Wind Therapy - A.J. Downey Page 0,44

I twisted on my seat and startled slightly. Fen was standing just the other side of Maverick, mammoth arms crossed over his big chest, staring over our heads at the ring taking shape just as I had been, except there was no chill in his blue eyes – just calculation and anticipation. The thrill etched into the hard planes and angles of his face, his smile nearly hidden by his blond beard, braided in places, and decorated with beads.

I couldn’t see his woven and braided Mohawk. He had a hood up over his head, the sleeves cut off the thin sweater, his biker cut over it. It was an ominous and eerie look, as though he had stepped straight out of the past into modern day. His tattoos of whorls and ancient designs stood out beneath his pale skin. He was every inch the Viking warrior and I couldn’t understand why Maverick sounded worried when I followed Fenris’ gaze to his supposed adversary.

Fenris’ gaze was locked on a wiry man, tall and slender yet absolutely shredded. His muscles stood out on his wiry frame like whipcord over bone, every motion as he stretched causing them to coil and lengthen like a work of art beneath his skin which was decorated with pale, slivery scars where it didn’t hold ink.

Not that the man was heavily tattooed, quite the opposite in fact. He had only a few. Something sleek and long on the inside of each forearm, a spot of dark blue at the corner of one eye and where his cutoff cargo shorts rode low on his hips, some kind of loop tattooed at each hip descending below his waistband.

When he turned around, high on the back of his shoulder was the unmistakable art of the Sacred Hearts logo picked out in simple black and white.

I tried to understand why Maverick was concerned. I mean, the wiry man looked like no match for Fenris in a fist fight.

“I’m sure,” Fenris said and his tone was deep, holding an almost oily quality of predation to it. It sent a shiver down my spine and Mav’s arm automatically went around my shoulders.

“Cold?” he asked me, and I nodded mutely, staring out over the sand at the man that Fenris had apparently chosen to fight.

“That guy looks like he’s gonna get creamed, is he crazy?” I asked. Maverick chuckled.

“If it were a fist fight, I wouldn’t be worried,” he said.

“It’s not?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“What kind of fight is it then?” I asked.

“Knife fight,” Fenris intoned. He spit on the ground off to one side, grunted and plodded away, in the direction of the ring.

I felt my mouth drop open in a little ‘o’ of incredulity.

“He’s serious, isn’t he?” I asked.

“Dead serious,” Maverick affirmed.

“That changes everything, doesn’t it?”

I tore my eyes away from where Fen and the wiry guy were talking, their faces both neutral and very serious and looked up at Maverick who’s deep, dark blue eyes were searching my face.

“Why do you think?” he asked.

“Fenris is big, really big, and powerful but he’s not as fast as that guy. He can’t be with all that bulk to him. Can he? A knife fight is about speed over power.”

Maverick’s lips quirked up at one corner and I could almost swear a shine of pride glimmered deep in his gaze which oddly suffused me with warmth that he would look at me like that.

“Fenris might surprise us,” he said, “but you’re spot on, Zaychik.”

I turned my head to look back at Fenris and his opponent, a barefooted club member from parts unknown behind them, grooming the ring they were about to fight in. Maverick pressed a kiss to my temple that I was barely aware of as I muttered, “Los chicos blancos son tan estúpidos.”

A booming crack of laughter just behind and to my other side of me made me jump.

“I don’t disagree with you there, Chica, but I think it’s just boys in general. White, brown, it makes no difference.” The man who spoke did so in flawless Spanish back to me and I swallowed hard. He was Mexican, like me, obsidian eyes full of laughter and mischief and could only be Dray’s father. When I looked at him, it was as though looking into Dray’s future. The only difference between the two of them was that Dray was taller.

“Dragon,” Maverick intoned with a deference I had never heard from him. The respect of the men around us a palpable thing as they looked up