6. Dylan

Dylan

Chapter 6

He's here, I know he's here…

In a room full of alpha shifters, pheromones thick enough to choke me, I could still detect my fated mate's distinctive leather-and-pine aroma. My entire body reacted to it—skin tingling, blood surging through my veins… cock thickening. And here I was on a stage, every eye on me. There was no way they didn't notice the way my pants got tight.

Did I care? No. Only one man in this room mattered to me. I could still remember the taste of his cum, the way his finger felt inside me.

Ignoring everyone else, I scanned the crowd. With each passing second that I didn't find him, panic began to seep into my skin, a droplet of sweat trickling down my spine.

Mate, mate, mate, my panther chanted, urging me to find them. He was so insistent, I knew if I didn't find him soon, my beast would take matters into his own paws. And may the gods help anyone who stood in our way.

There! As the alphas jostled, testing and taunting their rivals, two bodies moved apart, and in the gap, I saw those piercing blue eyes. And he was staring right at me. My breath caught as my throat tightened. His glare wasn't just intense—it was furious! I couldn't even blame him for being angry with me. I mean, I'd left him at that bar with nothing more than an address, and after he'd trusted me enough to show up, it was to discover a godsdamn cage match. A small part of me worried he would give up, that he would walk away, and I would never see him again. That I wasn't worth the effort. But deep down, there was this burning certainty that fate had chosen him for a reason.

I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from moaning, because fuck me, his anger turned me on.

I was vaguely aware that my father was addressing the audience, calling out names to line up the first fight, but I couldn't look away from my mate as my heart thundered inside my chest. He looked even better than I remembered. I yearned to learn every inch of his body on an intimate level. My mouth flooded with saliva as I remembered the feel of him in my mouth, the smooth, ridged skin of his shaft riding over my tongue.

A sharp growl startled me, and I jerked my attention away from my mate. I gasped when I saw several sets of glowing eyes leveled at me. I hadn't noticed the trickle of slick that had seeped from my entrance, and as the scent of it permeated the enclosed space, the tension had ratcheted up a notch. This close to a full moon, it was bound to happen.

Hissing, venom-tipped fangs glinting, one shifter struck toward the low stage, his viper's slitted eyes making him look more beast than man. From the corner of my eyes, I saw my mate moving fast on a collision course to take the threat down, but he would never make it in time. There were too many people in the way, blocking his route.

My canines popped down, claws out. Like hell this insignificant nobody would lay a finger on me.

Luckily, my father had prepared for this. When the shifter was just three feet away, reaching for me with scaled hands, Edgar's arm arced through the air, taking the attacker down with a clothesline across the neck. The man hit the ground hard, and his hiss was reduced to a gurgle as he tried to pull air through his crushed trachea. It would heal, but it would certainly slow him down in the meantime.

"Edgar, please escort this pissant off my property," my father sneered. He hadn't even bothered to get up from his throne. "And the rest of his party as well."

"You got it, boss," Edgar said, gesturing to another guard, and the two of them dragged the thrashing, gasping alpha from the basement. The night's first casualty, but he wouldn't be the last. He was one of the alphas who'd been planning on fighting tonight. With his slip, he'd lost his family's opportunity to gain a foothold in my family.

The excitement seemed to have riled everyone up, and there were animalistic hoots and hollers, but no one else dared make a move in my direction. My father cleared his throat behind me. "Sit down, Son, before you start a riot," he said gruffly, pointing at the chair beside him.

Shame colored my cheeks. My father could smell my arousal. "Sorry, Father," I muttered, dropping into the chair, keeping my head low.

This was something that should've been private. I was certain he didn't want to know, and I hoped he found it just as awkward as I did, but he'd made my body his business—or rather, a selling point for his business. He wasn't just offering me as the prize for this competition. He was offering my virginity.

As I stared down at my hands clenched in my lap, I thought back to this afternoon, when my father had sent his doctor to my suite to perform an examination of me, to confirm my purity. I'd had to lie there while the doctor inserted a speculum and probed at me with his gloved fingers, reaching deep inside to confirm my hymen was not broken. It was beyond humiliating.

I didn't even see how it mattered. None of these alphas gave a shit about me. All they wanted was to use me as a connection to my father. They would become rich, famous in the underworld, gaining access to my father's unlimited resources. My only guess was that it would guarantee I wasn't already pregnant with another man's baby. They needed uncontested ownership over me.

What would my father have done if I'd let my mate claim me last night like I'd wanted? Would this entire farce of a competition have been called off? Would I have been given my freedom to do as I pleased, to live the life I deserved? Or would he have offered me at a discount instead, tainted as I was. Would he have tracked down my mate and had him executed? The image of it was so clear in my head, my mate lying in a pool of his own blood, those beautiful blue eyes dull and lifeless.

I dug my claws into my thighs, leaving tiny tears in my expensive pants. I welcomed the sting as they pierced my skin, spots of blood darkening the black fabric. I hated how weak I was. I should've stood my ground, told my dad "thanks but no thanks" and refused to participate in his little game. No matter what I did, he would only end up being disappointed when all was said and done. A mating bond did not guarantee loyalty—nor did it guarantee a good future for me, no matter what lies my father told himself.

As immersed as I was in my thoughts, I missed when the first fighters were led into the ring. It was the oppressive silence that had my chin darting up to find all eyes on us. The air was taut with tension, stretched near to breaking point. The fighters were watching my father, waiting for the go-ahead. He gave the nod, and just like that, action exploded inside the ring. My body came alive with the first hit of adrenaline to my bloodstream as I watched the two alphas try to tear each other apart.

This was not like what the humans displayed on their TVs. The competitors did not shake hands, there were no rules to guard against lasting injury or concussion. Like my father said, accidents happened, and with tension this high, it wasn't a matter of if, but when.

I could see my mate on the far side of the cage where he could keep an eye on me without turning away from the fight. His friend from the bar—I remembered his name was Jude—had leaned in close to his ear and was whispering animatedly, his expression volatile, eyes blazing green. I wondered if he was trying to talk my mate out of competing. My alpha needed to watch the fight, to study his opponents' techniques, but every few seconds his eyes would dart back to me. I sensed he was trying not to stare at me, not to draw attention to the fact that we were very well acquainted, but I wanted him to look at me. A barbaric part of me wanted him to see me and only me. Forever.

This weekend, my mate would be tested. The most prominent crime families had been invited to compete, and each had chosen their most lethal fighters. I didn't know if he would stand a chance against these killers, but I had to believe it was possible. Fate could not possibly be so cruel as to let him fail.

The first match ended with blood splattered across the mat, a rhino shifter left unable to stand. The cage had simply been too small for an animal of his size to maneuver. One of his herd mates had to coax him back to his human skin in order to help him to his feet, and the two of them staggered from the ring. The hyena who'd taken him down, named Merlin Cant, lifted his blood-smeared fists into the air and cackled in triumph. The fight had lasted not even five minutes.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as the next opponents stepped into the ring. It was a brutal pairing, one a small man with shaggy light brown hair and yellow eyes of his lynx, against a gargantuan gorilla shifter with deep umber skin, bare-chested to display an intricate pattern of scars that had been carved into his pecs. Considering how quickly shifters healed, I wondered how they'd managed to keep the skin raised.

"His name is Andreas," my father said with a note of praise. "He's something, isn't he?" I could tell this was someone my father thought could win the competition. There was a covetous gleam in his eyes. He wanted to control a man with that kind of strength.

First blood came surprisingly as the lynx darted around Andreas and scraped his clawed hand over his ribs. He let out a deep bellow of fury. As the rules stated, they could shift to their animals after first blood was drawn, and they didn't hesitate to shed their shorts and give their beasts their fur.

The lynx was a beautiful spotted tawny color, with wide soft paws and tufted ears. It hardly seemed fair to be matched with the gorilla. My eyes widened as the large man got even larger, the color of his skin deepening to obsidian, silver fur sprouting from his shoulders and back. He roared, baring canines as long as my finger. He beat his fists against his chest, the sound impossibly loud over the jeering crowd.

Hoping to get around behind him again, the lynx darted nimbly forward, but he wasn't fast enough. The gorilla's massive hand closed on his back leg, stopping him dead in his tracks. He brought the delicate feline up into his chest and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing.

The lynx struggled to get free, paws scrabbling useless against the gorilla's thick skin, until we all heard the crack of its bones. I gasped, my stomach threatening to empty. The gorilla dropped its limp body, and I stood from my chair to see over the heads of the crowd. The lynx was still alive, though fighting to draw breath. Someone came and collected him, cradling his body delicately in their arms.

I sat heavily, my eyes stinging. "This isn't right," I hissed at my father from the corner of my mouth, clutching his forearm resting on the arm of the chair. "I don't want this. People are getting hurt, all because of me. Someone could die! Please, stop this complete lunacy!"

His eyes were like bottomless voids as he turned them on me. "Whether they live or die should be no concern of yours. They knew what they were signing up for."

My heart stuttered as I imagined my fated mate lying dead on that mat. He didn't know what he'd agreed to. "Daddy, please," I whispered, one lone tear escaping and rolling down my cheek. "There has to be another way."

The tightness around his mouth eased, and for a fraction of a second, I thought I saw a glimpse of the man he used to be. The loving, caring man who'd played catch with me, barbecued for family picnics, who'd tossed me high into the air and I'd always trusted him to catch me.

Before he could say anything, though, another voice slithered through the air, setting my teeth on edge. "Don't cry, little omega."

Unease turned to terror as I turned to see who'd spoken. "Azar."

"Good to see you again, Dylan." He smiled, all charm, his teeth white against his bronze skin. At a glance, most people would describe him as handsome, but there was something about him, this creeping, crawling unease that grew more pronounced the longer you spent in his presence. Every instinct warned to flee. Knowing he was about to fight, my insides went cold. "I couldn't help but overhear. You have such a soft heart. But if you ask nicely, I promise to spare my opponent's life."

I didn't want to ask because I shouldn't have to, but I knew without a doubt that if I didn't abase myself to Azar, he would go out of his way to end them. "P-please," I forced out, my panther hissing as I lowered my eyes.

Oh, Azar liked that. His wicked smile widened. "I think you can do better than that," he purred.

"Enough," my father cut in sharply before I could drag our family name any lower. The only one in control of this event was Joseph Caruso, and his hackles were up. "Know your place."

"Of course, my apologies," Azar said, offering a small bow. "I was only playing."

I felt the urge to shiver as he prowled toward the cage, peeling his shirt off to reveal his entire torso covered in tattoos. Gods, I hope he doesn't win, I thought, as I struggled to reclaim my polite smile.

He won't, my panther purred, completely devoted to our wolf.

I tried to take comfort in his unwavering confidence.

My eyes followed Azar's path toward the cage, his prowling gait similar to his tiger's. The crowd parted around him, leaving a wide berth. He strolled through the open gate without a trace of doubt. He knew he would win. His opponent, however, looked properly nervous, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. He was a polar bear named Nan. We'd met a few times at various dinners when our fathers needed to talk business. He was quiet, reserved, though judging by the bulk of his muscles, I'd assume he was also dangerous when provoked.

"He would make a formidable mate," my father said to my right.

"I could do worse than Nan," I agreed, though my traitorous eyes strayed past the ring to the man fate had selected for me.

"I meant Azar."

My head snapped to the side to glare at my father. "You can't be serious. Azar is a psychopath."

"And he would keep you safe. He would provide for you."

I scoffed. "Safe, yeah right." I sneered, knowing Azar would pose more of a threat to me than anyone else. "But do you honestly trust him to follow your rules? To obey you without question?" I raised a brow, and he frowned, his lips thinning. His lack of response was answer enough.

The bout was slow to start, the two men circling each other. They were evenly matched in size and strength, though I didn't think for one second that it would make a difference. Nan didn't stand a chance. He was simply too kind.

Sure enough, Azar's right arm dropped an inch, and Nan saw it as his opening. I saw it as a trap.

Azar's eyes glinted, and he stepped in at the same time Nan did, darting around him with fluid grace, and brought his arm around his neck in a chokehold. No blood had been spilled, so according to the rules, Nan couldn't shift. His face began to turn purple. He scrabbled clumsily at the arm with long black claws, but Azar barely seemed to notice, instead tightening his grip.

A whimper snuck past my lips, and Azar turned his head to look directly at me. His lips moved silently, but I knew what he was saying. "Say please."

I didn't hesitate. I stood from my chair and shouted, "Please!"

My father hissed, "Sit down!" more concerned about appearing weak than he was about saving the man's life.

Father grabbed at my arm to drag me back into my seat, but I moved away from him, pleading. "Please, Azar, spare him." The crowd quieted down, a few heads turning to look at me, at my father, assessing.

Nan's father was at the side of the arena, steely-eyed, his jaw clenched tight, fingers hooked in the cage. Regardless of knowing the risks, I knew losing his only son would break him.

I held my breath as the tiger shifter pursed his lips in apparent thought, while Nan slowly stopped fighting, his eyes drifting shut and his arms dropping to his sides. When he'd gone fully limp, Azar sighed. "Very well, little omega. Consider this an early mating gift." He released his arm, and Nan's body slumped heavily down on the mat.

My breath left me in a whoosh of relief, and Nan's father rushed into the cage to gather up his son. My eyes burned with tears I refused to let fall. I turned my back on Azar, an obvious snub, and returned to sit. The crowd had taken on a more sedate mood in the wake of the near death. Nobody trusted Azar, and they were wise to be wary.

My father rose, an imposing figure that drew all attention in the room as he moved to the front of the stage. "Well, we seem to find ourselves in a bind. I invited eight families, but one fighter was unfortunately overcome by his beast before we even began and has been shown out. That leaves only Oliver Wilson, so he will be granted—"

"Actually," a voice cut through the room, "I believe I'm up next. Perhaps you should count again?" Heads turned, and with some shifting of bodies, my wolf mate strode forward. That he kept his head held high under my father's scrutinizing glare spoke highly of his fierce will.

"I don't believe we've met," my father said slowly. "Who is your father?"

"I had two mothers, in fact. I'm Tristan Tate of the Grim Wilds pack… It seems I'm a late addition to the fight card. Perhaps my invitation got lost in the mail." His eyes flicked to me, and Father turned to glare at me as I tried not to shrink. I kept my eyes locked on my mate, Tristan, even as sweat slicked my palms.

I knew my father would be pissed, but giving up my fated mate entirely was never an option. He deserved a chance.

Well-trained businessman that my father was, he turned back with a grin, presenting a calm and cool persona. There was not a single ripple in his pond to hint at what was going on beneath the surface, but I knew better. I saw the twitch of his finger as though he fought not to clench his fists, the shift of his weight between his feet. He was furious, and someone would have to pay for my insolence.

His smile almost looked genuine as he clasped his hands behind his back. He was so good at putting his enemies at ease—right before he slit their throats. I braced for what was coming.

"Well, unless there's someone to vouch for you…?" He waited a moment, waiting to see if I would speak out, but I bit down on my tongue to keep quiet. I knew it would only make things worse for Tristan. "You have no way of proving you deserve to be here. You have not fought in any preliminary matches. Unless…" He tapped his chin as though pondering, before his eyes lit up. "Ah! I know! We'll simply combine your preliminary fight with this one. You will fight two men at once. How does that sound?"

Tristan's nostrils flared, before he forced a smile. "Sounds delightful."

"Excellent!" Father turned to where Oliver stood with his family. "Perhaps Noah might like a bit of fun? Do you have any objections?"

Oliver and his twin Noah, younger by three minutes, bumped fists, grinning. "We're in," they both said.

"Great," Tristan muttered between clenched teeth. He peeled off his shirt, and I got my first good look at him without his clothes. His smooth skin was tanned from the sun, a scattering of freckles over his shoulders. His muscles weren't like those of the other trained fighters. It was a natural strength, not built using weights in a gym. I let my eyes drink their fill, my panther purring with hunger. I followed the trail of blond hair leading beneath the waistband of his jeans. And then he popped the button, and I watched as he toed off his boots and shoved his jeans off, leaving him standing there in his black boxer briefs. His thighs were tight and strong, and I blushed as I imagined him kneeling between my legs.

I forced my gaze back up to find him watching me, and he threw me a wink before passing his clothes to Jude and heading for the ring.