Page 58 of Pistols & Peonies

“What’s wrong, Commander?” she laughs, raising her voice. “Scared to fight a girl? Or scared I’ll mess up that pretty face?”

I pin her with a glare that could sand paint off a wall. “You sure you wanna do this?”

She cocks a hip and tosses her hair, giving me an insolent once-over. “Oh, I’m sure. You gonna be man enough to step up, or just keep standing there looking broody?”

My inner wolf howls with excitement, eager to meet her challenge.

Asshole.

I sigh, dig my keys and phone from my pockets, and toss them onto the mat. Then I toe off my boots and advance, prepared to end this quickly.

The room fucking explodes, roaring louder than any crowd I’ve ever commanded. Their energy hits hard, a wild thrill running through me despite my best efforts at resistance.

It’s been far too long since I sparred just for the hell of it. For fun, even.

Violet jogs backward, opening up the space between us, never taking her eyes off me. Her arms hang loose at her sides, the faint sheen of sweat on her skin catching the lights. Her eyes are wide, bright blue and utterly fearless.

We start circling one another, the crowd fading to a dim blur at the edges of my vision. All I see is her– every twitch of muscle, every subtle shift in her stance.

“Want me to go easy?” I ask, keeping my voice low. “Or are we doing this for real, Violent?”

She snorts an arrogant laugh. “Hit me with your best shot, Commander.”

I shake my head, a quiet chuckle slipping out. “Just don’t cry when you lose.”

She grins like a maniac, irises rimmed with silver– and then she’s on me.

Her first move is a feint. She fakes a jab, then snaps a kick at my knee. I block, catch her ankle, and twist. She rolls with it, using the momentum to try for a sweep on my other leg.

Nice try.

I plant my feet, drop my center, and catch her mid-spin, flipping her clean back onto her feet.

She barely pauses before coming at me again, faster this time. I let her close the distance before grabbing her wrists, spinning her around, and hauling her back against my chest.

I expect a struggle, and she delivers, thrashing hard enough to crack the back of her head into my nose. The pain barely registers through the adrenaline. She breaks free, spins, and drives an elbow into my jaw.

The crowd loses their shit while I shake it off, baring my teeth. “Cute.”

She beams a grin, then goes in for a takedown, but I’m ready. I roll as we drop to the mat, trapping her underneath me. She spits and writhes like a feral cat, nails digging into my forearms, face twisted with sheer determination. Her breath puffs hot against my throat, and for a second, we’re locked there– chest to chest, bodies straining, neither willing to give.

I could easily end this right here, but something in her eyes dares me not to. And I’m enjoying this far too much.

So, I let her wriggle. Let her slip a hand free and rake it down my back, nails biting in. I return the favor, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head sideways, exposing the long line of her throat.

“You wanna bite?” she taunts, breathless. “Or just grind on me until you get off?”

I huff a short laugh. “Don’t tempt me.”

The words are barely out before she bucks, catching me off balance and reversing us in a sharp, practiced roll. Suddenly she’s on top, straddling my hips with her palms braced against my chest, grinning like a menace.

“Your move, Daddy Kane,” she pants.

Jesus.

I grab her wrists, twist, and flip us again, pinning her flat to the mat. This time, I don’t let go. I settle my full weight over her, my thighs bracketing her hips, hands caging her wrists above her head.

She tests my grip, but I don’t budge. We both know how this ends.