Page 30 of Wolf Unseen

I jumped at the mention of my name. Fuck, who was I paired with?

“Over here, hybrid scum,” a loud voice yelled, followed by a burst of laughter from a group of wolf shifters. Great. My opponent was a dickhead wolf shifter. Not a guy I’d had any interaction with previously, but from his arrogant sneer, he wasn’t a member of my fan club.

“No shit talking, Clawson,” Leone reprimanded. “I expect a clean fight.”

Hmm, at least the instructor seemed like a decent sort. Bernard would have encouraged an asshole like Clawson and probably turned a blind eye when he shifted.

“I can’t wait to wipe the floor with your pathetic ass,” Clawson crowed when I reached our spot on the mats.

“Good luck with that.” I smirked. This asshole wasn’t a fighter. It was obvious from the unbalanced way he stood. While he might be muscular and tall, like most male wolf shifters, I knew his type. He almost certainly relied on his wolf in fights.

“You have three minutes to overpower your opponent,” the instructor reminded us. My wolf swooned at the lion’s commanding alpha vibe, but I shoved her down. A distraction at the wrong moment would cost me dearly, and I wasn’t about to lose a fight against a moron like Clawson.

We stepped onto our allotted mat. Clawson grinned and cracked his knuckles while the instructor went through the rules again: no shifting and no killing.

“On my whistle, go.”

The minute the instructor blew the whistle, Clawson launched his considerable bulk at me. He probably assumed I’d freeze in panic, which I might have if I’d had no previous training. The sight of a massive male shifter intent on hurting me would have been intimidating for a regular hybrid.

But I wasn’t an ordinary hybrid. Cal had spent a lot of time and effort teaching me how to defend myself. So instead of collapsing in a terrified heap, I stepped sideways and let the idiot’s momentum carry him forward. Then I kicked his legs out from under him.

Two hundred and fifty pounds of enraged wolf shifter hit the mat hard enough to break his nose. Blood spattered everywhere, but rather than admiring my handiwork, I quickly put him in a sleeper hold.

It was lights out in seconds.

I spent the next two minutes and forty-one seconds chilling while Clawson snoozed. Each time he stirred, I sent him back to the land of dreams.

When the whistle blew, the instructor stared at me and a confused Clawson for a few long moments before saying, “Nice work, Scott. You’re through to the next round.”

Simon gaped as I sauntered back over to him and his friends.

“That was impressive.”

I rolled my shoulders and then shrugged nonchalantly. “I got lucky.”

My next two fights went off without a hitch, although my opponents were not as stupid as Clawson. The first, a cougar shifter, knew a few moves, but still went down with little effort. The second, a wily coyote shifter, was more agile. But he still underestimated me, and once I got him in a chokehold, it was game over.

By the fourth round, five wolf shifters, a bear shifter, a panther, and a tiger were all that remained on the mats. The other students stood against the wall, half of them nursing minor injuries.

The four shifters I’d beaten all watched me with murder on their minds, but I ignored them.

A bulky bear rolled his shoulders when I joined him on the mat.

“You got lucky in the other three fights. Good luck taking me down.” I gave him my best dead-eye stare while surreptitiously scanning his thickly muscled body. When he shifted on the spot as everyone waited for the whistle, I noticed he avoided placing too much weight on his left foot.

He must have sustained an injury in the previous three fights that hadn’t healed yet, so when the whistle blew, I danced around him, dodging his blows. One punch from a dude this powerful would hurt, and I wasn’t about to risk being knocked out.

The longer I evaded his punches, the more frustrated the bear shifter got. His face turned mottled red with rage while his eyes glowed, a sign his bear wanted to come out and play.

“Fucking hybrid cunt,” he growled. Not loud enough for the instructor to hear; not that Leone was watching. He was too busy dealing with a cougar shifter who’d broken his leg on another mat.

“Sorry, Barney, I’m not into hairy butts,” I taunted, dodging the bear’s jab. The idiot frowned in confusion.

“Barney?”

“That super-dumb cartoon bear,” I explained as I lashed out with my foot, targeting the bear shifter’s injured ankle. He howled in pain and tumbled sideways, hitting the mat so hard my teeth rattled.

I jumped astride him and tried to get him in a chokehold, but the asshole was angry enough to fight through the pain and roll us, putting me under him.