The cameraman chuckled, momentarily catching her attention. A memory of another cameraman, another time and place, slapped her hard. She recalled how the bastard had laughed at Nick’s rage as he was held back; how he’d taunted her brother with what they would do to her as he was forced to watch; how he’d egged on the others.
In that moment, as those flashbacks overtook her mind, Roni’s fear faded and was replaced by raw anger. A taut knot of rage formed in her throat, making her face heat and her heart thunder inside her chest. But that wasn’t good, she knew. To fight in anger was to lose before the battle even began. The rage would cloud her thoughts, mess with her head. When Roni lost it, she always found it a trial to calm down, especially while her wolf’s anger fed her own.
Instead of focusing on the past, Roni focused on the present—kept her attention on Lyle, reminded herself and her wolf of what was truly important. Not the past. Not the sense of powerlessness that threatened to overwhelm her mind and body. Marcus—he was what mattered. And he needed her to be clear-headed right now. So she fought to maintain her composure and keep her expression entirely neutral as Lyle—who apparently loved the sound of his own voice—began to talk smack about her brothers, her mate, and her pack.
She ignored the words, refusing to engage with him or be baited. Instead, she watched him carefully. Searched for weaknesses. Watched how he carried himself, what side he favored. Registered how much taller he was than her. How much heavier he was. Estimated his physical strength and agility. Sadly, there was no denying that he outmatched her. But there were ways to use his strength against him.
As the jackal holding her let out a malicious chuckle and licked her cheek, she barely resisted shuddering in revulsion. Only once since the attack had she been in a chokehold. She and Eli had been practicing combat moves, and she’d asked him to restrain her this way until the panic abated and she could learn exactly how to get out of the hold if it ever happened again.
Eli had learned a lot from being forced to participate in the illegal fighting arena, and he had passed on all those teachings to her. He hadn’t taught her how to better defend herself. He’d taught her how to kill without blinking. How to fight dirty and brutally without conscience. Ordered her to “go bat-shit crazy on the ass of any attacker because there is no such thing as a fair fight in the real world.”
Lyle came to stand in front of her and skimmed his finger over her chin. She forced herself not to flinch. “Unlike those humans, I’ll make you beg for mercy.”
Not fucking likely. Just the idea had adrenalin pumping through her veins, sending a surge of energy and enhanced awareness rushing through her. Roni looked over his shoulder and let her eyes widen slightly before quickly returning her gaze to his. She watched as his eyes narrowed suspiciously. The moment he glanced behind him in shear paranoia, she struck, delivering a hard blow to the side of his neck that made him stumble backward.
Without pause, she let herself go limp in her restrainer’s grip; her weight made him stagger and bend over slightly, which allowed her to drop down just enough to sharply dig her elbow into the bastard’s groin. With a grunt of pain, he released her and folded over, cursing a blue streak.
Holding Lyle’s stunned gaze, she shifted away from the restrainer and stated, “I challenge you.”
If Lyle had been human, the strike to his neck might have been enough to make him pass out. But shifters were made of sterner stuff. “Excuse me?” he croaked.
“I challenge you, Lyle Browne, to a duel.” Because that was the only way to ensure that they couldn’t attack her as a group. A one-to-one duel would at least make the odds more even. To turn down the challenge would make him look weak to his pack and to anyone who watched the video. Not that she intended for there to be a video, but Lyle was certainly confident that there would be.
After a beat, Lyle threw back his head and laughed—well, gurgled, “You’re shitting me.”
She offered him an evil grin. “You’re not scared of a girl, are you?”
“You know what this means, don’t you, sweetheart?”
Her wolf growled at that; she didn’t like him using Marcus’s endearment.
“It means that by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be worn out. There’ll be no fight left in you. And you won’t even be able to attempt to defend yourself against me and my pack when we have our fun. You’ll have to lie there and take it, almost as if you accept and want it.”
“Or it will mean that you die an excruciating death. I kind of like that idea.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Growling, the male wolf tore out the throat of a hyena and tossed it aside. He hadn’t even lifted his head before a jackal latched onto his leg while another bit into his already injured throat—giving him no reprieve, no moment to catch his breath. The wolf slammed his body against a tree, cramming the jackal between him and the tall oak, dislodging his grip. Then the wolf clamped his jaws around the jackal’s throat, tasting blood. Death. Victory.
As teeth dug harder into his leg, the wolf reached back and bit hard into the second jackal’s ear, ripping it off. The animal made a sound of agonizing pain, bounding away. The wolf didn’t intend to let his prey flee. He crashed into the shifter, trapping him on the ground, and moved to deliver the killing bite. But then a heavy weight landed on his back. Another jackal.
The wolf yowled as the animal’s teeth sank into his shoulder, scraping bone. More blood soaked his fur. He rolled onto his back, crushing the jackal until he yelped in pain and released him. Righting himself, the wolf then sliced open the jackal’s stomach and left him to bleed out while he tore out the throat of the other jackal.