When He's Sinful (The Olympus Pride 3)

The growling eased slightly as the Bengals separated, landing on their feet. It was easy to tell them apart. Julius’s cat was a reddish yellow with black stripes. It also possessed less muscle and carried more scars.

The two apex predators snarled, their hackles raised and their tails up. They began to circle each other, the white tiger’s glacier blue eyes boring into his foe’s yellow ones. Then they were pouncing again, their jaws wide open.

The brawl was fierce. Wild. Callous. Paws mercilessly slammed into heads. Teeth bit hard and tore into flesh. Claws stabbed deep and carved ugly cuts. The two cats were every bit as savage and brutish as each other.

This was a fight to the death. And neither beast intended to lose.

“Camden should have just left him to us,” said Joaquin.

Vinnie snickered. “And if Julius had put a gun to your mate’s head, would you have left his fate to others?”

“Fuck, no,” replied the enforcer.

Helena materialized beside Aspen and said, “You don’t look good. Let’s get you fixed up.”

Aspen batted away the tufts of fur that drifted near her face. “Thanks.” Even as she felt healing energy crackle through her, she didn’t look away from the fight. Couldn’t. She had to have her eyes on her mate at every moment.

Deep, rumbly growls sawed at their throats as the beasts repeatedly reared onto their hindlegs and lashed out with their powerful forelimbs. The white tiger continually went for the eyes with his claws, leaving ugly rake marks on his opponent’s face that bled like a bitch.

Each cat repeatedly tried grappling the other to the ground. Neither had any success. They were equally matched in terms of strength and speed, and both gave no reprieve—they were relentless in their attack.

Julius’s beast roared out a sound of pain as powerful jaws clamped around his front leg. He quickly retaliated, biting into the white tiger’s ear. Fucking ow. Eyes gleaming with blinding rage, Julius’s cat charged again.

Aspen clenched her fists, wishing she could pound them into Julius’s animal. Yeah, yeah, it wasn’t her fight—she knew that. Knew Camden needed to do this alone. Her bearcat was well-aware of it, too. But neither Aspen nor her inner animal liked it much that they had to sit this fight out. It was hard to simply stand there while her mate was attacked, even if he was holding his own.

The cats repeated the same pattern over and over. They circled. Snarled. Pitched forward. Reared up. Exchanged blows.

It was like a dance. But there was nothing elegant about it. No, it was raw and gritty and primitive.

“Jesus, they’re loud,” said Joaquin. “Almost as bad as Havana’s devil.”

Aspen would have to agree. The volume of every roar, snarl, and growl that split the air was insane. They totally overrode the yells of the bystanders who were egging on Camden’s tiger.

The animals broke apart again, panting heavily. Julius’s cat arched his back and whipped up his tail. He reared up once more. The white tiger did the same and bit hard into his foe’s shoulder, ripping out a chunk.

Ha. Bastard deserved it. Completely.

As the tigers fought on, she winced, flinched, and hissed each time Camden’s cat suffered a particularly harsh blow. He sported several injuries, including a few deep, gaping wounds that oozed blood and matted his fur.

She could feel his pain, and it was freaking awful. He wasn’t allowing it to distract or slow him down, and she suspected the adrenaline was helping.

Julius’s tiger abruptly jerked back with an agonized growl and shook his head hard. There was a new gouge on his face, and she wondered if the white tiger had managed to claw his foe’s eyeball. Yup, yup, he had.

Vinnie let out a low whistle. “Camden’s beast is just as hardcore as Camden himself.”

He was also beginning to tire. Not mentally. No, mentally, he was fucking soaring with bloodthirst. The smell and taste of his opponent’s blood was inciting him; feeding his need to kill. But physically, powerhouse though he might be, he was tiring fast. They both were, which was typical for tigers.

Strength and speed their kind had in spades. But stamina? That was their weak spot.

Camden’s tiger had more stamina than most, though. He used it to his advantage right then. So, as Julius’s tiger became slower and his blows lessened in power, the white cat went at him hard and tore strips out of him.

Julius’s beast began to back up under the weight and pressure of the assault, forcing the bystanders to do the same or get trampled. At one point, he swiped at the large outdoor trash can, sending it crashing to the ground. Litter exploded out of it and showered the white tiger.

That was when Julius’s cat did a one-eighty and tried to run.

Camden’s beast was having none of that. He growled low and deep in his throat as he lunged, landing on his foe’s back and digging his claws deep for purchase. Bone cracked, and Julius’s tiger skidded to a halt with an unholy roar. A sound that rung with pain and fury and, moreover, an animal panic. The beast knew he was losing; knew his death was coming.