Savage Exile: Lion Hearts Book Five, стр. 45

Chapter 22

Rhys stumbled against the chain-link fence of the fighting ring, ears ringing as much from the roar of the crowd as the blow to the head. He shook himself to clear the waver in his vision, then brought up his fists. Like hell he’d let some bear half his size take him down.

The fucker was fast, and leaned on that snakebite quickness. He shot across the ring, fists swinging, and ducked under Rhys’s arms to land a quick one-two punch before dancing away again.

Rhys let the noise of the crowd carry him forward. His lion rippled under his skin. The bloodthirsty beast needed the roars from open mouths, the energy rolling over his flesh, the pounding of his opponent’s heart in his ears. They hunted. Not from the shadows or across a bar, but the fight was just as real. Just as necessary. He was being pushed at from too many points. He needed to pop the release valve to keep madness at bay.

He’d been at this for days now. The days saw him running the territory and trying to track down the fuckers who dared go near Sage. His nights started with arguments with the others to stay on the ranch, and ended with vicious brawls in the ring. He needed the blood. He sure as shit wasn’t finding it in the throats of fucking consortium lions.

He crowded his opponent against the flimsy fencing and threw a hard right, leaving him slack jawed and blinking. His lion roared and swiped through him, wanting more. Needing more. Rhys tapped into that destructive poison and worked off all the shit prodding at him.

Punch.

He imagined Jasper and Roland and all their people. Having their dicks rot off was too good for the fuckers.

Punch.

That was for his asshole father and the judgment he’d passed down. He’d been exiled. Banished. Stripped of his rank in the pride, the home he’d always known, the ties and trust that made him who he’d been. He wanted to pretend it never happened?

Not that it mattered. Not that he cared. Nothing could undo the past.

Punch.

A blow knocked him back again and Rhys sagged against the caged walls. His opponent landed another fist against his ribs. He doubled over with a jab to the gut and narrowly avoided a knee to his nose.

They weren’t enough, but they were a damn good start to the punishment he brought on himself.

What the fuck had he been thinking? From the very fucking beginning, what had he been thinking?

He couldn’t keep a woman like Sage. He didn’t deserve any of her looks, and certainly none of her touches. He’d pushed her before she’d been ready with that first kiss. His blood had been up, her scent had filled his nose. He’d been tipsy on juniper and rain when he crushed her to him the first time, then got drunk on the possibilities when she stripped down in front of him. He’d fucking lost himself when he watched her take herself over the edge.

Another punch, and his head cleared. All those pretty sendings from his hateful animal were impossible dreams.

He hated her father and her supposed mate, as if carving up a woman placed any sort of claim on her. He’d rather inject silver straight into his veins than see her brought down low at their hands, but what did he do? Let them get close, then lost himself in the past. He couldn’t keep past and present straight, couldn’t keep her safe, couldn’t keep her.

No. Pain sliced at him, then poured salt into the wounds. He couldn’t keep a woman like Sage. He’d tried to keep Hannah, and watched her bleed away in his arms.

He couldn’t watch the life drain from Sage’s gorgeous green eyes.

Too many pressure points, all of them pounding away with the singular goal of watching him break.

The bear shifter slipped past him again and fired off more punches to his ribs and head. Rhys raised his hands to protect his face, but the little fucker whipped around, throwing an arm over the back of his neck to grab him in a chokehold.

He slammed an elbow back and twisted out of the hold. Scratches from unsheathed claws dragged at his skin. Rhys snarled at the wetness dripping down his face and slammed a punch of his own into the other man’s side. His lion roared through him, drowning out the noise of the crowd and the rush of blood in his ears. Another punch, another connection, and he found his stride. Teeth bared to the world, he worked over the shifter with all the fury that pumped through his veins.

Fuck his father. Punch.

Fuck the asshole consortium that couldn’t leave well enough alone. Jab.

Fuck him for thinking he could be a normal man with a normal life. He’d lost that chance ages ago and he inched his way toward losing the last of his sanity. His whole world was stained with blood and death, and no amount of scrubbing would wash him clean.

He didn’t even recognize the bear slamming his fist against the side of the cage. Didn’t hear the ref screeching for him to back off, or ordering the bouncers to stream through the gates to haul him off. Didn’t feel