learned of Michael’s passing, he’d sent Quince condolences by way of secret correspondence. That the sly older man had known not to trust Lex showed him to be a keen ally.
Yet Quince also knew that Danville would turn on him in a heartbeat if he tried to hurt the good of the pride. Danville was the pride’s conscience, and a good one they couldn’t afford to lose. Despite wanting him in attendance, Quince had had second thoughts about inviting him tonight. But when he’d warned Danville of the possible danger, the elder had ignored good sense and insisted on being present. As one of the only judges old enough to have witnessed an actual Pride Fight, he at least knew how to run the thing.
Rumblings behind Ayers from two dozen pride members, to include Alissa and Darren Watson, Ayers’s right hand man, alerted Quince to pay better attention. What was supposed to have been a private fight had apparently turned into the evening’s entertainment.
“So much for this being between you and me,” Quince mocked and raised his hands while Judge Nettles looked him over and patted him down.
“He’s clean.”
Judge Everton did the same to Ayers. “Him too.”
Nettles and Everton walked back to the raised platform at the head of the clearing, where Danville stood waiting.
“Danville?” Nettles blinked in surprise, not having seen the old man take his place as head of the proceedings. “Hadn’t heard you were back in town.”
Danville, a cranky old bastard by anyone’s standards, scowled. “Didn’t know I needed your permission to come back to my own pride.”
“No, sir.” Nettles flushed. “Welcome back.”
“Gee, thanks.” Danville jumped onto the platform with the spry grace of a man several decades younger than the ninety-two he was purported to be. “Well, get on with it. I have things to do before I die, you know.” Then he and the other two judges took their seats.
Ayers gave Quince a crafty look. “Danville doesn’t matter. Neither do the others. You’re going down, one way or the other.”
“Dream on.” Quince wondered when Ayers would make his move. Physically, Quince outweighed and outmuscled him. Sure, Ayers could use his guys to try to attack Quince’s group, but none of them were armed. Quince had personally looked them over while Ayers had done the same to Jace, Ellis and Rain.
Would Ayers try to kill Quince and his men in front of impartial witnesses? Unless Nettles and Everton weren’t legit. Yet of all the judges that could have been present, Nettles and Everton seemed the cleanest and most sincere. Quince’s decision to involve Danville in pride politics had been made some time ago, back when he’d finally started to make progress cleaning up Lex’s mess. Just his luck the old cat had decided to return to the states when Quince needed him most.
Danville spoke. “Shake hands, then prepare to fight.”
Ayers held out his hand. Quince eyed it warily, but he didn’t scent or see any sign of foul play. With the judges waiting for him to take Ayers’s hand, then step back and prepare to fight, he reached out.
Ayers clasped his hand tightly, and a burning sensation struck Quince’s palm. He wanted to pull back, but Ayers refused to let him go.
“You fucker.” Quince snorted in derision. “I’m not surprised you cheated.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ayers grinned, yanked his hand back, and then crouched, prepared to fight. “Quit whining and fight me, Quince.”
“Stop all the chit chat.” Danville ordered. “You fight first as human, then as feline.” The judge sat between Nettles and Everton, watching. “Winner rules the pride. We three judges will decide the outcome in the event no one dies. Somehow, I don’t see that being an issue with you two.”
“You got that right,” Quince growled.
“Hell, yeah,” Ayers agreed.
“Unfortunate, but there you have it. Now get it on, boys.” Danville nodded.
Quince wanted to see Joy again before he fought, but he didn’t have the time. Already he could feel himself changing, his animal spirit hissing at the wrongness invading his system. What the fuck had Ayers done to him?
No matter. He had to draw this out. If he’d gauged his timing right, he had a good twenty minutes before Miles showed up. He had to clean up Ayers now.
Launching himself at Ayers, he knocked the pussy down. Ayers’s wide eyes made it seem as if he’d expected the toxin he’d infected Quince with to knock him out or weaken him, so Quince worked fast. Tired of dealing with the shitty cats day after day, of knowing he might lose Joy if he didn’t end Ayers’s threat, he used every ounce of his waning strength to knock Ayers off his feet.
Blow upon blow against the man’s head, chest and side. He heard bones crack and felt blood trickling through his fists. He hadn’t felt Ayers’s impact, but apparently his opponent had dealt him a few good hits to the face.
Quince blinked past the blurriness obscuring his vision. Shadows, then light, yet the moon lit up the area like a spotlight.
A bell rang. “And now, fight as felines,” Danville ordered in a booming voice. “Damn fine battle as men, though. You do our ancestors proud.”
Quince distantly heard commentary from the sidelines. His guys yelling at him to hold on. Just five—or was that fifteen?—more minutes. Alissa shrieking for Ayers to stop playing and kill him. Watson and the others shouting their encouragement as well, that Ayers end him now.
Ayers staggered as he shucked off his pants and shifted. Quince tried to hurry as well, but he had trouble coordinating his movements.
Claws ripped into his skin as he swore and finally got his pants off. It took him a few tries to find his animal spirit, and then he felt Joy inside him somehow, ragging on him to man up and shift already.
He shook his head and turned into his cat, a hybrid cougar and jaguar that wanted nothing more than to kill the cheater currently wrapping his teeth around Quince’s throat.
He would have had more trouble if Joy hadn’t been nagging his ass to quit pussying around. She actually had the nerve to threaten to
Confused, awash in weakness and a murderous rage at the thought of his mate leaving him, he roared his fury and attacked Ayers with a vengeance. Around them, everyone went quiet, the sounds of enraged cat and Ayers’s gurgling the only things to be heard.
He clawed through Ayers’s belly and finally managed to grip the cat’s throat between his powerful jaws. And then he ripped his head back and tore out Ayers’s throat.
Ayers sagged, dead, a threat to Joy and Quince no more.
“What the fuck is this?” Miles’s shout drew his attention.
He wavered on his paws and meowed his confusion, then found himself tackled by someone from behind.
Before he could move, he heard yowls, screams of enraged female panthers and gunfire.
Quince tried to shake off his dizziness, wondering if he’d been badly injured or if Ayers’s drugs were to blame. Before he could figure it out, a large yellow paw slapped across his face. He managed to blink his eyes open and focus.
Miles sneered at him, his golden coat thick and unblemished, his ears back and his mouth opened in a hiss. Dickhead had a mouth of really big teeth.
“So we have a new challenger?” Danville said.
Before Danville answered and ruined everything, Quince forced himself to concentrate on the plan.
So he’d had to fall on the big cat to make his move, but it worked.
