Licence To Howl by Helen Harper

Chapter Sixteen

‘This is a stupid idea.’

‘You’re the one who wanted me to hurry things along, Scarlett.’

‘All I did was point out that time was running away with us. I didn’t mean for you to embark on a suicide mission to beat the damned clock.’

Devereau raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you worried I’ll get hurt?’

She looked away. ‘You’re a big boy and you’re capable of making your own daft decisions. But,’ she glanced back, ‘if something does happen to you, I’m going to have to slit open your dead body to get my ring back. Do you know how difficult it is to get the congealed blood from a corpse out of your fingernails? Not to mention that I’d feel obliged to tackle Christopher fucking Solentino on my own as well.’ She glared at him as if all this were his fault. Then again, he supposed it actually was.

Devereau felt his mouth tug upwards of its own volition. ‘You really are worried that I’ll get hurt.’

Scarlett folded her arms across her chest. ‘You have my ring. Of course I’m worried.’

‘It’s not the ring that concerns you. You don’t want to see me bleed.’

‘I’m not a sadist, Devereau. Just because we’re no longer sleeping together doesn’t mean that I want you to get injured. Or worse. I’m not that bloodthirsty.’

He shook his head. Her concern was more than that of a mere good-hearted bystander; he was certain of it. He’d already skated close enough to danger with Scarlett once tonight, however. He wasn’t willing to risk pushing her further on the topic of their non-existent relationship. Yet.

‘It will be fine,’ he declared. ‘In less than twenty minutes we’ll be walking out of here and heading off to deal with Solentino.’

‘Is that a promise?’

He extended his pinky towards her. ‘Absolutely.’

Scarlett sighed. She did, however, hook her own little finger round his. ‘Don’t lose any limbs, Devereau.’

He grinned at her. Then he ambled out towards the wooden stage for the last time.

‘Signore e signori!’ the announcer said over the roar of the crowd, ‘we know it is late and that the weather is against us. So for you and only you, we are offering something unheard of that will spice things up and make this truly a night to remember.’ She paused. ‘There will only be one more fight –’ Boos of dismay echoed round the ancient Roman edifice. ‘-but,’ she continued, ‘that is because Signore Webb has elected to fight both opponents from the final two rounds together.’

Devereau grinned broadly. To his surprise, however, the vast majority of the audience didn’t cheer. They simply stared at him, slack-jawed. He blinked. Was such a thing really so strange? He gazed at them, wondering if he were indeed making a rash mistake. It was too late to back out now, however. And when one of the bookies began calling out in Italian what he presumed were revised odds, lots of people sprang into action to make their final bets.

Devereau cracked his knuckles. Five fights in and he was feeling pretty damned good. There were a few aches and pains and he had the odd scratch or two but he’d acquitted himself well and his injuries were very minor. In seven more minutes he’d be done here – and he’d have proved an important point to the Italian werewolves which would hopefully reach the furry ears of the London clans as well. Devereau Webb paid his dues but he wasn’t to be messed with. Not by anyone. And not even when he was in fancy dress.

The announcer tapped her microphone and the crowd immediately ceased their flurries of desperate gambling and hushed. Two fights for the price of one. He wasn’t the only one in the Colosseum eager for this.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, signore y signori, as I already said, Signore Webb genuinely thinks he is strong enough to take on two opponents at the same time.’ There was a ripple of laughter from the watchers and the announcer permitted herself a smile. ‘Typical English arrogance.’ The laughter increased.

Devereau felt a stab of irritated pain at the familiar point between his shoulder blades although he knew that the announcer’s words were designed to piss him off and therefore encourage him to take risks and make mistakes.

‘The first contender, from what would have been the sixth fight, is Vincent Orsetto!’

The crowd clapped their hands, and cheered. A moment later, Orsetto strutted out onto the stage, halting mere metres away. Devereau stared at him. Hang on a minute. Hang on a fucking minute.

‘He’s got a sword,’ Devereau protested. ‘How’s that fair? Why don’t I get a sword?’

‘Did you ask for a sword?’ Orsetto inquired.

‘Of course not!’

The Italian shrugged. ‘Well, then. Nobody ever said that weapons were disallowed.’ He ran the tip of his finger along the edge of the gleaming blade.

Devereau’s eyebrow twitched. ‘May I have a sword?’ he asked through gritted teeth.

‘Can you use a sword? Have you even picked one up before?’

He folded his arms. ‘Fine. I’ll take a gun then. Give me a damned gun with silver bullets in it and then we’ll see what kind of fight this becomes.’

Orsetto smirked. ‘You have to bring your own weapons to your own fight, Signore Webb. And silver of any kind is forbidden. Besides, you should be pleased. Either I use the sword or I shift to my wolf. I cannot do both. My advantage is not so strong as you imagine.’

Yeah, yeah. Devereau bit out a curse. ‘Fine. Where’s the other guy?’

Orsetto’s eyes gleamed. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘And watch.’

All around the ancient arena, the audience began to stamp their feet. The sound reverberated through the air, slow at first until the crowd picked up speed, moving their feet in unison. Then there was a crackle and the stirring opening of Nessun Dorma could be heard, followed by Luciano Pavarotti’s deep voice. Devereau glanced at the announcer. She was holding her mobile phone up to the microphone with one hand. Her other hand was clutching her heart.

‘Usually we have an opera singer here in person,’ Orsetto said confidentially, ‘but this was rather short notice and even with an old recording the effect is much the same, wouldn’t you say?’

Devereau was English. He understood a little something about the allure of pomp and circumstance. He was also unwilling to do nothing more than stand on the spot and scowl so, yielding to the situation, he closed his eyes and raised his right hand to his own heart too. If you can’t beat’em, join’em.

When the music finally faded away, and Devereau re-opened his eyes, Orsetto gave him an approving, albeit surprised, nod. Then the announcer spoke again. ‘And, naturally, the final contender to enter the arena is Dark Hair.’

Dark Hair? What kind of daft name was that? Devereau turned to where Orsetto had appeared from. Nobody was there. Not a soul strode forward. Then, however, he heard a loud snort. From the darkness beyond, first one paw appeared, followed by another. Devereau’s nostrils flared. The scent of power and strength was palpable. Whoever this seventh opponent was, whether he’d already shifted to his wolf form or not, he exuded formidable authority. It was Moretti himself. It had to be.

Devereau squinted as the wolf revealed more of himself. He was large, almost as tall as Devereau was when he was in wolf form. His fur was glossy and dark and his yellow eyes were focused intently on Devereau, who felt the inexplicable urge to dip his shoulders and admit submission before he’d even begun. He held his ground, however. Barely.

The audience were now completely silent and Devereau didn’t need to glance upwards to know that every single person was leaning forward and holding their breath. He’d never seen anyone command attention in this way before. It was nigh on impossible to look away.

The enormous wolf padded silently forward. It wasn’t until his entire body was visible that Devereau’s jaw fell open. It couldn’t be Moretti. There was no way. Because while the magnetic, authoritative wolf in front of him acted like the Italian alpha, his physical form suggested otherwise. Instead of four legs, he only possessed three.

His gait was slightly awkward. There was a visible shoulder roll as he moved, which would have been out of place on anyone else, although he didn’t actually walk as if he were hampered in any way. Quite the opposite. In fact, from the way his lean muscles curved and bulged beneath his smooth fur, it was clear he was incredibly strong. He looked as if he were capable of achieving greater speeds on three paws than Devereau could manage on four. Underestimating this opponent would be at his own peril.

The announcer spoke into her microphone with undisguised glee. ‘Seven minutes,’ she said. ‘And may the victors be swathed in glory.’

Victors. Not victor. Nobody was expecting him to win here. Devereau wanted to glance over at Scarlett to see her expression but he didn’t dare take his eyes away from Orsetto and Dark Hair.

‘Uno, due …’ she paused for dramatic effect, ‘ … tre.’

There was no time for niceties. Orsetto deftly jabbed his sword forward, immediately piercing the skin on Devereau’s bare thigh. It was a minor flesh wound but the point had been made. Never mind seven minutes. These two had the potential to take him down in seven seconds. Dark Hair proved just that by following up Orsetto’s move by leaping straight at Devereau’s head. He tried to dodge and raised his hands to deflect the worst of the blow but he still staggered backwards, falling to his arse. The wooden floorboards of the temporary Colosseum stage creaked their complaint; the crowd roared their joy.

There was no point remaining as he was. This wasn’t a fight he could win in his human form. From his fallen position, Devereau initiated the change, before springing upwards and twisting to land upright as his body transformed from ordinary human to massive wolf. The cheap Roman costume burst off and there was a satisfying gasp from around the ancient walled arena when his werewolf was finally revealed. Neither Orsetto nor Dark Hair so much as flinched.

Swinging his sword again, Orsetto clipped the edge of Devereau’s ear. He snarled in response but, at least this time, he managed to avoid Dark Hair’s follow up attempt at a blow. Although he knew instinctively that Dark Hair was the more dangerous opponent of the two, he decided to focus on disarming Orsetto first. The reach of that blade, not to mention its lethally sharp edge, was too much of an immediate danger.

He backed up to allow himself a few precious seconds to analyse the best form of attack. Then he feinted right towards Dark Hair. Orsetto lunged, the tip of the sword slicing towards Devereau’s fur covered neck. Devereau was ready for that, however. He dipped down at precisely the right moment. Orsetto’s attempt went wide – and Devereau wasted no time in positioning himself before he leapt at Orsetto’s sword arm. In one deft move, his teeth clamped down. Orsetto howled in sudden pain and dropped the sword then, while Devereau’s teeth were still attached to his forearm he shifted. Dark Hair barrelled into Devereau’s flank in a bid to shake him off his friend but he’d expected that. He let go of Orsetto and backed away once again, panting. Now he was facing two wolves rather than one – but at least the threat of the weapon had been neutralised. He’d take it.

It clearly wasn’t the first time these two had fought together. With easily synchronised movements, they came at Devereau again, determined not to allow him any opportunity to catch his breath. Dark Hair went for his right and Orsetto aimed for his left. If he wanted to avoid being pinned between the two of them, Devereau had no choice but to sprint forward towards the edge of the staging area.

He ran. Orsetto clipped his front leg. Dark Hair’s teeth scraped his flank. He was swift enough to avoid serious injury, however. Rather than come to a screeching halt at the edge of the stage and be forced to face the two of them again, Devereau took the only sensible option left to him and leapt forward into the air, exiting it entirely. There had been no mention of any rules regarding weapons – and there had been no mention of any rules regarding remaining on the stage. Devereau landed beneath it, all four paws hitting the lower level. Now he was in the maze of masonry underneath what would have been the entire stage. It was dark and it was narrow, and his odds had increased magnificently.

Dark Hair came after him first. He could tell it was him because of the way he landed behind him, his three paws making less of an impact on the hard stone floor than four would have. Devereau darted forward, weaving his way towards the other side of the Colosseum. The further he went, the darker it became and the crowd above voiced their disapproval. They were here for a show and right now they couldn’t see a thing beyond flickering shadows.

Mindful of his role in this entire event which had been designed for entertainment as much as punishment, Devereau spun right then left then right again. He could feel Dark Hair on his tail. As soon as he reached another narrow crossroads, he scrabbled up the wall, returning to the surface. He ran along the edge of the uneven masonry, stumbling slightly. Then he spotted Orsetto, still poised at the edge of the stage. Excellent.

Devereau made a beeline straight for him. By the time Orsetto realised what he was planning it was far too late. Devereau smacked into his side and sent him tumbling headfirst down to the underground maze he’d just exited. Orsetto landed badly, whining with a plaintive sound that suggested he was out for the rest of the fight. Devereau certainly hoped so. Unfortunately he didn’t have time to celebrate. Dark Hair was already on him.

They tumbled together, rolling across the floorboards in an almost cartoonish flurry of snarls and spinning bodies. Devereau hissed as Dark Hair ripped a decent sized chunk of fur clean from his skin. In response, he managed to angle himself so he could kick at his opponent’s vulnerable belly. Then they were both back up on their paws, circling round each other with bared teeth and narrowed eyes, first one way and then the other.

They’d completed two whole circuits when Dark Hair came at him again. Devereau leapt up, intending to tumble round in the air and land behind Dark Hair before he went for his throat and forced him down into submission. The black furred werewolf was too clever for that, however. He raised himself up on his one single hind leg in a contortion that appeared both balletic and impossible. Then he opened his jaws, grabbed hold of Devereau’s tail and brought him down the floor with a heavy thump. In the blink of an eye, Dark Hair had him pinned.

Devereau writhed, twisting left and right and a bid to break free. He knew he was stronger than Dark Hair. But he didn’t have the same skilled technique. Dark Hair towered over him, his three limbs pressing down on Devereau’s four in such a way that it was impossible for him to free himself without receiving a nasty swipe from either Dark Hair’s sharp teeth or pointed claws. Then Dark Hair’s muzzle loomed forward. Shit. Devereau jerked forward, headbutting the other wolf. There was a loud crack as their skulls connected. Dark Hair collapsed to one side while Devereau fell backwards, his long spine banging painfully against the floor.

He grunted. He had to get up again but his limbs wouldn’t obey. If he didn’t move soon, however, he would be wolf food. He dimly heard a similar groan from Dark Hair, and the throbbing cheers of the crowd beyond. Get up, he ordered himself. Get up. Get. The. Fuck. Up. And the floor shook as a high pitched trumpet note sounded. Praise be. It was over.

* * *

Neither he norDark Hair moved for some time, despite the fact the clock had run out and the audience were on their feet. Devereau’s entire body screamed in pain. He had a huge lump appearing on his forehead and a line of bruises down his spine, and he was bleeding from several small wounds. It was only when he heard the click of heels across the wooden floor that he opened his eyes. The audience were on their feet, yelling, cheering and waving their hands. Scarlett was crouched beside him.

‘Time to change, darling,’ Scarlett said softly.

Darling? Did she just call him darling or did he imagine it? He swallowed and blinked several times. Then he did as she’d ordered, his tired body barely managing the shift. He staggered up to his bare feet, wrapping the robe she handed him round his body. He looked across and realised that Dark Hair had also shifted back to human. It was Moretti after all.

‘Dark Hair?’ he asked.

Moretti’s eyes met his, crinkling at the corners as he smiled. ‘It’s a direct translation. My Jewish forebears chose the name Moretti to fit in to their new home when they moved to Rome hundreds of years ago. We all do what we can to adapt to new situations.’

‘I guess we do.’ And in more ways than one. Devereau glanced downwards. Moretti’s right leg was cut off at the knee. As if on cue, one of the other Lupo werewolves appeared and passed over an artificial limb. Moretti grinned at Devereau and bent down to strap it on to his stump while Scarlett moved back, allowing them a moment alone.

‘Is that a war wound?’ Devereau asked, wondering if he was being impolite for asking.

The alpha shook his head. ‘Motorbike accident. I was young and foolish.’ He shrugged. ‘But it could have been worse. I’ve adapted pretty well.’

Pretty well? In his human form and fully clothed, there had been no indication whatsoever. In his wolf form he was the most powerful supe that Devereau had ever come across.

‘You have indeed,’ Devereau told him, inclining his head in a show of respect and adding a wry smile.

‘That was a good showing, Signore Webb,’ Moretti told him. ‘And more than enough to keep the authorities off our backs for some months to come. They’ll be talking about this fight for a long time.’

‘I’m glad I could be of service,’ Devereau replied drily. His head throbbed and his limbs were aching all over. Even with his extended healing powers, he knew he would be limping for a few days at least.

‘You’ve been a good sport,’ Moretti said. ‘You’re the first werewolf who’s beaten me in many years.’

‘I didn’t beat you.’

‘You lasted the course. That’s a win for you as far as I’m concerned.’ Moretti smiled again. ‘See? I can be gracious when the situation calls for it.’

Devereau couldn’t stop himself from smiling back. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘you remind me of someone. I’ve only now realised who it is.’

Moretti nodded. ‘Christiano Ronaldo. I get that a lot.’

Devereau managed not to laugh. ‘That’s not who I was thinking of.’

The Italian quirked an eyebrow. ‘Who then?’

‘Lady Sullivan,’ Devereau told him. ‘She’s one of the four clan alphas in London. She –’

Moretti frowned. ‘I know of this woman. She has a reputation as …’ he waved his hands around as he searched for the right word. Then he glanced at one of werewolves on his right, barking something in Italian. The wolf blinked slowly before answering.

‘Ball breaker,’ he offered.

Moretti pulled a face.

‘Dragon lady?’ the wolf suggested.

He stroked his chin. ‘That is better. Yes. Dragon lady. A strong woman who takes no shit.’

‘What can I say?’ Devereau said. ‘You remind me of her.’

He grinned. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I can accept that. This Lady Sullivan. Is she single?’

Uh … that was not what he’d been expecting Moretti to say. ‘I believe so. She’s quite a bit older than you though.’

‘She’s a woman, right? Not a cheese? Not a fine wine?’

Devereau scratched his head. ‘Yeah.’

‘Then, my man,’ Moretti said, clapping him on the shoulder, ‘it’s all good. Next time I am in London you will introduce us.’

Devereau could do nothing more than smile weakly and hope that the Italian government revoked Moretti’s passport before too long. Frankly he could think of nothing worse than Lady Sullivan believing that he was trying to set her up with an Italian werewolf thirty years her junior. The Sullivan alpha already disliked him enough as it was and Devereau was certainly no cupid. He couldn’t even get his own love life to where he wanted it to be. Not to mention that the thought of Moretti and Sullivan joining forces was enough to make the strongest of supes blanch. Those two together would be unstoppable.

‘We should take our leave,’ he said, inclining his head to indicate that both he and Scarlett had to go. ‘I would like to stay but we really do have other serious business to attend to.’

‘I understand.’ Moretti’s eyes grew serious. ‘This … situation you are in. The lives that are being threatened. If you require assistance, I am here to help. You did not show respect to clan Lupo when you arrived but you have more than made up for it now.’ He handed Devereau a business card. ‘I will be a friend to you, Signore Webb. I suspect you don’t have many of those.’

‘You’re right,’ Devereau told him, slipping the card into his wallet, and displaying genuine honesty. ‘I don’t. Thank you.’

Moretti looked over at Scarlett. ‘She only takes her eyes off you when she knows you are looking at her,’ he murmured. He lowered his voice. ‘Stick with her. She will be worth the effort.’

Devereau nodded. ‘Of that,’ he replied, ‘I have no doubt.’