Page 13 of Reformed Wolf

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.