Iron Master – Jennifer Ashley Page 0,76

moon ceremony, to accept another mate claim. So suck on it.”

“You were always a feisty bitch,” Michael growled.

Peigi lifted her chin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Michael continued to growl, then his smile abruptly returned, in a way Peigi didn’t like.

“Yeah, I know Shifter law too.” He pinned Stuart with his gaze. “You mate claimed her, dokk alfar. Okay then … I Challenge.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Stuart saw Crispin inside the tent jerk upright. Even Cian, who hadn’t understood the English words, stiffened.

Stuart was familiar with a Challenge, with a capital C. When a Shifter mate claimed a female, another male could Challenge the first to a fight. Prize, the female, although only if she accepted the winner.

Archaic, deadly, and perfectly reasonable according to Shifters. In the bad old days, the strongest males mated with the strongest females so that cubs had a better chance of surviving. These were far from the bad old days—more or less—but the tradition survived.

“No,” Peigi said swiftly.

“Not up to you,” Michael said. “Even if you’re a feisty bitch.”

“Up to me if I cut your balls off.” Peigi lunged for him, claws sprouting, but Stuart locked his hands around her arms and held her back. It satisfied him, though, that Michael took a worried step away from her.

“It’s all right,” Stuart said to her. “I accept the Challenge.”

Peigi faced him, eyes wide. He saw that she thought he’d lost his mind, feared that Michael would crush him into a stack of dokk alfar bones.

Crispin rapidly translated for Cian, and Cian took on a frown of disapproval. “There’s no time for this shit.”

Stuart didn’t answer. He knew he had to deal with Michael or the man would never leave Peigi alone. Killing him would solve a lot of problems, but Cian was right—having Michael’s information on Shifters and what rebel ones might do was valuable.

“Good.” Michael’s nod to Stuart held a modicum of respect. “Since we’re obeying Shifter rules, the Challenged gets to choose the time and place.”

“I know.” Stuart took a step away from Peigi. “I choose … Now.”

He spun and grabbed the iron crowbar the dokk alfar had used to pry open the crate of bolts. He was back before the breeze of his passing had died, the crowbar already twisting in his hands.

Michael shifted to grizzly, but as Michael’s bear formed, Stuart flung the iron at him.

The iron bar wrapped itself around Michael and lifted him into the air, flinging him backward about fifty feet. He flew past the tents and slammed hard into a tree, halfway up its tall trunk. Immediately the iron slid away and sailed back to Stuart’s open hand.

Michael hung suspended for a moment, his roars panicked, and then he fell down, down, down, bear limbs flailing all the way. He crashed into the ground, a bellow of pain exploding from him. He lay for a time as a groaning pile of fur, before he climbed resolutely to his feet and limped back toward Stuart.

Stuart met him halfway, the iron bar in his hands forming into a sharp-pointed rapier. Stuart marched to Michael and thrust the rapier against Michael’s bear neck, letting the tip draw blood.

With a crackle of bone, Michael became his between-beast. He bulked above Stuart—a huge grizzly-man, but Stuart kept the tip of the sword on Michael’s throat.

“Not a fair fight,” Michael croaked.

“You fight your way, I fight mine. Yield?”

Michael growled at him. “No.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Michael went for him, claws, teeth, and roars. Stuart sidestepped his striking paw and whirled his iron sword in a competent slice. Michael barely missed having his stomach cut open, and only because Stuart pulled back at the last moment.

Michael reared up, drawing on his strength. Stuart swung the sword again, the blade whistling in the air. Michael took another hit, but he raised his bear paws high, ready to crush Stuart.

Peigi charged. Her clothes fell away as she shifted, then she slammed into Michael and tumbled over with him in a cloud of dust.

Before Michael could right himself, Peigi was on him, roaring her rage, her paws smacking his face, his gut, his stupid face again.

Every fear and hurt he’d ever caused her, every hurt and terror of the cubs and the women under her watch, welled up inside her. That anguish changed to pure rage and poured out through her giant paws. She smacked him and clawed him, over and over, bashing at his hated face.

She felt hands on her fur, trying to pull her back. She