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It was better for me to suffer than my little sister Tana. I would do anything to protect her, and I was the only one in our pack who would.
Like Flor, an inner voice said. Flor has no one.
Del had been her only supporter, training her until she could almost defeat me. At first, I’d pulled my punches in our fight, thinking she was a boy who needed a lesson in manners. Then, when I realized her skill, I’d let loose—and been knocked on my ass.
I wanted to fight her again. I wasn’t sure why I found the memory of Flor challenging me in combat so thrilling, but I did. Maybe… I found myself grinning like a fool as I made a rare, impetuous decision.
I picked up a marker and read off the names on the whiteboard the Southern Enforcers had set up, as other shifters milled around behind me. I was slated to fight Patrick Hillier, Glen’s younger brother, in the opening exhibition match.
Still grinning, I scribbled out his name and wrote in Will L. Rains.
The mere thought of pitting myself against her one more time, just to be near her, made me dizzy. I wouldn’t claim her, though, no matter how much my inner wolf clamored for it. I’d learned to drown out his cries long ago, to ignore those instincts.
Exhibition fights were not scored as regular matches, as Alpha Heirs were outside the traditional ranking. Top Enforcers liked to have the chance to try against us, though. If they won by some freak chance, they were immediately bumped into the final rounds of fighting. It was considered brave to make the attempt, so they weren’t penalized when they lost.
When Flor lost against me, she would automatically be entered into an additional fight later that night, facing the loser of a different first-round match. I double checked to make sure all the first-round fighters were low-ranked members of their respective packs, and nodded with satisfaction when I saw that they were. Some had only shifted for the first time that year. One hadn’t even had his first shift.
With her skills, she would be certain to win against any of them, and then Glen could take her into his pack after her victory. Every pack would want her, once they’d seen her fight.
The thought of her so far from me made my wolf howl. Still, I knew if I brought her home to the city, to the ones who owned me, that fierce light in her eyes would be snuffed out like a match in a hurricane. But she would be safe.
The inner voice whispered a terrifying question. What if she loses her second fight?
The marker splintered in my hand, and the males behind me backed away.
There would be no way to protect her, unless…
If she fell to the second fighter, I would claim her as my true mate, to save her life. Even with a murder accusation against her, no one would dare to take a mate away from an Alpha Heir. If they tried, I’d tear their heads from their necks, and show them why that was so.
My mind spun with possibilities. I would never expose her to my pack, but I could call on my brothers for help. Brand and Glen. We could flee, get my sister out somehow, and seek sanctuary with Glen’s family. If I could get out from under my father’s command, I could tell Alpha Hillier what was happening in my pack.
Fucking Glen. What had he been thinking, spying on Flor like that? There had been something in his eyes when he looked at her, something about the way he described her scent that set me off.
Like he was thinking of her as his own, when she was mine.
For a moment, I let myself dream that I was free to take Flor for my own, claim her, and bring her home. She was rough, unpolished. Innocent. I would show her the city, dress her in silk gowns and lace, take her to the symphony. The ballet.
My bedroom.
I would use every skill I’d gained over the years to bring her pleasure, make that suspicious face soften with lust and longing. The thought of those fiery amber eyes lowering as I undressed her the first time, that small, pink mouth opening for me, her slender thighs parting…
What am I doing? I glanced down, shifting my weight to hide my erection, not that it helped. My damned running shorts didn’t have room for me to hide the thing.
Why in the hell was I fantasizing about a foul-mouthed waif, practically surrounded by Southern shifters? Some of whom were whispering nearby.
Shit.
I threw the broken marker away from me and strode to the cabin—the hovel—Southern thought was adequate accommodation for an Alpha Heir. A few of my father’s shifters nodded as I passed, one of them dropping his eyes to my shorts.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” I demanded.
“Nothing, sir,” he replied, fear in his tone. As it should be. My father had forced me to become an expert in more than one arena. I was an expert at fighting, but he’d also forced me to become the pack’s torturer for a year.
My hands would never be clean.
I could never deserve to touch her.
I slammed the flimsy door to my cabin shut and crossed to the dresser to find more appropriate clothing, thinking about the one thing guaranteed to chill my ardor. Politics.
