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Trevor ran at me like a flash of dark lightning. His wolf was black and gray, mottled. His coloration made his bunching muscles difficult to see in the flickering lights, harder to gauge his next move.
If he was smart, he would feint, use a series of attacks to wear me down. I was exhausted already, and while he might have some respect for my fighting skills after last night’s bout with Finnick, anyone could see I didn’t have the reserves for an extended fight.
Trevor was a lot of things. A bully, a would-be rapist, an entitled cockmuffin with a tiny dick—I’d had the misfortune of seeing it more than once when he shifted. He was a decent fighter.
But he sure as hell wasn’t smart.
He came at me, enraged, in a full-on frontal charge. Like water flowing around him, I moved to the side, letting the end of the mop swing around in a sharp arc to connect with his back leg.
The sound of the bone breaking filled me with a deep satisfaction. I hadn’t even put much effort into it; his own speed had injured him. Growling furiously, he turned and ran at me again. Seeing his limp, I almost let my meditative state slip.
He was a three-legged wolf now. The only type of shifted wolf I’d ever fought before. I knew exactly how to bring him down, the way I’d done to Del in practice. I spun the mop around in an unpredictable pattern, forcing Trevor’s eyes away from me and to the metal end, as he tried to avoid my weapon until his back leg could heal. I darted in, dropping low, and swung it again, hitting the leg I’d broken again, close to the same spot.
I was a little slow, and he ran a claw over my arm as I slid back out and away. Blood dripped down my arm, and something was happening in the crowd—some sort of ruckus near the Alphas—but I shook it away like a horsefly.
His leg wouldn’t heal now, couldn’t. The bone had pierced the flesh, and unless he set the bone and shifted, it would stay broken.
Or worse for him, it would start to heal with the bone protruding.
I could end this faster than I’d thought. I settled back into my stance as Trevor circled, limping on three legs, fury shining in his eyes. I tried a few more attacks, but he hopped away in time. If only I could get my staff to contact his nose—the one I’d broken a few days before. It would still be damaged internally, most likely. Easy to break again. Normally, a broken nose was nothing, but if I could hit it hard enough, maybe send some bone fragments deep into his skull, it could take months to heal. I could really get my revenge and laugh while I did it.
Plan made.
I moved my hands on the wood, changing my grip as Del had always told me to do before a strike. “It’s a wakeup call to your tired muscles,” he’d told me a thousand times. “It tells your body something important is about to happen. Makes it use slightly different muscles and tendons, too, so if you’re injured, it’s an edge.”
The blood from my arm was making my grip on the mop slippery, and I fought to maintain the new hold. Trevor ran around my side, then darted in, reaching out not with his jaws to bite, but a claw again.
And hit the injured spot on my upper arm. I screamed out loud, the fire from his hit racing through my body. He’d damaged something inside my arm. A long, deep cut that might have nicked an artery, judging by the blood that was pouring down my forearm, maybe sliced through tendons as well. I had no grip.
I held tight to the mop handle with my other hand, refusing to look at the wound that was making me slightly dizzy from pain and blood loss. I had to end this now.
But I couldn’t find a move, any move, to make it happen.
“Yield,” some spectators were urging.
The announcer nodded. “Yield,” he muttered.
Trevor was moving in and out of range, wearing me down now as he should have in the beginning. Waiting as I bled out on the fighting grounds.
The best I could do now was die with honor. Force him to kill me.
Between a clean death in the ring, and a long torturous one at the hands of my Alpha, I knew which one I would take.
“Come on, Trevor,” I hissed. I needed to enrage him to the point where he would break the rules. Where he wouldn’t demand I yield, but would deliver a killing strike. “You know why?” I panted. “Why I never let you catch me in the Hunt?” I let out a laugh. “I saw your tiny little dick… so many times. And I knew.” I dodged a clumsy swipe of his paw. He was making guttural sounds in his throat that I’d never heard a wolf make. “I knew… I wasn’t a good enough actress… to pretend I could feel that little puppy dog’s tail… if I let you touch me.”
He let out a crazed howl and rushed me, no style, all killing rage. I dropped the mop and stretched my neck out. I fought to keep my hands from flying up, to keep from defending myself. I had to let him kill me.
It was the only way.
I felt his teeth tear into my scalp, one scraping alongside my neck, but not finding the artery. For a second, a strange giggle wanted to burst out. Did I have to draw him a map? Then I felt his jaws closing, crushing my skull.
Okay, I wouldn’t bleed out. He’d tear my head off. That worked, too.
I lost consciousness, wishing I’d been able to kick Trevor’s ass. It would have been cool to see Ontario. To meet that woman.
To have a first kiss with one of the guys. Okay, maybe more than one of them.
But as I slipped into the darkness, I knew it was too late now.
