by Ellie Pond
Notes from the fiddle hung in the air as the crystal voice of the female sang. When her partner joined in, it was clear the couple next to him were transfixed.
The song finished. The bar erupted in applause.
“You are too kind.” The male took a jacket from around the back of the fiddler’s seat and hopped down off of the short platformed stage. He kissed Gretchen on the cheek. “Thanks for coming. This is Lucy.” The little human waved.
“You were simply amazing as always, Billy. The best voice I’ve ever heard.” Gretchen took Lucy’s hand. “And yours is the best female voice I’ve ever heard.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said. She shifted from foot to foot.
“You’re always impartial.” Billy hugged Gretchen. “I wish we could stay, but we have to get back for warm-ups for tonight’s late show.”
“I understand. We told you you wouldn’t need to entertain us. We’re happy just to be here.”
“I’m happy to have you. You’re my favorite grandparents.”
“We’re your only grandparents. And stop stealing my material.”
Billy tilted his head back in laughter. His curly styled hair shook. “Love you. We have to go. I’ll catch you tomorrow at dinner?” With another round of hugs, they scurried away. The fiddlers began again.
“He’s fantastic,” said Tad.
“Our grandson,” said Gretchen. “He got us the tickets for the cruise too.”
Tad nodded at the obvious. “He’s amazing.”
“He’s a smart kid too.”
“Don’t let her go too long about our Billy,” said Harold. “Next thing she’ll tell you he can walk on water.”
“Well, he can.” Gretchen smiled.
“When it’s frozen,” the two said together.
The door to the bar opened and the scent from earlier returned to devour him. Meatloaf and cherry blossoms. He better get a grip on himself if he thought telling someone they smelled of meatloaf and cherry blossoms was normal. Comfort, that was what it smelled of. Like he wanted to snuggle down into the scent and never leave.
He couldn’t turn around. Because there was no way it was his mate. He didn’t want to have a mate. His life was going along just how he wanted. He didn’t need to mess things up. He was Spock—a richer, more handsome version of his fictional hero. No turning around. He played those words in his head like a mantra. Do not turn around, do not turn around, do not turn around.
“Are you okay, dear?” Gretchen touched his arm.
Do not turn around. “Yes. Who walked in just now?”
“A girl,” Harold chuckled. “A darn pretty human.”
“Harold, she’s no girl. That’s a woman.” Gretchen smacked Harold’s arm.
“I’m mated not dead.” Harold kissed her cheek.
The woman—mate, his infuriating wolf said—was behind him. He could taste her scent.
“Harold, he’s looking kind of pale.”
“Are you okay?” Harold patted Tad’s hand.
“I’m fine.” He knew that she had moved away from him.
“You sure of that? You look a spøkelse.” Gretchen said.
“She’s saying you look like you’ve seen a—”
“—ghost.”
“You speak Norwegian?”
“Enough to know when I’m being yelled at by my mother.” He stood. “Ha deg god kveld.” He hoped he said ‘have a good night’ right.
“Ha det bra.”
Tad bit his lip. His wolf urged him forward to look at her. And every bit of himself expected to turn around, but instead he ambled to the door, calmly, and left without throwing a glance over his shoulder.
Standing in the lobby, his whole body shook and sweat beaded on his neck. He was shocked at himself for not ripping the door off the bar to get back in faster. He fully expected to head back to the most amazing scent ever. His blood burned, and his wolf prickled at his skin until he bent over, his hands resting on his knees.
The door to the Bjørn Bar remained closed. He willed it to budge open. Possessed, he took two steps back towards the door before he sharply pivoted and headed to the elevator that opened with a loud ding. He jumped. A couple walked out hand in hand. He sneered at them without knowing he was doing it. The lion shifter glared back at him, moving between him and the female. He pushed the button for his cabin’s floor and leaned against the wall of the elevator, his heart thudding. On a normal day he hated elevators. Sweat poured off of him as he tumbled out of the death box.
He used his wristband to enter his room and fell on the bed that he was sharing with his cousin Gunnar, his head on the pillow, his feet on the floor.
This wasn’t in his plans. In the back of his head, his mother yapped at him, “Just because I didn’t find a fated mate doesn’t mean that you won’t. It also doesn’t mean that you have to be alone. Your father and I were happy while he was alive. You need to stop moping.”
He didn’t mope. He told her that he wasn’t moping. That he didn’t need a fated mate. That he didn’t need a mate at all. They took time and that would interfere with everything he liked to do. Something deep in him didn’t work that way. Emotions didn’t stick to him. Friends in college, all 12 years of it, called him Spock, and he didn’t mind it. He pushed girls—women—away his whole life. Yes, he could fuck them, enjoy their bodies. Have them enjoy his body. Have a little fun. But have an attachment to them? Nope, not capable.
And a mate—he didn’t know how to do that. Not fated, not regular, not even the friendship kind his parents had. That was the one thing he couldn’t do.
Ignore this scent, this woman, and get off the ship, raced through his mind. His skin prickled. His wolf didn’t like the idea of leaving the ship. Mate, it said. Damn, he hated when he couldn’t quiet the animal. They weren’t the same. His wolf snorted in agreement. Maybe this would make him crazy. Perhaps he already was? Fate needed to back the hell up. Tad Larsen made his own decisions.
His wolf chanted mate, and he told it to shove off. He liked predictable and logical, and his wolf and fated mate were neither. With his mind churning, he didn’t hear Spencer open the door.
4
This Isn’t Going to End Well
Music blared loud enough to block any conversations in the auditorium, even for a shifter. The hip-hop song was something his students had played in the locker room before their Kunyon matches last spring, a song he’d turned down more than once. Maybe Gunnar was right: he was ancient.
Tad sat on one side of Gunnar while Michele sat on the other. Tad knew when he was beaten; she wasn’t the type he should go for. A woman like Michele expected things. And that comment about love made him want to run the other way.
Love was messy and absorbed free time. He’d never let a relationship get that far. From his observations, love wasn’t worth it. The few women he let stick around for a second or third date wanted things from him. Money, time, and sex. And he could get sex without spending the time with them, which bored him. When he lived in the city, he dated women ten years younger than him. His last date didn’t know what REM was, either the band or the sleep state. But that’s what he liked. If they held no interest for him, he didn’t have to get involved for more than a night.
Tad studied the auditorium. The enormity of the room made you forget you were on a ship. A large fighting cage sat in the middle of the space, and the seats ringed it. Most of the passengers sat shoulder to shoulder around three quarters of it. A faux rock structure allowed fighters, once shifted, to climb and take the fighting to a raised level. Above the seats, a track circled the arena for shifters to run in their animal form. And above the track on one side, darkened windows from the shifting lounge glared down into the arena.
With the intermission lights up, he could make out a woman’s bottom cheeks pressed up against the glass. They weren’t there for long. He’d gone to a club like that in the city before he moved home a few times. It served its purpose. Shifters were sexual creatures, and they needed rele
ase. Tad found it easier to get rid of human females. When a wolf female found out what his pack was, they tried to get their claws into him. It was too much work. And the women at his former work wanted favors or his money. His mantra? Everyone has an angle.
He filtered a breath—no sign of the scent from before. Good. He didn’t want to explain to his cousin why he had been cowering in their room. With an hour of critical thinking, he decided to ignore it.
Tad craned his neck to see if Spencer was back. The last two matches were fine. They’d missed the first third of the fights before Spencer dragged him out of the room to the auditorium. Spencer’s anger at Duncan wouldn’t keep him from seeing his little brother bashed around. And Tad came along. That’s what his mother told him to do: keep them out of trouble. He wasn’t doing a great job so far. Spencer and Duncan were at blows. And Duncan had signed up for a fight. They were adults. He shouldn’t still have to be picking up after them.
The matches moved at a quick clip. The lights flashed. Gunnar rubbed Michele’s shoulder and Tad pivoted to search for Spencer and the promised beer he was bringing back. He spotted him at the bottom of the stairs. He thundered up them two at a time, a drink holder in his hand. Spencer held it out for him to take while he sat down.
“You were gone long enough.” Gunnar reached across Tad and took two beers from the holder, passing one to Michele.
“You left the concessions lobby to check on Aurora, didn’t you?” Tad passed Spencer his beer.
Spencer shrugged. Tad needed to say something. Spencer going through with the mating pact he made as a kid would be a colossal mistake. He pivoted.
“Not on this, Tad. I appreciate your counsel. But not on this.” Spencer knew what he was going to say.
Spencer offered him some popcorn. Unless he went full out alpha wave on him, he was going to get his counsel. On paper, mating Aurora appeared great. The pack accepted her, it kept the social climbers away, but it was a shit of an idea. Aurora didn’t love him and he didn’t love her more than as a sister. He agreed the pack needed an alpha pair for stability. But not this way. Things were rocky enough the last few years that his mother convinced him to move home. There were packs around that would love to get their claws into them. Tad glared at Spencer.
“As long as you’re sure.” He took a handful of popcorn. He’d talk to him about it in the morning.
Oliver Sutton hustled back into the middle of the mat. The crowd went crazy. The lights flashed over the crowd, and the auditorium dimmed, leaving a bright beam on the match mat. The next fight flew by. Three bells rang quickly.
“In this corner we have Kyle Marsh,” Sutton’s voice echoed. The lights in that half of the mat turned red and Kyle ran out in red trunks. If Gunnar was Tad’s twin, Kyle was Duncan’s, at least in build. “In this corner we have Duncan Larsen.” Duncan ran out, and the lights turned blue on him.
“Ha, Duncan’s wearing blue, just like his balls,” Gunnar said.
Michele rolled her eyes.
“He’s chewing on his mouth guard like he’s about to take a face off on the ice. Are you going to buy him new teeth if they get knocked out?” Gunnar turned to Tad.
“Nope.” He might be a billionaire, but his cousins weren’t paupers. Duncan could pay for his own new teeth.
“Round one.” Sutton said.
Kyle ripped his shirt over his head with one hand. The human women in the audience screamed. Kyle smirked. And reached for his pants. They chanted at the stage, “Take it off, take it off.” Kyle raised his arms up to the crowd, and they roared. His pants were still on. Duncan pulled his shirt over his head. Screams echoed around the arena. Kyle’s head threw back in laughter. Shit. Kyle was a chirper. Duncan didn’t do well with chirpers; he lost his cool. His emotions would surge up.
“You can do it, Duncan,” Michele yelled.
Duncan bounced and charged. He threw his shoulder into Kyle and knocked him backwards into the bars. Kyle was back at him within a beat and kicked Duncan’s legs out from under him. He landed on the mat.
“What the hell is he doing?” Spencer leaned forward, his forehead scrunched. He might be mad at his brother, but the only one who got to beat him was one of his family members. That was what little brothers were for.
A crash rang through the auditorium. In the next section of seats, a garbage can tumbled down the stairs, thudding on each step. Kyle glanced away from the ring for a moment, into the crowd. Duncan raced towards Kyle in three steps. He pounced on him, getting off multiple jabs to Kyle’s torso and one to his chin. His head flared back to the bars. The ref pulled him back and said something to him. Ushers ran down the stairs after the trash can and scanned the crowd for why it fell.
Tad shifted forward, putting his drink on the ground. Michele leaned back as he leaned forward. Did she move back on purpose? Unlike the majority of shifters, he had the knack of sensing a witch when he met one. He didn’t get that from her earlier, but with the scents floating around the dining room, perhaps he missed it.
Tad snatched the popcorn bag from Spencer and leaned forward to offer Michele some. He positioned his hand so she would have to brush it to take some. She carefully reached around his arm so she didn’t touch him. He lifted his hand, and the popcorn scattered over her lap. But he had his answer. Witch.
“What the fuck are you doing, Tad? Back up.”
“Sorry. Thought Michele would like some popcorn.” And wanted to know if she was going to curse you in your sleep. His father’s death came at the end of a witch’s curse. Not all witches were bad. The war that took his father also outed the shifters to the world while the witches kept their anonymity. Tenuous peace with the witches left both sides restless and nervous.
“Not all over her lap.” His arms flew wide as he helped Michele pick up the popcorn.
Michele caught his eye. She understood he was testing her. Crafty witch.
Spencer smacked Tad’s arm. Tad focused on the fight. A small woman had her hand on Kyle’s leg in the cage. Kyle looked at the woman and Duncan’s eyes followed. Kyle’s fist caught Duncan’s jaw and his head hit the back of the mat. The bell rang as Duncan opened his eyes.
“Get up.” Spencer leaned forward, willing his brother up.
Duncan jumped up. The crowd cheered. An attendant squirted water into Duncan’s mouth.
“Round two.” Oliver’s voice rang out of the speakers.
Kyle pulled forward and made contact, each of them getting a series of hits in. They pulled apart and danced around the perimeter of the cage.
Kyle motioned to take his pants off again. Screams of females echoed through the arena. Michele hooted.
Duncan darted in and jabbed Kyle, who fell to the ground. Kyle rolled on top of him. Duncan took a blow to the ear before he threw Kyle across the cage. As Kyle stumbled up, Duncan pushed his pants off. The audience screamed.
“What the hell is he doing?” Spencer leaned back and forward again.
“He’s totally losing his mind. They haven’t rung the bell to shift yet.” Gunnar picked popcorn off of Michele’s lap and ate it.
“There is no way those balls are blue. I mean. Look at the size of him.”
“Right. That’s my little brother there. If you get my drift.” Gunnar put his arm around the back of Michele’s chair.
“This isn’t going to end well.” Tad leaned forward with Spencer.
“Never thought it would.” Spencer stood up and sat back down. As an alpha, not being able to control one of your pack must be painful. Tad was glad that he’d never had to take that role.
Duncan kicked Kyle in the ribs and followed through with a series of jabs. Kyle pulled back, and the shifting bell rang. The crowd screamed as his fawn wolf tore out of him. His claws tore at the mat to get to Kyle before he shifted. Duncan sank his teeth into Kyle’s human leg as it shifted to fur and claws. The two wolves rolled. Kyle’s jaws locked around Duncan’s leg. The bell rang, and an electric zap emanated through the mat. He hobbled away. In two le
aps he landed on the uppermost ledge. Kyle’s grey wolf snarled at him from below.
Both wolves streamed blood already. Duncan sat on his haunches and waited for the bell. The bell rang three times. He strolled to the middle of the ring, like a Sunday morning pack run. Perhaps he wasn’t losing it. Duncan bared his teeth and attacked. Kyle and Duncan lunged and bled each other. Striking and retreating. Blood poured out from each of them.
Kyle latched on to him and kicked him with his back legs like a cat. Duncan rolled out of his grip. But not before the bell rang.
“He was fine,—don’t you have eyes?” Spencer stood and screamed at the ref in the cage.
Oliver Sutton stood in-between the fighters. He glanced back and forth and, in a hushed tone, spoke to the two wolves.
Kyle turn his back to Sutton. Duncan glanced down and up.
Sutton picked up his microphone. “Round four.” He jogged to the edge of the cage. The metal door slammed behind him.
The bell rang, and Kyle attacked, his muzzle on Duncan’s neck. Duncan hammered his front paws on Kyle’s ribs. Kyle flew across the mat and landed on the ground next to him. Duncan sank his canines into Kyle, who used Duncan’s move. Duncan landed next to Kyle. The two of them raced to the top of the platform, Kyle on Duncan’s tail. Kyle had Duncan’s back into the corner of fake rocks, his teeth bared as he guarded the path down. Duncan exploded towards Kyle; his front paws skittered at the edge of the platform. He sank his teeth into Kyle’s neck, and Kyle caught hold of Duncan’s front paw. In the next moment, they tumbled fifteen feet down to the ground with a thud.
“What the fuck are they doing?” Gunnar asked.
Both bloody wolves lifted their heads, their bodies flat on the mat. Duncan pushed his back paws up so that his tail end stood in the air. The crowd screamed. He stood up all the way. Kyle threw himself forward towards Duncan, but he didn’t connect. Instead, a gleaming black puma divided them both. The cat hissed at Kyle and turned its massive jaw to Duncan and did the same. Sutton. Sutton had shifted and stopped the battle. Duncan’s tail sank between his legs. Matches didn’t end in ties. That wasn’t the shifter way, but an enormous paw swatted at Duncan’s skull as he tried to round the cat. He collapsed onto the cage mat.