrice was out of the country and on her way to Paris. Meanwhile, I needed to be out of London. Every time I passed the house where I now knew she passed her last heat, I swore I could smell her as if I were in her nest. Yet I could not help myself, spending more time at Pax’s side than ever before. Each moment fraught, for we argued near daily of whether he should pursue Beatrice when she returned.
“You’ll—”
“I’ll come out bruised. Puck fights to win and won’t fight ‘less I do the same. So I fight to win.”
Pax huffed. The silence stretched until his scent changed with his thoughts and a foreboding growl rumbled in his chest, gaining momentum until I jerked the reins when I turned to look to see if his wound had broken open.
“Damned foolish!” he snarled. “Why am I surrounded by fools?”
I didn’t answer. He was in one of his moods where he contemplated locking everyone up in the cellar room. I understood the instinct to protect those I cared about, but he took it to an extreme that bordered on crazed. If I’d ever done a good deed, it was keeping him and Beatrice apart. He’d have killed her spirit, for she’d have tested him at every turning. He could not have born that.
“It was for the best,” I muttered, uncertain if the words were to reassure him or myself.
I lived for fights against alphas who could match me pound for pound. Puck was one such alpha—perhaps my favourite opponent, for he enjoyed the battle as much as I. The sound of the jeering crowd faded away when we squared up to each other.
We knew this dance. The jabs and feints. The hits, which landed hard, and throwing out insults for the benefit of the crowd.
“What happened with that pretty omega Paxton was sniffing after?”
Puck’s taunt had the red fog of Alpha Rage settling about me. I punched harder, my fists moving unnaturally fast and with an unusual accuracy. But Puck moved around me, a bright light in his eyes as if it gave him pleasure to see me come undone at the mention of my mate. Did he know? Hippolyta did, but I could not imagine she’d share that knowledge. Perhaps Drexler had sniffed it out.
“Nothing like omega pussy—”
I howled. Everything he said felt like salt in the raw wounds on my soul. I made a wild swing and felt the retaliating blow in my side. I’d left myself open to not just one but another quick body shot.
“All you got, little man?” I growled but I swayed on my feet.
“A break! A break.” Someone shouted.
We both protested but were pulled apart. My vision focused on a stoney faced Pax who held a glass of water to my lips.
“He dared to speak of her,” I told him. My skin felt on fire as the rage inside of me built as I watched the dark man smiling back at me. “I’ll kill him.”
I stood before any could stop me and moved into the centre of the ring. “Come at me. Coward.”
The crowd screamed their approval. Puck had the upper hand, dominating because he could keep a level head while I was wild with Alpha Rage, a mere beast. Violent, true. But just an animal, not a thinking man. However, the brief reprieve had cleared my head.
Puck stood. Rolling his shoulders and playing up to the spectators. I could appreciate his showmanship. But it wouldn’t do him any good. This fight would end with one of us on the ground. And it wouldn’t be me.
Then one moment our fists were raised and the next, absurdly, my fist connected with the side of his face, and he fell like a dead man. But I knew the moment he rolled onto his back and blinked up at me that he’d dropped his guard on purpose. Something about the twist in his lips told me he’d played me for a fool the whole time.
“You threw the fight,” I growled in Puck’s ear as I bent over to help him stand.
“Made a pretty penny on you, Colonel,” he said with a bloody smile. Drexler pulled him away from me, a scowl on his face.
“Puck, don’t ever do that again without telling me,” the sinister alpha snarled. “My apologies, that was not the plan, Fordom. It was meant to be a fair fight. Not some fucking show for the crowd.”
I rolled my eyes and accepted the flask Pax held out for me. Nothing but brandy. I wanted something bloody to bite into it like a feral beast, but restrained that instinct to demand the taste of blood… Now was neither the time nor place. Damn these soft English bastards.
The tavern where we gathered afterwards was crowded, and full of that jolliness that witnesses to violence seemed to enjoy. Some clapped me on the back and wished me well. Others lamented the money they’d lost while their fellows boasted of the money they’d won. Someone sang a raunchy ditty about the “Black” and the “Scot” that had me snarling and ready for more violence before I saw a giant of a beta take the fool’s fiddle and smash it over the minstrel’s head.
