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“The last thing Bailey needs is for me to protect her,” he replied. “And she’d ream my ass if I tried anyway.”
Bailey cast him a smile, glad he wasn’t pulling the dominant male overprotective routine. “You understand me so well.”
Rolling her shoulders, Dayna settled her gaze on Bailey again and took two confident steps toward her, leaving mere inches between them. “You have no claws, so I’ll be fair and keep my own sheathed.”
“That’s pretty thoughtful of you,” said Bailey, her voice dry. Her inner snake reared up, more than ready to take this bitch down.
“Not thoughtful. I simply don’t need that extra edge. I’ve fought snake shifters before.”
“But not me.” Bailey snapped out her fist and connected hard with Dayna’s face, shattering her cheekbone, making her head whip to the side.
Shocked into stillness, the feline stayed like that for long moments. Then, slowly bringing her hand to the injured side of her face, she righted her head to once more glower at Bailey.
With a snarl, Dayna made a grab for her hair.
Bailey threw up her arms, blocking Dayna’s own, and then headbutted her. Hard.
Bone cracked. Dayna cried out. And the fight was officially on.
For Deke, there was nothing easy about hanging back while his woman went head-to-head with another shifter. The fight was not pretty. Both females had abandoned technique in favor of fighting dirty and catty.
Fists flew. Palms slapped. Feet kicked. Teeth bit. Nails dragged across skin. Hair was fisted and yanked.
Even as he stood tense as a goddamn bow, Deke couldn’t help but join his cat in admiring how Bailey moved. She was fast. Fluid. Sinuous. As if her bones were malleable and bendy.
It made it hard for Dayna to both land and avoid blows, so his mamba quickly dominated the fight. And he had to admit, it gave him a surge of pride that clashed with the primal need to take that flowed through him. Yeah, he got off on watching her brawl.
Around them, the pride kept their distance, all looking on the verge of their proverbial seat. Many tried staying neutral, but others egged on whoever they were backing. Neither Havana, Aspen, Blair, Bree, or Elle made any bones about yelling at Bailey to “fuck that bitch up.”
Even Camden shouted an occasional—and somewhat sadistic—piece of encouragement, such as “Punch her in the tit, Bailey! Right in the tit!”
The mamba didn’t need to be told twice. She did as advised and then delivered a harsh punch to her opponent’s jaw.
Staggering backwards, Dayna spat out a glob of bloody spit that nearly landed on Therese’s shoes. Panting, she then scowled at Bailey, her split upper lip curling, revealing a couple of blood-stained teeth. “Are cheap moves all you—”
“No smack talk, please, it bores me.” Bailey went at her again.
He knew Dayna. Could read her well. So he spotted the slight gleam of uncertainty in her eyes that told him she was inwardly scrambling. A strong fighter, she wasn’t used to being outclassed by her opponent. But Bailey was showing her up big time, and she wasn’t even going full-throttle.
He’d seen his mamba fight before—not only in mere barfights, but in life-or-death battles. She was a master at various combat techniques. She could very quickly disable a challenger without breaking much of a sweat.
But here and now, Bailey wasn’t bringing out any fancy moves or aiming to end the fight. Nope. She was dragging it out, quite clearly enjoying herself.
Especially right at this moment, as she ragged an actual chunk of hair out of Dayna’s head. Hair she then shoved into the mouth Dayna opened in a cry of pain.
His cat bared his teeth in approval of his female’s viciousness, but he didn’t like that she was wounded. A bruise was forming beneath one eye, and she had a wicked cut above one brow. There was also a crimson stain on a patch of her hairline, and a matching stain on her top from when Dayna had very briefly unsheathed her claws in a rage after Bailey tore out her earring.
Her wounds had nothing on Dayna’s. The feline honestly looked like she’d gone a couple of rounds with a feral alley-cat. Vicious scratches crisscrossed over her face, including over the eyelid that was swelling courtesy of her broken cheekbone.
Her nose was also broken, as was a rib or two—he’d heard the distinctive cracks; watched members of the crowd flinch while others grinned. Her mouth was almost grotesquely swollen, and her hair looked like a bird’s nest.
She was also tiring and breathing hard. It had to be sheer pride that kept her from backing down. Both Gerard and Therese were yelling at her to concede the fight, but she was ignoring them.
Sweat beading her forehead, Dayna sliced out her claws again.
Bailey snorted. “Thought you didn’t need the ‘extra edge.’” She bent backward, avoiding the clawed hand that swung at her. But she wasn’t able to avoid the kick to her knee. If she’d been standing straight, she might have done no more than wobble. But due to her position, the kick knocked her flat on her ass.
