Dragon's Fake Wedding Date - Riley Storm Page 0,67

and all friendliness left his face. This was it. The final fight. Whoever won would be crowned the new leader of Clan Atrox and tasked with taking their clan into the future.

They were in a different room from the previous fights. One of the auditoriums had been reshaped to better handle the crowd. Not only was the entirety of Clan Atrox present that day, but over a dozen representatives from the other clans had arrived to witness the fight as well.

“Everyone ready?” Trent asked from the edge of the audience area above them, where nearly a hundred shifters and their mates looked down upon the two combatants.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re ready,” Rann said, knowing that this was all for him, because he was wounded.

Many of his cuts and scrapes had healed overnight, though the larger, deeper ones were still there, still visible even if they had partially or even mostly closed. His skin was covered in pink marks of new skin, and he moved with a sluggishness unusual for a shifter.

Another few days and he would be back to full strength, none the worse for wear, but Rann wasn’t going to seek special treatment for his own stupidity. If he’d just been with his team, his injuries never would have happened.

Then again, he also most likely would never have made up with Gayle. Their relationship was stronger now because he’d gotten hurt, and so Rann could not truly regret the way things had happened.

It just meant he was going to have to get extra wily if he hoped to beat Kladd today. In a straight up fight, with both of them perfectly healthy, Rann figured he could take Kladd forty to perhaps fifty percent of the time.

Kladd was a few years older, and he hadn’t been made leader of the team simply because of his age. It was going to be tough.

Trent waved at them to begin, and Rann started moving to the side. Slowly. Much more so than he was capable of. Kladd would see through it, of course, and know that Rann was exaggerating his condition, but he wouldn’t know by how much.

Which would force him to be extra cautious. Perhaps, if Rann was incredibly lucky, Kladd would even make a mistake.

Unlikely. Don’t go into this thinking that you’re going to trip him up. That’s a recipe for disaster. You’re going to have to outsmart him.

Flames wreathed Kladd’s wrists, gathering in little bright spheres just below his palms. Rann watched, eyeing him cautiously. Kladd was one of the best with fire that Rann had ever seen. He could do things with it that Rann didn’t even know were possible.

“You don’t actually expect me to fall for that, do you?” Kladd asked as he came in warily. “We both know you’re not that hurt.”

Rann shrugged but didn’t respond. He was focused.

They were less than ten feet apart now, circling one another slowly, looking for an opening. Rann was ready for anything—a feint, a blast of fire, a fake stumble. Anything and everything Kladd could do, he was ready for.

Except one.

Kladd’s timing was perfect. Rann’s left foot was in the air as he crossed over, moving to his right. The team leader shot forward.

There was no wall of flame, no blinding fireball. No shout, no feint. Kladd simply came straight at him.

Oh shit.

Kladd hit him hard, tackling him down like a football linesman. Rann hit ground, hard. Kladd pulled back to deliver a blow, and Rann caught him across the jaw with a rapid jab.

Kladd teetered backward off him, eyes going wide, and Rann saw his opening. He sprang to a crouch to go after Kladd, to push his advantage—and received a kick right to the head that dropped him to the ground.

He was unconscious immediately.

Someone began to call his name from far away. Rann tried to focus on it, but each time he did, it seemed to jump around, to move away. It was a woman’s voice, he realized after a minute. A voice he recognized.

“Gayle?” he called. “Gayle is that you? Where are you Gayle?”

“Rann…”

He frowned, trying to concentrate on the location of the voice.

“Gayle!” he called again. “Gayle!”

His eyes snapped open, and light flooded them with blinding bright pain.

“Gayle!” he heard himself call again as the space above his head filled with Kladd and Trent’s worried faces.

“I’m here,” came a voice, and suddenly someone was pushing the male faces away and replacing them with her own.

A shining corona of light hung around her head.

“You look like an angel,”