Dammit. Why does everything with the paranormals always have to be about blood?
Jimmy Vance had better be freaking grateful when she saved his butt.
No, no, this was definitely not a normal cage fight. Eve had seen cage fights on TV. Even done an interview or two at fights back when she’d worked in Texas.
This was different. And, yeah, they’d had to bleed to get inside.
Apparently, no one got in without signing up for a fight. She’d come with Trace, and he’d been the one to agree to enter the cage. If she’d come alone, well, she never would have made it past the hulks at the door.
Eve’s eyes were locked on the cage as Trace swiped out with his claws and cut into his opponent’s stomach.
More blood pooled on the already slick cage floor.
If I’d come alone, I’d probably be dead.
She couldn’t fight a shifter. No way. Not even in her nightmares.
The crowd around her was cheering. Yelling, screaming. Throwing fists and claws in the air as they placed wagers on who would be walking out of that cage.
And who wouldn’t.
Horror had Eve’s mouth hanging open. She’d never expected . . . this. But Trace—he’d known exactly where to go. Down the twisting, dark back streets of Atlanta. Inside the old warehouse that had looked abandoned to her.
A trick. The place had been packed inside. Once they’d cleared the first level of the warehouse, she’d started to hear the yells—and to smell the blood.
Trace had flashed fang and claws, shifter-style, when they saw the bouncers. One of the bouncers had even greeted him by name.
Not Trace’s first trip into the cage.
The place reeked of blood and violence. Men and women jostled her as they fought to get closer to the cage. The floor of the cage had to be about ten feet wide, and the walls—okay, the caged fencing—stretched all the way to the ceiling.
A loud cheer erupted from the crowd. Eve’s gaze jerked back to the fighters. One man was down, moaning.
That man wasn’t Trace.
Trace had his claws in the air. Sweat glinted off his body, and the guy was . . . smiling.
Her back teeth clenched. She hadn’t realized just how much he would enjoy the violence.
The cage opened and Trace stalked out. Someone else dragged his bleeding opponent toward one of the back rooms. More money exchanged hands. The smoke in the area deepened.
Beers were tossed around.
The blood pooled in the cage.
Eve shoved her way through the crowd around Trace. He was getting slapped on the back. Figured. Shifters and violence. They went together too well.
And she knew Trace had a dark side. Taking the guy there hadn’t been her best plan ever.
She grabbed his arm. “Where’s Vance?” They weren’t there so Trace could rip and claw his way through the fighters. They had a job to do.
Trace glanced her way. Blood dripped from his mouth. “I talked to the organizer . . .”
Wait, there was an organizer?
The cage door was being opened again.
“Vance is fighting now.” Trace wrapped his arm around her shoulders and turned her to face the cage. “Provided he survives this fight, you can talk to Vance all you want—after.”
She stared at the man entering the cage with an arrogant swagger. His head was shaved, and his eyes, small, angry, swept over the crowd. A tattoo of a giant snake covered his bare chest and an old pair of faded jeans hung low on his hips.
“No weapons,” Trace murmured in her ear as he leaned in close to her. “Except the ones God gave you. Those are the cage rules.”
Jimmy opened his mouth and the light glinted off the too sharp and far too long teeth on each side of his mouth.
That just was seriously scary. She’d never seen teeth quite like those before, not even on vamps. “W-what kind of shifter is he?”
“Snake.”
Hell. The tattoo made sense then, and so did the sharp, thin fangs. Fangs that curved a bit, just like a snake’s.
Snake shifters were supposed to be devious. She’d heard rumors about them, but tonight was her first shot at an up-close look at the real deal.
Jimmy lifted his hands and the people watching and drinking roared.
Trace’s hold tightened on her. “It seems that Vance is a crowd favorite.”
Looked that way. She glanced over at Trace. She’d seen him shift once, that was how they’d met. She’d found him hurt, far too close to death, on a lonely stretch of Texas highway.
She’d thought about leaving the bloody wolf when he snarled at her with his bared fangs, but she hadn’t been able to walk away.