Tempting Evil

For all of two seconds, I thought about ru

Gautier sucked the blood from his fingertip, then said, in a voice that was flat and yet oh so lethal, "For that, you will pay."

"Oh, I'm so scared." Which was nothing more than the truth. Anyone possessing the merest grain of sanity would not want to exchange places with me right now. Except maybe my brother.

I frowned at the thought. Rhoan would know what was happening—at the very least, he'd feel my fear. So why wasn't he here, watching if not intervening?

Gautier gave me the sort of smile a cat might give an amusing mouse just before he ate it, then disappeared from sight again. I tracked him with infrared, waiting until he closed in, then threw the towel at his face even as I dropped and spun and lashed out with one foot, trying to bring him down. He avoided the towel and the kick, then his fist was arcing toward me. I dodged, felt the breeze of it scrape past my cheek, then dove forward, tackling him at knee height and bringing him down. As we both hit the matting, I landed a punch, kidney-high, before rolling to my feet and getting away. Close-in fighting with Gautier was something I was never going to win. I had to hit and run, hit and run, for as long as I could.

The bastard didn't even have the courtesy to grunt at the force of my blow. He climbed to his feet, his movements leisurely, calm. But there was murder in his eyes.

I wiped the sweat from my eyes, then flexed my fingers, trying to remain relaxed. He wouldn't kill me, not here. I had to believe that, if nothing else.

"Very good," Gautier said, his slimy, too-confident tones sending more chills up my spine. "There are very few who have managed what you just did."

I wondered if those few were still alive to speak about the experience. Knowing Gautier, probably not.

"I shall have to try a little harder, it seems," he added.

Oh, fuck.

The thought had barely entered my head when he was coming at me, a whirlwind of power and speed and sheer, bloody force. I weaved and dodged and blocked as best I could, throwing punches and kicks. But I was never going to beat him, and we were both too aware of that point. He might not be faster, but he was stronger and far more experienced.

Eventually, several blows got through my defense, leaving me winded, battered, more than a little bruised but somehow still upright. I kept blocking, kept fighting, then another blow came through, crashing against my chin, snapping my head back and sending me flying. Stars danced in front of my eyes, and the black peace of unconsciousness flirted with me. I shook my head, denying the call, and twisted in the air so that I landed catlike and on all fours. Saw, in a brief flash of awareness, my brother, his knuckles white with the force of his grip on the railing. Saw the four security guards holding him back. Saw Jack watching it all.

Then the air was screaming with the scent and force of Gautier's follow-up leap. If he pi

A scream ran up my throat as he pulled me toward him, but I managed to push it down enough that it came out only as a slight gasp of fear. I twisted around, ignored the slivers of pain that ran up my leg, and kicked out with my free foot.

He laughed. Laughed.

Never a wise move when it came to dealing with werewolves—even if the odds are on your side. You might as well wave a red rag at a raging bull.

The anger that swept through me momentarily bolstered my reserves of strength. I called to the wolf within, and the power of the change swept around me, through me, tingling through vein and muscle and bone, blurring my vision, blurring the pain, the fury. Limbs shortened, shifted, rearranged, until what was lying on the mat was wolf not human. It wasn't a move Gautier had expected, and just for an instant, he didn't actually react. I ripped my leg free of his grip, then leapt to my feet, launching at him rather than away. Teeth slashed, tearing through the flesh of his arm as easily as scissors through paper.

His blood spurted into my mouth, a foulness worse than even his scent. I coughed, spat out his taste, his flesh. Then his fist was in my side, burrowing deep. Something snapped within, and everything went red as the force of the blow battered me away from him. I shifted shape as I flew through the air, and hit the mat hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. Or maybe there wasn't any to begin with, because my lungs burned and I couldn't seem to get enough air no matter how much I gasped. All I could feel was pain and fear.

All I could hear was the wind of Gautier's approach.

"Stop." Jack's command barked across the arena.

Gautier didn't seem to hear. Or maybe he didn't want to hear, because suddenly he was beside me, his fist filling my vision as it hurtled toward my face. I curled into a ball, protecting myself the best I could, knowing it was never going to be enough.

"I said, stop!"

The blow never landed. After a few seconds, I opened an eye and saw Gautier still above me, his fist still clenched and so very close to my face. His arm quivered, as if he were fighting some restraining force, and not only was there sweat on his forehead, but fear in his eyes.

Jack had stopped the blow. Was holding him still now. Not physically, but through psychic means. Here, in this arena, in a building filled the psychic deadeners.

Which meant Jack was a whole lot more powerful, and a whole lot more deadly, than I'd ever presumed.

"Retreat, Gautier. Go to the mcd center and have those wounds looked at."

"This is not finished," Gautier hissed as he stepped away. "But we will finish it, believe me."

I didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. Just watched him hobble away as I kept on trying to get some air into my lungs.

The scent of spice and leather spun around me, then Rhoan was beside me, touching my face, my neck, his expression stricken.

"I'm okay. Really," I managed.

It came out hoarse, and didn't seem to convince my brother. "I'm going to kill—"

I touched a finger to his lips. "No." The bastard was mine, even if I had to do it from the shadows with a long-range rifle.

He caught my hand, and held it against his heart. Its beat was rapid, fear filled. Just like mine. "He had no right—"

"I'm betting he had every right. I'm betting our dear boss had this pla

He did. Pain slithered through my torso, red pokers of agony that seemed to pierce far too many muscles. I hissed, and held on to my brother as the room spun briefly.

"You weren't ready—"

"Is anyone ever ready to fight Gautier?" Pain slithered across my jaw as I spoke. I winced and raised a hand to feel for damage. The whole left side of my face was swollen, and tender enough that even the lightest of touches hurt. I might be a wolf and heal extraordinarily fast, but there wasn't much I could do about bruises. I was going to be black and blue by the time I got home. So much for my fancy night out with Kellen.

Footsteps echoed in the brief silence, and I didn't need to smell his musky scent to know it was Jack approaching. Nor did Rhoan. Tension slithered through his body, and the anger I could almost taste sharpened abruptly. Before I could even open my mouth to warn Jack, Rhoan had turned and punched.

Jack caught the blow in his hand. Caught it and held it. Easily. As if all of Rhoan's strength and power was nothing more than that of a troublesome child.