Weldon was the official timekeeper since he was Grand Master and highest-ranking werewolf present. Weldon checked his watch; it was nearly midnight when Winkler, Davis and Trajan trotted up as wolves. Weldon had extra clothing for all three wolves on his golf cart; Winkler asked him to carry it earlier. Trajan had time to pull on pants; that was all he would wear while fighting. He remained barefoot, however; Trajan had martial arts training, but his hands were all he used. P.J. would have the reach— and the upper hand—with his blades.
"Time," Weldon called softly, checking his watch.
Karl stepped forward first, since he'd laid the initial challenge. "I, Karl Johnson, Packmaster for the Boise Pack, lay a challenge before William Winkler, Packmaster for the Dallas Pack and demand that the Seconds fight," Karl pushed out his chest importantly. He knew the Dallas Pack was his—the challenge was merely a formality. P.J. would have either of Winkler's companions dying in the dirt in minutes.
"I, William Winkler, Packmaster for the Dallas Pack, accept the challenge. Who fights for you?" Winkler stepped forward.
"Patrick James, P.J. Pitt," Karl replied. "Who challenges him?"
Trajan made to step forward when Lissa coalesced in front of Winkler. "I do, you piece of shit," Lissa snapped.
* * *
Winkler had the biggest look of shock on his face. I didn't think I'd ever seen him that surprised before. That was nothing compared to the expression Karl wore. He looked nearly purple with anger. I guess he didn't like the name-calling. P.J., though, I thought he was going to laugh at me. Mighty brave for somebody whose initials spelled what I wore to bed most days.
"State your name," Weldon said. I wasn't up on challenges and werewolf protocol. I just hoped I lived over all of it.
"Lissa Beth Huston," I said. "Of the Sacramento Pack."
"You're a f**king vampire," P.J. declared with a snarl, aiming a very long, pointy sword at me.
"I already know that," I said. "Although my sex life has been nonexistent lately. You may want to amend that statement to just vampire."
"The challenge has been issued and accepted. We await the attack," Weldon said gruffly, silently warning me that this was no time for jokes.
"You're dead," P.J. growled, shaking a sword in my direction.
"Tell me something I don't know," I snipped as P.J. rushed me, twirling both blades like a blender.
* * *
Tony was getting the live feed and recording it at the same time. The wolf would rush Lissa with both blades flying and Lissa would duck or slide out of P.J.'s way, moving so swiftly the camera couldn't record it most of the time. Her claws hadn't come out until three minutes into the fight and she didn't appear to be using them for anything. As far as the wolf knew, she only had speed on her side. Tony found himself wishing he had other cameras placed; he only had the one and although Thomas was keeping the action in front of him, Tony wanted to see Winkler and Weldon's faces. Nobody was cheering either combatant on—only the sounds made by Lissa and P.J. came across.
Tony couldn't imagine what Lissa was doing—did she have any sort of strategy? He couldn't tell and he'd never really seen her fight. He was beginning to get worried when P.J. made a furious pass at her, blades blurring and Lissa, instead of ducking or sliding out of the way, turned to mist, causing P.J. to hesitate. He jerked his head from side to side in frantic wariness, his swords held at the ready, waiting to strike. His enemy, however, had disappeared before his face. The werewolf had never heard of a vampire mister that could change in a blink, but that's exactly what Lissa had done. She rematerialized suddenly before him, dealing a vicious kick to P.J.'s jaw before misting again. Tony was standing and cheering as the werewolf's head snapped back. P.J. rocked on his feet for a second or two, growling as he straightened up again.
"Show yourself!" he shouted. Lissa appeared in front of him. He came after her; she misted again.
"Not fair!" Karl Johnson shouted.
"It's as fair as you were going to be," Weldon barked. Karl backed up a little. Lissa reappeared.
* * *
Things had come to the critical point, as they always do in any fight. If P.J. didn't back away now, I was going to kill him. Everything I'd done up to this point was a warning to him—that I wasn't going to allow him to win this fight. Now, I was going to give him the opportunity to give up peacefully and go home with his brother, who stood on the sidelines, a worried expression on his face.
"I'll let you walk away now," I pointed an extended claw at P.J. "With no hard feelings."
"Lissa," Weldon growled low. Well, there I was, likely breaking werewolf rules and tradition right and left. But I wanted to make myself clear before anybody died.
"You're just playing games with me, because you can't take me down," P.J. insisted, pointing a lengthy blade in my direction.
"You know, I've been known to play games," I admitted. "I'm terrible at chess and checkers. But I'm not playing games, here. I'm fighting with you. And when I fight, I fight to win. Walk away now and keep your life."
"You will not walk away," Karl Johnson hissed at P.J.'s back. P.J. nodded at Karl's words. That's when I knew. P.J. would rather die than go back to his Pack a loser.
"You want to finish this?" I stared—hard—at P.J. Pitt.
"More than anything," he snarled, his fingers flexing on the hilts of his blades.
"All righty, then," I nodded to P.J.
"Lissa, will you please get this over with," Weldon growled.
When Weldon told me to get on with it, I guess it was time to get serious. I went to mist and watched from the side as P.J. did his three-sixty again, gauging it as carefully as I could. I waited a few more seconds this time, moving clockwise to his counter-clockwise. He might be the greatest werewolf swordsman ever, and Karl had more than likely paid him a truckload of money to take down Winkler, Davis and the one called Trajan. I wasn't going to let that happen. I might be pissed at Winkler, but Karl Johnson did his best to kill me, too. I still didn't understand how that hadn't happened. It no longer mattered; P.J. had backed the wrong horse and the only way to keep Winkler alive was to take Karl Johnson's temporary Second down. Too bad the bookies weren't in on this; somebody might have made a ton of money that night. I materialized at P.J.'s back and relieved him of his head with one swift stroke. His death was as swift and painless as I could make it, and he never knew what hit him.
I stood there, panting slightly, staring down at P.J.'s body and head, which were no longer connected. Sometimes I forget that werewolves don't disintegrate like vampires do. Honestly, if Thomas hadn't shouted, I might have been dead too as Karl launched himself at me, determined to take me down. I turned swiftly, slashing out with my claws and slicing his body in half. No, I didn't mean to do it that way; Karl Johnson lay on the grass in two separate pieces, gasping for breath with lungs that had been severed. His lower half lay still and unmoving while the upper half twitched until Karl's eyes rolled back in his head. Thomas rushed to my side, prepared to fight in case P.J.'s brother decided to get in on the action. R.J. was already backing away, tears for his brother falling as he stared in horror at the body lying on the ground.