I dangled the useless weapon from a finger and smiled. "Tell them to fire, Starr. I dare you."

He didn't take up the dare. Surprise, surprise. "What do you want?"

"I challenge that loose-assed prick, otherwise known as Moss, to a fight. Knives or guns or bare knuckles, as long as we are both equally armed." My gaze went to Moss. "Or is your remaining lieutenant as scared of a girl as your first one was?"

Moss thrust angrily to his feet. Like that was a surprise. "You want a fight, you'll get one." His gaze swept me. "When I finish beating you, I shall enjoy fucking you."

"Because the only way you can get it up is by beating someone up first."

"Can I just point out," Jack said into my ear, "that this doesn't really sound like you're intending to wait for my thumbs-up?"

Moss snarled. It was an ugly, nasty sound. Starr laughed. "I shall enjoy watching this fight and its aftermath. What shall we agree to? Knives?"

"And skin." I met his gaze squarely. "No place to shove hidden weapons. Unless, of course, he's a bum lover like yourself."

Starr's smile was lazy. "And you'd know all about them, wouldn't you? Your missing flatmate is one, after all."

Flatmate, not brother. No matter what else Starr knew about us, he was still missing that vital bit of information.

"Why all the chatter, Starr? Giving your bum-buddy time to stick that gun up his ass? Or is it more the fact that you know what I can do, know that I can beat him, and you're just waiting for the troops to get some bullets in their guns?"

"We found the lab, Riley," Jack said. "We haven't moved in to take control yet, but we have forces at the ready. We're also surrounding the estate. Feel free to take your revenge, though from the sound of it, you intended to anyway. Just remember your training and don't die on me."

"There will be no interference from guards or guns," Starr said. "You're right, I do know what you can do, and you are so far beneath Moss it doesn't matter."

"Are you always prone to such errors of judgment?"

He merely smiled. "Moss, enjoy yourself."

"Oh, I will." Moss finished stripping and walked down to the arena. "Join me on the sands if you dare, little girl."

My grin was sheer anticipation. I dropped the gun and walked down to the arena gate. The sand was surprisingly warm under my feet. It was also very grainy, sucking at every step, making free-flowing movement that much harder. But what slowed me would have greater impact on Moss. He was bigger, heavier.

I walked past the bodies of Nerida and Merle. The smell of their blood twitched my nose, and my wolf soul stirred excitedly. It wanted blood. Wanted to rent and tear at flesh and muscle and bone.

I didn't often let her free. Most wolves controlled their nature simply because we had no other choice in this modern, human-governed world. Maybe that was why we put so much passion, so much energy, into the moon dances. The wildness that was so much a part of our nature had to go somewhere.

But tonight, the chains around my wolf would be dropped. I needed every ounce of her strength, all her ruthlessness, and most of all, her readiness to take punishment if it meant being the eventual winner. Jack might have trained me to be a guardian, but I'd been a fighter all my life. It was those skills—the skills of a scrappy street fighter combined with the hunting instincts of a wolf—that would serve me best here. I couldn't play nice because Moss or Starr certainly wouldn't.

I stopped in the center of the arena. Moss strode toward me, a knife held in each hand. I raised my gaze to his, watching his eyes, waiting for the moment he decided to throw the knife.

His smile was all confidence. Tasting his victory. Anticipating it.

He continued to walk toward me. I shifted my stance, ready to move, to fight.

Most people telegraph their intended move in their eyes a brief second before they actually do it. Moss wasn't one of those people. His hand rose in a single, blurring movement, and suddenly the knife was a glittering streak of silver aimed my way.

I stepped sideways, then reached out and caught the knife. Pain slithered up my arm as one edge of the blade sliced into my palm, but I ignored it, flipped the knife and wrapped my fingers around the hilt.

"Thank you for the weapon."

Moss laughed. "To a good fight," he said, saluting me with the blade of his own knife.

"To the glory of your death and the ghosts who will enjoy tormenting your soul."

He raised a mocking eyebrow. "Ghosts hold no fear to me."

"Then you are a fool."

"And you are bleeding. The first cut of many."

The words were barely out of his mouth when he was coming at me, a whirlwind of power and speed and sheer, bloody force. I weaved and dodged and blocked, using every skill, every instinct. He was fast, there was no doubt about it, but he was bigger and heavier and the sand was hindering him more than it was me.

Eventually, several blows got through my defense, one nicking my left breast, the other cutting my stomach. But I was still upright, still relatively unhurt, after several minutes of heavy fighting. Best of all, I'd managed to mark Moss. It enraged him, as I'd hoped it would.

He came at me again, a blurring mass of muscle, anger, and determination. I continued to dodge and weave, but let myself be forced backward. Ever backward.

If you need help in any way, I am here, in the room. Quinn's voice swept into my mind, as comforting as a cool breeze on a hot summer day. I found a guard with similar weight, coloring, and height.

A guard who was undoubtedly feeding the fish in the lake as we spoke. I ducked under a sweeping slash of blade, then spun and kicked. Moss sucked in his gut, and my blow missed. Not so his knife. It sliced across my foot and damn near took off a toe. I snarled in frustration and pain and Moss laughed.

He was enjoying himself. I was happy for him. Truly. A condemned man should always enjoy his last meal.

I watched him warily, even as I said to Quinn, You're in the room and not taking the chance to kill Starr yourself? I leaned back to miss the sweep of Moss's fist, and slashed at his arm with my knife. It missed, but at that point I didn't really care. Why?

Because there is a sharpshooter sitting in the shadows at the opposite end of the arena to Starr. He has orders to kill you if you win.

I backed away, and swiped at the sweat running down my forehead with a bloody arm. Confidence fairly oozed from Moss's pores and yet there was annoyance in his eyes. Which didn't make sense when he thought he was winning… my gaze skimmed his body and saw the problem. He wasn't getting an erection. He needed fear to get it up, and I wasn't giving it to him.

I waved the knife at his inactive bits. "Hard to rape a girl when there's no action happening downstairs. Maybe you really do prefer boys."

He snarled and attacked. Again and again. I dodged, attacking him when opportunities arose, taking hits every now and again but never truly deep ones. And all the while, I kept backing away.

The smell of blood and death began to touch the air. We were close to the bodies. Very close.

He lunged forward. I jumped backward. My feet hit Merle's body, but rather than steadying myself, I went with the momentum of the fall. Moss laughed and raised the knife, the bloody blade glittering silver as the lights caressed it. I twisted in the air so that I landed on my side, then thrust an arm under Nerida's body. My hand touched the barrel of a gun, my fingers burning with the closeness of silver even as I gripped the handle.

As the air screamed with the force of Moss's oncoming blow, I pulled the gun free, aimed at Starr, and shot his fucking brains out.

A second shot rang out almost simultaneously, and Moss fell backward, a small hole in the middle of his forehead.