Dead as a doornail - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,106

the fight was no longer a regular match, with the contestant left standing after five minutes declared the winner. Now, to win the fight “decisively,” the loser had to be dead or disabled.

This was more than I’d bargained for, but I knew without asking that I couldn’t leave.

The group gathered around a wire dome that reminded me irresistibly of Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. You remember—“Two men enter, one man leaves.” I guess this was the wolf equivalent. Quinn opened the door, and the two large wolves slunk in, casting their gazes from side to side as they counted their supporters. Or at least, that’s what I guessed they were doing.

Quinn turned and beckoned to me.

Ah-oh. I frowned. The dark, purple-brown eyes were intent. The man meant business. I approached him reluctantly.

“Go read their minds again,” he told me. He laid a huge hand on my shoulder. He turned me to face him, which brought me face-to-face—well, so to speak—with his dark brown nipples. Disconcerted, I looked up. “Listen, blondie, all you have to do is go in there and do your thing,” he said reassuringly.

He couldn’t have had this idea while the wolves were outside the cage? What if he shut the door on me? I looked over my shoulder at Claudine, who was frantically shaking her head.

“Why do I need to? What purpose will it serve?” I asked, not being a total idiot.

“Is he gonna cheat again?” Quinn asked so softly that I knew no one else could hear him. “Does Furnan have some means of cheating that I can’t see?”

“Do you guarantee my safety?”

He met my eyes. “Yes,” he said without hesitation. He opened the door to the cage. Though he had to stoop, he came in behind me.

The two wolves approached me cautiously. Their smell was strong; like dog, but muskier and wilder. Nervously, I laid my hand on Patrick Furnan’s head. I looked in his head as hard as I could, and I could discern nothing but rage at me for costing him his win in the endurance contest. There was a glowing coal of purpose about the coming battle, which he intended to win by sheer ruthlessness.

I sighed, shook my head, moved my hand away. To be fair, I put my hand on Jackson’s shoulders, which were so high I was startled all over. The wolf was literally vibrating, a faint shiver that made his fur quiver under my touch. His whole resolve was bent toward rending his rival limb from limb. But Jackson was afraid of the younger wolf.

“All clear,” I said, and Quinn turned away to open the door. He crouched to step through, and I was about to follow him when the burgundy-sheathed girl shrieked. Moving faster than I thought such a large man could move, Quinn spun on his foot, grabbed my arm with one hand, and yanked with all his might. With his other hand he slammed shut the door, and I heard something crash against it.

The noises behind me told me the battle had already started, but I was pinned against a huge expanse of smooth tan skin.

With my ear to Quinn’s chest, I could hear the rumble inside as well as outside as he asked, “Did he get you?”

I had my own shaking and quivering going on. My leg was wet, and I saw that my tights were ripped, and blood was running from an abrasion on the side of my right calf. Had my leg scraped the door when Quinn had shut it so quickly, or had I been bitten? Oh my God, if I’d been bitten . . .

Everyone else was pressed against the wire cage, watching the snarling, whirling wolves. Their spittle and blood flew in fine sprays, dotting the spectators. I glanced back to see Jackson’s grip on Patrick’s hind leg broken when Patrick bent himself backward to bite Jackson’s muzzle. I caught a glimpse of Alcide’s face, intent and anguished.

I didn’t want to watch this. I would rather look at this stranger’s hide than watch the two men killing each other.

“I’m bleeding,” I told Quinn. “It’s not bad.”

A high yip from the cage suggested that one of the wolves had scored a hit. I cringed.

The big man half carried me over to the wall. That was a good distance from the fight. He helped me turn and sink down into a sitting position.

Quinn lowered himself to the floor, too. He was so graceful for someone so large that I was absorbed in just