A furious scream came from Chesca, dragging our attention back to the fight in the clearing for a moment. It looked like Kit had just snapped one of her wrists, as it was hanging useless by her side, as she cursed at my girl. A surge of pride rushed through me at seeing Kit get the upper hand, and I curved a grin hearing the boys around me mutter their own support.
“All, or at least most, shifters are allergic to silver. The majority of all other magic users are allergic to iron. By coating her claws in an alloy of the two, they made Chesca into a deadly weapon against her own kind. Only downside is that it has all but eliminated her own ability to heal herself like any normal shifter can,” the guy continued with his explanation. “So this should be an interesting fight. Come on, Chesca!” He screamed the last bit out in support of his pack member.
“That's it,” Cole whispered under his breath. “Stay clear of those claws, Vixen. Use her anger against her.”
Kit was dodging and weaving, for the most part just staying out of reach of the furious brunette whose swings were becoming angrier and therefore sloppier.
“You!” Granny Winter's gnarled old face popped up in front of me, her wrinkled finger jabbing into my chest. “Explain this.” She stabbed her pointer finger at Kit stalking carefully around Chesca, whose face was flushed bright red as she panted with what seemed like a mixture of anger and exhaustion.
“Explain what?” I replied, giving her a disdainful look. Sadistic old bitch.
“You told them to fight. It's hardly our fault that our girl is better than yours,” Cole added, stepping a fraction closer to my shoulder to glare down at the little woman.
“I hope you're not too close with this Chesca,” Austin smirked with a nasty look in his eye. “You did say this was to the death, didn't you?”
The old woman's face paled slightly, and her confidence faltered just a fraction before she visibly pulled herself back together.
“Explain why she still has shifter speed and strength. None of her guardians are here, and she hasn't even seen her strongest one for almost two decades. She should be weak! Why isn't she weak?” Spit was flying from her wrinkled lips as she raged, glancing over her shoulder just in time to see Kit land a heavy blow on Chesca's shoulder. The crack of something breaking echoed across the clearing, and several of the spectators sucked in a gasp.
“Look, crazypants,” Caleb snapped, his lip twitching with barely contained fury. “How many times do you need to be told that she is not Bridget. She's her daughter, Christina. None of us have ever even met Bridget, so she could already be dead for all we know.”
“He's right,” I agreed. “How much more is it going to take before you believe that you've got the wrong girl? Does she need to kill your psycho pet out there?”
From within the arena, there was an explosion of sound and movement as Chesca shifted into a huge, scruffy-looking gray wolf.
“Well, now we will see who kills whom,” Granny smirked, watching the wolf with pride. My attention was already gone from her though, my focus glued to the huge wolf prowling closer to my Kitten as she backed up.
My inner beast howled, desperate to defend her from this new threat. The muscles in my shoulders were bunched so tightly it felt like I was about to explode, but I knew we needed to stay put. If any of us intervened, it would create chaos. There were well over one hundred spectators around the perimeter of the arena, and if they were all shifters, then we would be lucky to make it out with our lives.
A low, menacing growl rumbled from behind me—either Cole or Vali—and I sensed they were just as tightly wound as I was.
The wolf pounced at Kit, and she held her ground, taking the huge animal's weight as it hit her and rolling when they smacked into the snow covered ground. For a moment, I couldn't see who had the upper hand. They rolled over and over, a ball of fur and snow and flaming copper hair as they fought for domination, until finally they came to a stop with my Kitten on top.
“Yes,” I breathed. “Finish it.”
Kit was on the wolf's back, her arms around its neck and her hands gripping its gaping jaws in an angle which could easily allow her to rip the animal’s head clean off.
“Stop!” A bellowing voice echoed across the clearing, and everyone seemed to freeze. “Christina, let her go. You're not killing her.”
“What the fuck…” Caleb muttered as Mr. Gregoric stepped out of the crowd of onlookers and into the arena.
Kit didn't move, not to finish Chesca off but also not to release her. Good girl.
“N,” she panted, raising her voice to be heard at the distance he was from her. “What makes you think I'll do anything you say? This slut would have killed me.”
“Don't be so dramatic.” He sounded like he had just rolled his eyes at her, which was probably not the wisest move given how furious she was.
“Fucking excuse me?” She hissed, and I fought back a grin. I loved when she got all fired up; it was ridiculously sexy. “Did you just call me dramatic? I was just told to fight to the fucking death”—she paused for dramatic effect; the irony was not lost on me—“with a goddamn, motherfucking werewolf. Who, I might add, is batshit crazy. But I must be the one being dramatic?”
It was so incredibly not the time, but fuck if my cock wasn't hardening a little at hearing her flay this guy with her words.
“Christina.” The former teacher sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. “Let her go, and step back. Where the hell is Annaliese anyway; how is she letting this happen?” He looked around the circle until he spotted Granny Winter and zeroed in on her.
“Don't you dare interfere in this, Nicholai.” The old woman scowled, straightening her spine and stalking forward into the arena as well. “She deserves to die, and you know it. She's brought nothing but pain to this town since the day she showed up, and I told you, I told you, that if I ever saw her again, I'd make her pay.” There was an emotional wobble in her voice which spoke of immeasurable pain and heartache caused by Kit's mother.
Mr. Gregoric stared at the old woman for a moment then, of all things, began laughing. “You let her think you were Bridget?” he asked Kit, a stupid grin across his face that I wanted to plow my fist straight into.
“I didn't let her think jack shit,” Kit snapped. “This stupid old crone wouldn't listen to me when I said I wasn't Bridget.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” the man groaned. “Kit, let Franny go, please. She won't try to kill you again, will you Franny?”
The wolf under Kit whimpered but did nothing to attack when Kit slowly released her killing hold on the wolf's head.
“Franny?” Caleb snickered from beside me, and one of our “guards” snorted a laugh as well.
“Her real name's Francesca, but she thinks ‘Chesca’ is more badass.” A few of the other men around us laughed quietly as well.