Page 90 of Wolf Cursed
The name was familiar, and the moment I spotted him, I remembered why. He’d been the drunk who’d started the brawl at Bo’s that first day I’d met the twins. He clearly hadn’t been sober then. And he looked even more wasted tonight.
The crowd cheered again and then parted as a very drunk-looking Gordon was brought forward by Presley. I watched with disgust as Presley shoved Gordon into the center. Gordon stumbled and righted himself again, looking up with bleary eyes at Silas and then the hexerei.
“What’s this?” Gordon grumbled.
“This asshole wants to join the pack,” Silas told him.
Gordon sniffed, his lip curling up in distaste. “He ain’t even a wolf.”
“Doesn’t matter. Rules are rules.”
Gordon muttered something that sounded like “lupin hater.”
A few people in the crowd laughed.
“You’re up, old man,” Silas said, clapping Gordon on the back.
“This is bullshit,” Gordon muttered, and the crowd responded by yelling encouragements.
Silas spread his arms wide. “You want a place here with us,” he said to the hexerei. “Fight for it.”
From somewhere in the back, a bell rang. Silas stepped back, and the hexerei crouched, eyeing Gordon with a look of expectancy. Gordon stood, knees half-bent, swaying a little.
The hexerei must have sensed the advantage because he darted in and swung out. Gordon grunted as the hexerei’s fist landed against his jaw. The blow drove him sideways, but he still managed to remain standing, and when he swung his head around again, he was glaring, and his eyes were suddenly glowing with animalistic instinct.
Gordon let out a roar and charged the hexerei, tackling him to the dirt floor. They rolled, each of them grunting and landing kicks and punches against the other. Clumsy, half-ass punches that didn’t seem to faze either one.
It was ridiculous.
Drake wanted me to watch a drunk and an already beaten man fight it out? What the hell good would that do me?
It hit me then.
Drake was making fun of me.
He thought this was the recon I needed. Because this was the level of fighting he expected from me.
Asshole.
A snarl snapped me out of my internal raging, and I looked through the gap again just in time to leap aside as the two fighters tossed one another against the wall where I’d hidden.
Something crashed as I landed against the cold grass, and when I rolled over and looked up, I saw they’d broken clean through. They were outside now, still fighting but mostly just breathing heavily and swinging at nothing but air.
Neither one of them noticed me, but before I could get out of sight, Silas ducked through the hole they’d torn in the barn wall. His eyes landed on me instantly, and he smiled.
I froze.
Behind him, a few others trickled out. Drake. Presley. The rest of the faces were familiar by now too, and that wasn’t a good thing. Every one of them wore a matching expression. Just like Silas, their smiles made every muscle in my body coil in readiness.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Ashes. Huh. It looks like we’re adding another fight to the roster tonight.” Silas grinned.
“Hell yeah,” one of the others echoed.
I looked right at Drake. “You’re an asshole for this,” I said.
“And you’re naïve for expecting anything less.”
I huffed.
