The wolf’s Collar sparked too, but neither seemed to be bothered. The bear shook off the wolf, who landed hard on his back, but he was up again almost immediately. Dust exploded upward as the two came together again and hit the ground, grappling, rolling, grappling again.
They both gained their feet once more, the wolf snarling, the bear shaking himself.
Then the bear let out a roar and went for the wolf. The wolf sprang at him, jaws opening, going for the kill.
The bear swatted one great paw into the wolf, catching him square in the chest and sending him flying. The wolf tumbled through the air and landed with a sickening crunch on the cement blocks.
The refs ran to him quickly, making sure he was still alive. The wolf breathed, but heavily, his limbs askew, his Collar arcing. The look in his eyes, however, was not pain, but pure savage rage.
The bear flowed back down into the huge man, breathing just as hard. Everything about him was big—everything.
The bear wiped his sweating face with a towel a scrap of a woman tossed to him, and strode to the wolf, ignoring the cheers of victory around him.
“You all right, Broderick?” the bear asked, peering down at the wolf.
The wolf shifted, slowly, groaning with it, until he was a dark-haired man, his gray eyes holding the same fury.
“I’ll get you next time, Ronan. You fight like a girl.”
A large woman at the edge of the arena laughed. She bent at the hips to look down at Broderick. “If you mean he fights like me, you’re right.”
“One day, Becks,” Broderick said pointing at her. “You and me. One-on-one.”
“For fighting,” the woman called Becks said. “Or my soldier boy mate will shoot you.”
Broderick tried to climb painfully to his feet, groaned, and slid back down. “Of course for fighting. I have a beautiful mate. What would I want with you? Damn it, Ronan, I think you broke something.”
“I broke something?” Ronan rumbled. “You did, Brod. It wasn’t my punch, it was your landing.”
“Ha, ha, the bear is funny.” Broderick groaned and closed his hands around a brawny ankle. “I need a medic.”
“No, you need a healer.” Zander’s booming voice broke through, preceding Zander himself, braids and duster swinging. “Move your damn hands. You’ll make it worse.”
Broderick looked up at Zander, recognizing him. “Oh, great. Just what I need to make my night perfect—an insane polar bear with delusions of grandeur. What are you doing here?”
Zander, ignoring the refs who were trying to clear the ring, sank down on his heels and put his broad fingers on Broderick’s ankle.
“What am I doing here?” Zander asked, dark eyes wide. “Do you know what there is to do in the Arctic Circle on a Saturday night? Not a fucking thing.”
As he spoke, Zander skimmed his fingers along Broderick’s ankle, his mouth moving as he whispered words drowned out by the crowd.
Broderick clenched his fists, uttering one heartfelt groan. “Careful—that hurts.”
“I told you to hold still,” Zander said. He lifted his hand. “There you go.”
Broderick blinked and flexed his foot. “Shit. That was fast.”
“What can I say? I’m that good.” Zander took one step away, then he yelped and collapsed to the ground, grimacing. “Be with you in a minute.”
Addie couldn’t go to Zander as she’d have liked to, not wanting to let on she knew him. She knew, though, that now his own ankle bore the pain and weakness of the break. She hated to leave him hurting but she forced herself not to make eye contact. Zander, for his part, pretended not to notice her at all.