Tempting Evil (Riley Jenson Guardian 3)

"I challenge that loose-assed prick, otherwise known as Moss, to a fight. Knives or guns or bare knuckles, as long as we are both equally armed." My gaze went to Moss. "Or is your remaining lieutenant as scared of a girl as your first one was?"

Moss thrust angrily to his feet. Like that was a surprise. "You want a fight, you'll get one." His gaze swept me. "When I finish beating you, I shall enjoy fucking you."

"Because the only way you can get it up is by beating someone up first."

"Can I just point out," Jack said into my ear, "that this doesn't really sound like you're intending to wait for my thumbs-up?"

Moss snarled. It was an ugly, nasty sound. Starr laughed. "I shall enjoy watching this fight and its aftermath. What shall we agree to? Knives?"

"And skin." I met his gaze squarely. "No place to shove hidden weapons. Unless, of course, he's a bum lover like yourself."

Starr's smile was lazy. "And you'd know all about them, wouldn't you? Your missing flatmate is one, after all."

Flatmate, not brother. No matter what else Starr knew about us, he was still missing that vital bit of information.

"Why all the chatter, Starr? Giving your bum-buddy time to stick that gun up his ass? Or is it more the fact that you know what I can do, know that I can beat him, and you're just waiting for the troops to get some bullets in their guns?"

"We found the lab, Riley," Jack said. "We haven't moved in to take control yet, but we have forces at the ready. We're also surrounding the estate. Feel free to take your revenge, though from the sound of it, you intended to anyway. Just remember your training and don't die on me."

"There will be no interference from guards or guns," Starr said. "You're right, I do know what you can do, and you are so far beneath Moss it doesn't matter."

"Are you always prone to such errors of judgment?"

He merely smiled. "Moss, enjoy yourself."

"Oh, I will." Moss finished stripping and walked down to the arena. "Join me on the sands if you dare, little girl."

My grin was sheer anticipation. I dropped the gun and walked down to the arena gate. The sand was surprisingly warm under my feet. It was also very grainy, sucking at every step, making free-flowing movement that much harder. But what slowed me would have greater impact on Moss. He was bigger, heavier.

I walked past the bodies of Nerida and Merle. The smell of their blood twitched my nose, and my wolf soul stirred excitedly. It wanted blood. Wanted to rent and tear at flesh and muscle and bone.

I didn't often let her free. Most wolves controlled their nature simply because we had no other choice in this modern, human-governed world. Maybe that was why we put so much passion, so much energy, into the moon dances. The wildness that was so much a part of our nature had to go somewhere.

But tonight, the chains around my wolf would be dropped. I needed every ounce of her strength, all her ruthlessness, and most of all, her readiness to take punishment if it meant being the eventual winner. Jack might have trained me to be a guardian, but I'd been a fighter all my life. It was those skills - the skills of a scrappy street fighter combined with the hunting instincts of a wolf - that would serve me best here. I couldn't play nice because Moss or Starr certainly wouldn't.

I stopped in the center of the arena. Moss strode toward me, a knife held in each hand. I raised my gaze to his, watching his eyes, waiting for the moment he decided to throw the knife.

His smile was all confidence. Tasting his victory. Anticipating it.

He continued to walk toward me. I shifted my stance, ready to move, to fight.

Most people telegraph their intended move in their eyes a brief second before they actually do it. Moss wasn't one of those people. His hand rose in a single, blurring movement, and suddenly the knife was a glittering streak of silver aimed my way.

I stepped sideways, then reached out and caught the knife. Pain slithered up my arm as one edge of the blade sliced into my palm, but I ignored it, flipped the knife and wrapped my fingers around the hilt.

"Thank you for the weapon."

Moss laughed. "To a good fight," he said, saluting me with the blade of his own knife.

"To the glory of your death and the ghosts who will enjoy tormenting your soul."

He raised a mocking eyebrow. "Ghosts hold no fear to me."

"Then you are a fool."

"And you are bleeding. The first cut of many."

The words were barely out of his mouth when he was coming at me, a whirlwind of power and speed and sheer, bloody force. I weaved and dodged and blocked, using every skill, every instinct. He was fast, there was no doubt about it, but he was bigger and heavier and the sand was hindering him more than it was me.