Born of Night (9 page)

The hunt for women able to survive Lycan mating was fierce, and usually deadly for the female. He’d heard of some Lycan communities to actually hunt their females in a competitions of sorts, where only the fastest and strongest won and the weak perished.

Deron raised his arms, quieting the angry murmurs around them before he began to speak. “Gabriel Benoit, you stand before the pack charged with attacking fellow pack members John, Michael, and Cruz, and for claiming a female without fair contest. How do you plead?”

“I am no’ guilty for attackin’ John, Michael, and Cruz. For claimin’ the female, I am.”

The pack roared with disbelief, deafening him with angry howls and shouts. A wind rose, ruffling his hair, seeming to echo their fury.

“Silence!” Deron yelled above them. The noise reluctantly died down. “Explain yourself, Gabriel.”

“I found d’female held down by the three members. Her legs were spread, and Cruz knelt between dem, his cock hard and ready. They were going to rape her.”

Cruz spoke up from his right with a nasty growl, “She’s in heat. The pretty cunt begged for what I had to give her. She didn’t want you--”

“Enough, Cruz,” Deron said quietly, cutting Cruz off as effectively as if he’d slapped him. He turned his attention back to Gabriel. “The attack was only in the woman’s defense?”

Gabriel nodded, feeling his tension abate somewhat. Perhaps he would be given fair treatment. “She will attest to that fact if questioned.”

Deron studied him several minutes before finally nodding. “This satisfies.”

The crowd rumbled, but Deron cut them off with a fierce frown. “Do any here challenge my decision?”

No one spoke. “Very well then, my decision on the attack stands. Now, Gabriel, what have you to say to the second charge of taking the female without consent?”

Gabriel met his gaze steadily. “I am guilty. But I will no’ allow her to be taken from me. I issue a challenge here and now, to be settled tonight.” Gabriel straightened his fingers. Claws sprang from his fingertips like ivory knives, dull in the moonlight. “I will fight anyone here who thinks t’claim what is mine,” he said, his accent fading with deadly soft menace.

“In his form, the challenge stands. No shifting. Let it begin,” Deron announced and stepped back from the clearing to watch the games.

No challenge such as this had been issued in decades. The pack rumbled with excitement, the air charged with anticipation.

Gabriel stripped his jeans off and flung them away, out of the clearing lest they trip him in the heat of battle. He waited for the first challenger, his beast rolling inside with expectation of tasting blood this night.

He gave in to it, the swelling power, the quickening of his blood. It roared in his ears like a tempest. Strength bled into his pores, stretched through his every fiber in preparation for the fight. Some called the change the madness, for it was like that, animal instinct blotting out the human half’s rational mind. Even partial shifting was dangerous. He felt it now, felt the call of the moon and the wolf inside burning to be unleashed.

His senses heightened ... smell, sight, hearing. The soft sound of crushed grass drew his attention to the right. He shifted his gaze and watched as the bodies of his brethren parted.

From the shadows, Nardo stepped out. He looked bigger without his clothes, obscenely muscled. Naked as Gabriel, he rolled his neck and shoulders, stretching in a confident move as he strode cockily to the center of the ring.

Gabriel crouched slightly, centering his body as he tensed and awaited Nardo’s attack. Nardo grinned, releasing his claws as he feinted at Gabriel, circling and feinting, circling and feinting.

Gabriel’s nerves tightened, winding taut with each false move. He bided his time, preserving his strength for a long night, keeping wary. He knew Nardo’s style, knew Nardo relied more on brute strength than skill. Even his size hindered him somewhat, though Lycan grace had saved him before.

In a predictable move, Nardo suddenly turned a feint into a full blown lunge. Gabriel caught Nardo as he hurtled toward him, stepping into the move with a sweeping kick that took Nardo’s feet out from under him and sent him crashing into the ground.

The ground ruptured under Nardo’s immense weight, grass and dirt flying out from beneath him. Gabriel was on him before the chunks settled. He straddled his chest, pinning his arms with his knees. He bent low and pierced Nardo’s throat with the barest tip of his middle claw. A drop of blood trickled down Nardo’s neck, pooling in his clavicle.

“I won’ regret killin’ you, mon ami. Do you yield?” Gabriel whispered with a deadly voice.

Nardo’s chest heaved with his breathing, and he tapped the ground with his right hand. Slowly, remaining wary, Gabriel moved off him and helped him to his feet.

Nardo shook the dirt from himself and strode angrily away without a word. Gabriel had humiliated him for taking him out so quickly.

No sooner had Nardo left the clearing then the three youths came on to the field.

Their hatred at being beaten on all fronts was palpable, evident in the tension of their bodies and the black looks they gave him.

Gabriel cast a questioning look at Deron. Deron nodded, giving the go ahead.

They surrounded him, claws extended, moving their hands constantly in a blur of motion to distract him. Their claws cut the air with the sound of wood ripping on a saw. Whipping the air with their own currents, they closed in, blocking him on all sides. Cruz stayed out of reach, the general commanding his troops as John and Michael converged on his flanks in a coinciding rush.

Gabriel ducked beneath their swinging arms, felt the sprinkle of slashed hair fall in tickling strokes onto his back. Air rushed by his head. Talons dug into his exposed back as he twisted.

Fire lanced down his spine. Sweat broke on his skin in an instant wave, salt driving into the wound. Gabriel roared, moving into the roll, continuing on his path. He came up under John, the claws still embedded in his back, deeper. Gabriel’s teeth clenched against the pain, and he drove his hands up, up into the exposed length of John’s belly. John’s face froze, his arms flew back, freeing Gabriel. He tried to catch himself, failed, fell back onto the ground, coughing up blood as he landed. The blood was black in the night, like thick oil, coating everything.

Gabriel had no time for regret, no time for thought beyond that of survival. He turned toward Michael, caught him standing and looking down at John in stunned immobility. A strangled snarl came from Gabriel’s left, capturing his attention. He turned, ducking.

Cruz lunged. His feet left the ground as he leapt over John, driving for Gabriel’s throat. Michael came back to life, took him suddenly from behind, trapped his arms so he couldn’t move.

He was a fool. A god damned fool for not moving quicker, for ignoring Michael in favor of Cruz. Fingers dug into Gabriel’s biceps. Nails sliced his skin, deeply. His body healed itself, but not fast enough to prevent the flow of blood from escaping.

Cruz smiled in triumph, twisted and raised his hands as though going to bat, moving into a death strike.

Gabriel saw it in his eyes, saw that he meant to kill him, that there would be no mercy, no yielding in this game. He would have to kill the stubborn bastard, maybe the others too. He relaxed his weight, heard Michael grunt in surprise right before his grip failed. Gabriel slipped from his hands, dropping to the ground, his flesh in ribbons from the razor-like claws. He landed just as Cruz swung. Claws whistled through the air, unable to stop, unable to do anything but slash above his intended victim.

Above, blood poured like heavy rain, saturating everything in its path down to the ground. Michael groaned, stumbling back, clutching his chest.

Heart pounding with the fury of his beast, Gabriel flattened between Michael’s legs, driving razor tipped fingers up the thick meat of his thighs even as he kicked out and knocked Cruz’s feet out from under him.

They each landed with a crash, bodies tangling in one heap of dirt and blood and torn flesh.

Gabriel could think of nothing but Cruz kneeling between Jessica’s thighs, ready to impale her, beat her, even kill her. It built his fury, drove it to a fever pitch that blinded him to anything but the need for blood on his hands.

Gabriel gained his feet just as Cruz freed himself and faced him. They looked at each other a bare moment, hatred emanating from each.

They circled each other, panting heavily. Michael and John had crawled away, freeing the clearing of everything but the slickness of their blood on the ground.

Gabriel jabbed, puncturing Cruz’s side, his arm, always darting back out of reach before Cruz could connect. His legs and arms ached, his back was on fire, trying to repair the damage. He felt his wounds cease to bleed, felt the flesh knit and heal itself, but it left his skin hot and feverish. Sweat and dirt and blood coated him.

Mosquitoes feasted on his blood, but Gabriel could think of nothing but taking Cruz down. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would keep that bastard from touching Jessica again. She could not go through that again. He wouldn’t allow it.

It sent his blood to pounding, his head swimming hotly. He stumbled on the muddied ground.

Cruz snickered, growing in confidence.

Gabriel knew Cruz thought him weakening, thought him an old man. He was, the healing sapped his strength with every passing moment. His steps slowed more and more, his arms grew heavy, his feet leaden. But he was not so weak he couldn’t take out this pup.

Gabriel jabbed at Cruz, moving past him with purpose, falling to one knee with a cry of agony that rippled on the night air. Cruz saw his opening, exposed his vulnerable heart as he swung his arm wide to take off Gabriel’s head. Time seemed to slow.

The wind moved at a snail’s pace against his face, shaking off droplets of perspiration as he twisted from the fall.

His own growl sounded heavy in his ears, deeper than his own voice. It grew in intensity, becoming wild as he drove his hands up Cruz’s chest. He felt the flesh give way, the sudden cessation of movement. Bone crunched, crumbling beneath his claws as he dug deep inside to the rapid beating heart. He sliced it, feeling repelled, sickened at killing one of his own, knowing there was no other choice and hating the need to kill or be killed.

Blood rained, hot and slick, streaming down with the force of a river unleashed.

Gabriel pulled back, looking away from the dead eyes of his enemy. Without support, the body dropped to the ground with a heavy thud.

Gabriel stood over him, a knot in his gut. The fool had needed killing, deserved it with years of menace, but he despised being forced to do the deed. Cruz was a vengeful bastard--one of them would have died eventually, and Gabriel preferred it be Cruz to himself.

Jessica was safe from him now. It would have to satisfy his guilt for this night.

There had never really been any other choice but the path he’d chosen.

Two pack members came and hauled the body off before the next challenger came into the clearing.

Gabriel sighed and wiped the blood from his hands on the grass.

He stretched his kinked muscles before facing his newest attacker. The night promised to be long, and by the line forming, he had little confidence that he would win.

Someone was at the tent opening. The soft sound of a zipper sliding slithered through the tent, evoking terror as if a snake glided toward her. Fear flashed through her, pumping her adrenaline until she verged the line of panic. Her breath came harsh against the gag, puffing her cheeks, flaring her nostrils. Her heart thrashed, threatening to beat through her ribs. She tried to get a hold of herself, to think clearly so she could escape, so she’d have some chance rather than none. She’d been here so long, and instead of time dulling her apprehension, it had only increased with each agonizing minute.

The tent flap opened. She jerked against her tethers, desperate to free her hands before they could come inside and kill her....

It was Gabriel.

She knew him the instant he entered, though his head was bowed and his hair fell down, obscuring his face in thick wet locks. She wanted to scream in relief, rail against him for giving her such a fright ... and throw her body against his until the tremors racking her ceased. The dizzying race of her blood abated to a dull roar.

The door flapped down behind him. He stood up once he passed the shallow entrance, standing straight and jerking his head back to toss the cloying strands away from his face and eyes. He froze as though pinned when he saw her. He looked at her. She looked at him.

He was naked.

The information filtered through the chaos of her thoughts to that one coherent whole. She didn’t know why he was--didn’t care. The relief alone of seeing him was enough to make her feel giddy. That he was naked changed everything, heightened senses that had been blunted previously by unease.

She was scared, yes, but it didn’t stop her brain from functioning, stop her eyes from taking in every glorious inch. She wanted to tell him to get her the fuck out of there, but she hadn’t moved past her initial shock at seeing him nude. It was her first time seeing him with nothing to bar her view. The adrenaline pumping through her system, the fear of before, it rushed in her head, made her careless, intoxicated. He’

d looked good before. He was devastating now. So much skin, so bronze and beautiful. Muscles, everywhere, gleaming with droplets of water running in beads down his skin like liquid gold.

She wanted to feel him against her. Cold shock chilled her, made her shudder with appalling weakness. She’d never felt so needy in all her life. She should’ve been outraged, horrified at the turn of her thoughts, but all she wanted to do was feel his heat inside her, until it thawed every pore and banished the chill seeping from her marrow.

She wanted to look down, see all of him, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t ready, knew she should die on the spot for daring to think of sex at a time like this. She tore her gaze away from his belly up to his face. Hair clung damply to his neck and cheekbones. What captured her attention was the expression on his face--drawn, hard, his jaw clenched until the muscles stood out. Black stubble shadowed his face, lending him a rough, untamed look she hadn’t seen before.