SIX

Ethan

A WOLF-SHIFTER, WITH an alpha in his corner, competing in a human boxing match. Not something I was expecting to see when we came down to Southie. The Bay State, you never disappoint .

The last round was the most active yet. Based on the black tape stretched over Jimmy's ribs, it's obvious even a poorly executed hit to the ribs from a shifter did far more damage than a human could. DuFraine may be lacking in skill, but he's not lacking in physique. He's definitely got some muscle on him, and at least enough training to hold his own. The bell rings, and Xander comes out of his trance. He exhales, "Think I figured it out." Glancing over at him, I see the sheen of sweat on his brow and the flush of his cheeks.

When he pulled power from Billie, his hand shot up to his chest, clutching the center like he was having a heart attack. He groaned, "Holy fuck," either in pain or perhaps pleasure, then his body rocked backward. Jax and I had just enough time to grab hold of his shoulders and stop him from falling into Enzo. When he opened his eyes, they were distant and clouded over. He dryly murmured, "Thanks," then promptly closed his eyes again and focused back on the task.

Once the second round started, I leaned in and asked, "You, okay?"

Xander glanced over his shoulder, meeting Enzo's wary gaze, and nodded. "Yeah, just got dizzy for a second there." Then he opened the link to discuss things in more depth with Billie.

It's clear Billie's shifter essence is different from any of ours, and the manipulation or transformation or whatever the hell Xander's doing with it is extending his and his wolf's abilities beyond or—you know what, screw it. I don't have a firm understanding of what is happening, and I don't want to speculate on assumptions. All I know is what I feel through the bond and what I see when looking at my alpha. Whatever he's doing is taxing him mentally and energetically. I bring my lips to his ear and offer, "Pull from me if you need some. No need for you to tap out."

He slants his eyes to me and lowly replies, "Thanks, but I don't think that will work." His mouth opens, and he hesitates like he wants to say more, then closes it. Shaking his head, he sighs. "I'll explain later." Then he jerks his chin to the ring, not so subtly ending the conversation. I accept his answer but am eager, even more so now, to hear the explanation. In detail. Great detail.

Based on DuFraine's unsteady feet and tired guard, it seems like Xander was able to figure out how to interrupt or weaken the alpha's healing. I look over at my alpha again. His attention is fully glued to the match, not showing any sign of pride or accomplishment in what he was able to achieve. My lips pull up on one side because I knew he and his wolf would figure it out.

Jimmy's opponent's blustering theatrics have also been dialed back; he's no longer able to confidently rely on his corner, his alpha. That concern has his eyes drifting over to his corner, to the crotchety-looking man. That break in concentration is all Jimmy needs. He lands a quick jab to the cheek, followed by a left hook just below the temple, causing DuFraine to tighten his guard and stumble backward.

DuFraine shakes his head several times, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breath. His lips twitch from downturned to snarling, and his steps keep alternating from forward to backward. He's either indecisive about how to continue or his wolf and he are in disagreement. The answer is clear when he throws his head back, bows his chest, and releases a feral-sounding howl. Shit.

My wolf's hackles rise, and he lowers his snarling snout down, more than ready to answer the challenge. My entire body tenses, as does Xander's and Jax's. All three of us stand erect, with arms banded tightly around our waists and jaws firmly snapped shut, refusing to let any sound pass through our lips. My stomach drops seeing the low glow blazing in DuFraine's eyes as his focus comes back to Jimmy. He drops his guard and throws a nasty cross. I don't know how, but Jimmy must have seen it coming, as he bobs down, dodging the hit while countering with a low jab to the gut, then following up with a swift uppercut to the chin. The shifter drops.

The entire crowd erupts—except Xander, Jaxson, and me. No, we're trying to manage our wolves, our bodies rigid to the point of immovable with the knowledge that Jimmy's in there with a predator. A predator who seems to have taken over control from DuFraine—and will be out for blood.

Jimmy whips his head around and looks right at Billie with wide eyes. I can't see her face from here, but whatever she shows him has Jimmy shaking his head and smirking. He turns around to face the shifter and drops back into his boxer stance. The shifter, whose glare is swinging between Jimmy and Billie, puffs furiously through his mouth guard, making his cheeks balloon out, while he struggles to get to his feet.

"That's what we're talkin' 'bout!" Marcus cheers tapping the back of his hand against Jax's arm. Jax who seems to have settled Blondie's concerns, latches onto the interaction and eagerly joins Marcus and Jake in bellowing out, "O'Sullivan smart! Den strong!"

DuFraine manages to come to standing, and his eyes may not be glowing, but there's a glint of devious intent shining in them. Jimmy waits this time, understanding he can't risk getting hit. Whatever punch he throws has to be both precise and powerful. They continue to circle.

The shifter's mouth ticks up on one side, and he slowly lets his gaze trail over to Jimmy's corner. With heat in his eyes, he dramatically leers at our mate while giving her a chin tilt and a lewd wink. My molars grind, and my hands curl into tight fists at my side. Close. I'm so friggin' close to unbuckling the control I've belted around myself and my wolf. My narrowed gaze gets pulled to Jimmy, who stands up a little and glimpses over his shoulder at Billie. She's rooted to the ground, spine erect, arms crossed over her chest, and feet wide. A statue of strength. Jimmy's attention is only diverted for mere seconds, but that break in focus both mentally and physically does what DuFraine intended it to do.

DuFraine's eyes glow, and he cracks a quick jab at Jimmy's head, aiming for the temple. Jimmy's guard is still up, and his head is already turning back around as DuFraine's fist slices through the space between them. The punch glances off Jimmy's wrist and hits him solidly on the upper rim of his eye socket. Jimmy's head whips back, and DuFraine wastes no time throwing a cross aimed for Jimmy's chin. He's too close to use the full momentum of his body or to extend his arm out completely, but he manages to get Jimmy just to the side of his chin and then delivers a low hook to the side of Jimmy's torso, just below the taped area.

Jimmy stumbles back. For the first time since the match began, he hits the mat, landing on his ass. He's not knocked out, but he is definitely dazed, and the eye that got hit is swelling—rapidly. The stands around us go completely still, held silent and breathless.

Billie runs to the side of the ring, where Jimmy is on his hands and knees, shaking his head and squinting his eyes. Beating her hands on the edge of the mat, she frantically yells, "Get the fuck up, Jimmy! You get the fuck up right now!" Jimmy pulls one leg up to half kneeling. "Are you freakin' kiddin' me, O'Sullivan?" she shouts, scolding him. With hands on her hips and a red face, her eyes are slitted in challenge and pinned on Jimmy. "Are you a CONTENDAH or a PRENTENDAH?!"

All the members of The Den break the silence of the stands by screaming out "A CONTENDAH, YA PISSAH!" Jimmy throws what I think is a friendly glare at her before jerking a nod and pushing all the way up to standing. Billie's eyes gleam up at Jimmy with adoration while she points a no-nonsense finger at him. "That's what I thought, Oscar!" Then she races back to Micky, who pulls her under his arm and kisses the top of her head.

Some guy behind us groans, "Man she's a little spitfire ain't she? Bet she's fuckin' fantastic in the sack!"

Xander, Jax, and I, along with Marcus, immediately turn around. Before we can react, Enzo's got the collar of the maroon Henley the guy's wearing in a death grip. He's standing one bench higher than Enzo, but he's shorter, maybe five foot eight, so when Enzo yanks the guy toward him, they're face-to-face. Enzo's face, which at times can seem almost feminine with his high cheekbones, plush lips, and shapely brows, is set in a hard glower angled in such a way that his scar is on full display. Reminds me of Two-Face from Batman. Through tight lips, he grinds, "What the fuck did you just say?" The guy who is definitely packing some muscle under a thick layer of flesh is wider than Enzo's trim frame, but the aura of absolute menace emanating from Enzo, like swirling shadows of death, blacks out the difference in size.

The guy's friend, or perhaps brother based on the similar deep-set brown eyes and square jaw, bends down in front of him. Leaning toward Enzo, he scoffs. "Calm down, guy. We're just sayin' what half the guys in here are thinkin'." He eyeballs our mate and sucks some beer from his dirty-blond mustache before licking his already-wet lips and groaning. "What does she expect with her ass hanging out of those shorts, am I right?"

Xander's about to intervene, but I lay a hand on his shoulder and say, "You're already occupied."

Stepping up next to Enzo, I erect my spine to my full height, towering over the assholes even with them one row up. The second guy is still bent over when I clamp my hand around the back of his thick neck. I wrench him up to standing, bringing his face to my chin. His eyes widen in shock as he peeks up at me. His mouth opens with a sharp inhale, and he drops his beer. I smoothly catch it in my other hand and state, "I would advise you to refrain from speaking about her." Pausing, I slide my hand to the front of his neck, give it a squeeze, and sneer. "At all."

"She's Den, boys," Marcus warns in a threatening drawl. He's half turned around and still looks bigger than anyone else nearby. Raising his brows, he chastises, "That should be obvious, or do you both need glasses?"

The two guys scan the crowd, taking in not just Billie's Den, but everyone else who's either wearing O'Sullivan swag or the color green to support Jimmy. Their faces pale as if they didn't even realize they were literally sitting amid The O'Sullivan Den. All of us, with the exception of Xander, are staring at them. The one Enzo's holding sputters, "Nah, nah, man, we're good."

I stare down at the guy I've got, feeling his throat work under my hand as he swallows and says, "Yeah, sorry."

"I bet you are," I scoff before releasing his neck and shoving the beer into his chest. Enzo pulls the one he's holding closer, only to push him back with more force. He topples into his friend, but both manage to remain on their feet. Their beers on the other hand? Well, the floor and the bottoms of the stands are already sticky; two more beers won't matter that much.

Enzo and I turn to each other, and he stares at me. All I can say is it's a look of understanding and defiance. I return the sentiment and step back down to my spot next to Xander.

Jimmy lands two solid hits on the shifter. He goes down hard with the second one, a jab to the liver. "Stay down, fucker. Stay the fuck down," Xander growls through gritted teeth, loud enough for Marcus to hear, who grins in approval. It takes DuFraine almost the full ten seconds to get to his feet. This time Jimmy's on him as soon as he's standing. Landing one jab to the chin followed by a massive cross right below the ear. The shifter's down. Out cold.

The ref rushes to DuFraine, checking for consciousness. There is none. The ref calls it, and the crowd erupts, cheering and chanting, "O'Sullivan!"

Micky and Billie, rush up the steps and climb through the ropes into the ring. I watch in surprise as my mate stops and stays just on the inside of the ropes, allowing the father and son to share in this together.

In this moment, I understand what I didn't before. As tight as she is with them, as much as they've brought her into their family and made her part of them, she still holds back. Her face is encompassed by a wide smile, happily accepting and relishing being inside the ropes but not in the center of the ring. She's looking at the father and son with appreciation, admiring what they have, basking in it for them, knowing what it feels like to have lost it. My hand rubs the spot over my heart, the area aching for her. I hope we're providing her the ring she feels comfortable standing in the center of.

They're hugging awkwardly as Micky's trying to be careful of Jimmy's injured ribs. Once Jimmy's gloves are off, they each clamp a hand on the back of the other's neck and gingerly press their forehead together, cautious of the subdermal hematoma forming above Jimmy's eye. The injury doesn't matter, doesn't detract from their bond. You can not only see but feel the love and the want to share this with each other. This isn't just boxing to them. This isn't just a sport. This is a family tradition. A connection that's in their blood.

After a moment, they both focus on Billie. Jimmy's red tear-steaked face lifts with a huge smile, and he bends over yelling, "Get you're feckin' ass over here, Demon!"

Billie rushes over to the opposite side of his busted ribs and throws her arms around his neck. He wraps one hand around her waist, and the other brushes down over her braids. He whispers something into her ear and then gives one of her braids a good tug. They both pull back and mimic Jimmy and Micky's previous posture by pressing their foreheads together. Both are smiling and crying, and then, because she's Billie, she flicks his ear. Jimmy shoots up to standing and rubs his ear with one hand while pointing a finger at her with the other. With an arched swollen brow, he promises, "You're gonna pay for that shit, Demon."

Billie smugly smirks at him and lifts her palm up at her side, shrugging like a little brat in complete challenge.

"I fuckin' love her," Jax murmurs. Slanting around the front of Xander, I see my pack-mate's eyes full of adoration, completely focused on her, his arms wrapped around his waist as if he's hugging himself like he wants to hug her.

"We all do," Xander affirms, placing one palm on my shoulder and one on Jax's.

Then behind us, "That's for sure," Enzo adds. Xander pats my shoulder before dropping his hand, and I stand back up to gaze over at Enzo, expecting to see him staring at us. But he's not. His dewy eyes, utterly sealed on Billie, are full of longing. He didn't say it in challenge or to stir anything up. He was simply speaking his truth. Unease spins in my gut, and I brush a hand over my short-shaved head, trying to refrain from letting what he just said trigger me. But why do I feel like his honest truth is more threatening than if it were in challenge to us?

My gaze catches Marcus's, his blue eyes swinging between the four of us, taking in the whole interaction. Scrubbing a hand over his short-shaved hair, like I just did, he breaks up the tension and sighs. "Come on, let's get down there."