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“Ready,” said Kodiak, taking a defensive stance.
“Let me kill him now,” Shota said with a snarl.
Kodiak supposed Shota was always the one who would have challenged his position. He saw that clearly now. All that lack of thinking things through, of going for the easy target, the easy blame. The easy anger. Not ever searching for a better answer.
“We play by the rules, or you forfeit, Shota.” Onai stepped in between them, his arms still up.
The shifter growled.
“You wanted this,” Onai said, “so you do it right or concede now. Well?”
The shifter stayed silent, his glower coming up to burn Kodiak.
He didn’t speak either and kept his face a perfect mask of nothing. His stance loose and defensive.
Nothing for the other to take offense at, nothing to challenge, and nothing that said cower.
Just quiet, confident waiting. No other baggage to be seen.
Because right then, no matter what relied on his winning, he didn’t have any.
Shota was the one with the problem.
“Fine.” Shota glared. “I’m ready.”
And he bunched his muscles, ready for the fight.
Kodiak’s wolf rose, wanting to fight, to change, to rip into flesh. It wanted to prove who was the alpha in quick, deadly strikes.
But he kept him down, just there beneath the surface, to take from what he could, ready to transform when he needed.
This delicate balance of play had taken him years, and even now, when he had his wolf there and primed to change and fight, off the leash and ready.
Onai lowered his arms quickly, signaling the start of the fight.
Shota sidestepped Kodiak and mirrored his stance. Kodiak took in Shota’s every move, content to let him expose all the strengths and weaknesses, what he seemed to do on reflex. Gather as much information as possible before really moving in.
Losing was not an option.
He had to win for Tamaska. For his pack.
They circled each other and Shota was clearly weighing him up like he’d done to Shota. But he didn’t make an actual move to start anything, and neither did Kodiak.
Shota wanted this; he could throw the first punch or kick or whatever his first move would be.
Probably a punch, Shota loved to let his fists talk, and right now he’d be waiting to turn, maybe when he had Kodiak weak.
Because they knew each other, the turn was risky.
Someone cried out and instinct made him turn his head. Vampires? But everyone was fine, especially Tamaska and—
Pain exploded in his head, and he staggered backwards. He shook his head in time to see Shota coming at him with another punch, but he was too slow. His vision momentarily winked out as the vibrations from the punch echoed through his skull.
Fuck. He berated himself for making such a rookie mistake as Shota came at him with a series of kicks and punches.
Rookie fucking mistake and no doubt the cry had been a plant. It hadn’t been Tamaska—her voice was tied to his soul.
But he danced back, stepping out of the way of Shota’s next punch.
