The Werewolf Meets His Match (Nocturne Falls Book 2) (30 page)

Then he made eye contact with the small crowd. “Anyone who enters this ring will cause the immediate disqualification of the party with whom they side.”

As far as Ivy knew, Eric had no one on his side, which meant Hank was the only one who would suffer if someone crossed into the ring.

Sebastian waited a beat, then brought his hand down and backed away. “May the just win.”

Hank and Eric began to circle each other. Bridget leaned forward again to talk to Delaney. “Sebastian did a good job memorizing the words.”

“He’s a stickler for that kind of stuff.” Delaney frowned. “I thought there would be more rules besides ‘don’t cross into the circle.’ What about rules for the fighters?”

“There aren’t any,” Ivy said, her eyes on Hank.

“Really? Yikes.” Delaney shoved her hands in her pockets. “That’s hard core.”

“That’s how shifters settle things,” Sam said.

Ivy was too busy mentally channeling all the strength and cunning she could toward Hank to talk anymore. She worried her wedding rings, twisting them around her finger nervously.

Bridget brushed her shoulder against Ivy’s and said softly, “It’s going to be okay.”

Ivy nodded but couldn’t respond. Her pulse was speeding, her stomach hurt and the inability to help Hank win this thing was eating at her.

If by some cruel twist of fate, this challenge didn’t go their way, if Hank was hurt and unable to keep Eric from leaving with Charlie, she knew exactly what she’d have to do. Not only that, but she was prepared to do it.

And if that meant she ended up arrested for murder, so be it.

Charlie’s life was worth spending hers behind bars.

The world outside the clearing fell away. In the human part of his brain, Hank knew Ivy, Sam, Bridget and Titus were out there. But in the shifter part of his brain, the
soldier
part, Hank functioned on a different level. His focus had narrowed to the task before him. Defeating Prescott. His mind became a war machine: calculating distances, anticipating moves, projecting outcomes.

Preparing to attack.

Prescott was close in height, maybe an inch shorter, but he had the soft body of a weekend warrior. Prescott’s shifter genetics were probably the only thing keeping him from turning into a complete pile of mush. But if the man thought he could take on Hank and win, he must have some kind of training.

Prescott took on a martial arts stance.

Hank wasn’t about to underestimate the man. Maybe he knew some karate or judo but Hank knew his own skills and even if Prescott had been taught to fight by the best shifters around, Hank’s Ranger training would make that look like a middle school field day.

His plan was to take Prescott down fast and hard, but he also wanted to teach Prescott a lesson, and for that, he needed the other shifter to make the first move so that he could lull Prescott into thinking Hank was an easy mark. Then he would strike with the kind of speed and force that would paint a picture with pain. He needed Prescott to understand what a mistake it was to take on a Merrow.

Enough so that Prescott never tried it again.

Prescott grinned at him as they slowly moved around each other. “You scared, Merrow?”

Hank said nothing. Kept his expression stern. If Prescott wanted to play mind games, he was about to be sorely outclassed.

Hell, he was already outclassed. He was just about to figure that out. The hard way.

Prescott’s fool grin never left his face. “I’ll take that as a yes. Look, I won’t hurt you too much in front of Ivy, but I plan on putting on a good show so some pain is inevitable. Unless you just want to give up now. I’m cool with that, too.”

Hank kept his mouth shut.

“I get it,” Prescott said. “You’re doing the tough thing, right? Saving face in front of the little woman and all that. You do what you gotta do, man.”

Maybe Hank wouldn’t wait for Prescott to make the first move. The desire to deal this idiot some pain was fast becoming more than Hank could ignore. But he really wanted to lull Prescott into thinking this was going to be an easy fight.

Then Prescott lunged, and instead of dodging, Hank fought his instincts and training and let the man connect. A little. Prescott’s fist grazed Hank’s jaw, succeeding in splitting his lip.

A gasp went up from those gathered, but Hank’s only response was to retreat from Prescott and wipe the back of his hand across his mouth. He could hear Ivy’s voice asking someone what the hell he was doing. He wanted to tell her to watch and see, but she’d figure it out soon enough.

The idiot went back to grinning. “First blood.”

Not as sweet as last blood, Hank thought.

“You ready to give up yet?”

Hank kept circling.

Prescott huffed out a bored sigh. “You’re really going to make me do this the hard way, huh?”

Then he shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you want to look like a chump in front of your friends, that’s your business.” Prescott’s brows bent as his eyes lit with confidence. “I’ll try not to hurt you too much.”

Then he launched.

This time Hank went low, caught him under the shoulder and flipped him into the air. Prescott hit the ground hard.

The breath whooshed out in a strained wheeze. He lay still for a couple seconds, then managed to get back on his feet. Prescott’s chest was heaving as he struggled to recover his wind.

Hank let him go long enough to make him think the move had been a fluke.

It worked.

“Lucky”—Prescott sucked in another breath—“shot.”

Hank almost laughed. Instead, he charged, fist forward, and landed a blow in the center of Prescott’s chest, knocking him to the ground a second time without air in his lungs.

Hank stood over him. “Done yet?”

Panting for air, Prescott rolled to all fours, his eyes golden. He bared his teeth in a half-hearted snarl. “Maybe,” he wheezed, “I’ll hurt you after all.”

Hank shook his head slowly, let his wolf into his gaze. “I don’t think you know what pain is.” He rolled his head around, cracking his vertebrae and loosening himself up for the real work. “But here comes lesson number one.”

With a snarl, Hank attacked. Prescott retaliated by going into his half form and slicing wildly with his claws. He made contact with Hank’s upper arm but only managed to cut through his shirt.

Hank threw him off but stayed in human form. The half form had its limits, like not being able to make a fist without digging your claws into your palm, and this wasn’t the kind of fight where a backhand was going to suffice.

Prescott had regained his breath, but his eyes were round and gleaming with the realization that Hank wasn’t the easy mark he’d thought.

Building on that, Hank punched Prescott across the jaw. His eyes rolled back in his head as he staggered, trying to stay upright.

Hank put another fist in Prescott’s gut, doubling him over, then Hank swept his leg around and brought Prescott to the ground.

He went fetal, gasping for breath as he returned to his fully human state.

“Do you give?” Hank asked as he stood over the man. No point in fighting more than he had to.

“Hell, no,” Prescott rasped. He put a hand on the ground and pushed to a sitting position. Blood trickled from his lip.

“Really?” Hank raised his brows. “So you’re only a quitter when it comes to fatherhood.”

Prescott glowered at him. “Why aren’t you attacking me? Why are you letting me recover?”

“Because you’re not a threat to me. I want you to realize what a bad decision challenging me was so that you never do it again. Just remember how completely unprepared you are.”

Prescott cursed. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

“From a fighting standpoint, I know I am.” Hank backed up a step to give the man some space and gestured for Prescott to rise. “Get up and let’s finish this.”

Prescott shook his head, eyes glowing gold, and with a growl, he launched toward Hank, shifting into a wolf as he came down. He took Hank to the ground. Hank jammed his arm up to shove Prescott off, but Prescott sank his teeth into Hank’s arm.

Pain shot through Hank, and he howled in anger, the pain driving him harder. He drew his feet up, planted them on Prescott’s body and shoved, flipping the wolf into the air and giving himself a chance to roll free.

The wolf landed with a yelp as Hank got to his feet. He checked the bite. Blood oozed from the punctures on his right arm, but it would heal. Right now, he had more important things to deal with. Like Prescott charging at him on all fours, jaw gaping, muzzle red with Hank’s blood.

Hank put his head down and ran toward Prescott, shifting into his wolf form on the move. He collided with Prescott in a chaotic tangle of teeth and claws. They rolled over the ground, biting and snarling.

Prescott clearly needed the payday because he’d finally started making an effort to win, but Hank was done playing. Time to bring this challenge to a fast close. Prescott threw his head back to wriggle free, giving Hank the opening he needed. He clamped his jaw over Prescott’s throat. The other shifter wheezed and whimpered and went still.

Prescott had to know he’d been beat. Any second, Hank expected to hear the fight called. Then cries went up from the crowd, and Sebastian Ellingham’s voice rang out. “Hold.”

Hank released Prescott and backed away, knowing he’d won. But when he looked around, the crowd wasn’t focused on him or Prescott, but on a small figure running toward them, about to cross the chalk line.

Charlie.

Birdie trailed after him, yelling for him to stop.

Hank opened his mouth to yell, too, but he had no voice as a wolf. He quickly shifted back to his human form and put his hands out. “No, Charlie. Stay where you are.”

Charlie skidded to a stop, looking at Hank with questions in his eyes. But it was too late. His sneakers were dusted with white, and the line behind him blurred in two spots. Hank’s stomach dropped. He sank to his knees, the cold hand of defeat squeezing him.

Charlie had crossed the line.

Ivy wanted to run to Charlie, to scoop him up, but fear held her back. She was
definitely
on Hank’s side whereas Charlie could possibly be seen as belonging to either. She didn’t want to be the reason Hank was disqualified and Eric won. She laced her fingers into a begging pose. “Charlie,” she pleaded. “Get out of there.”

On the edge of the circle, just feet away from Charlie, Birdie wrung her hands, her eyes tearing up. “I’m so sorry. He got out of the car before I knew what he was doing.” She looked at Sebastian as he walked toward Charlie. “He didn’t mean anything—”

Sebastian held his hand up. “The damage is done.” He stepped over the chalk line and into the circle to speak to Charlie, his role as adjudicator letting him cross the line without consequence.

A few feet away from Hank, Eric shifted into his human form. Ivy found some happiness in the fact that he was bleeding in far more places than Hank. Maybe he’d get an infection and die.

Sebastian crouched down to speak to Charlie. “Why did you come into the circle, son?”

Uncertainty bent Charlie’s mouth. Ivy understood that look. He knew he’d done something wrong, he just didn’t know what. He looked at his hands when he spoke. “Aunt Birdie told me they were fighting.”