Savage Claim (Lion Hearts #2) - Cecilia Lane

Chapter 1

Lindley Levine growled as soon as the cage doors of the fighting ring swung closed. The rattle of the chain wrapping around the handles and the click of the lock didn’t register. He was too keyed up. Too pissed off. He just wanted to wipe the cocky grin off his opponent’s face.

It wasn’t his father’s smirk, but it’d do in a pinch.

The fucker was just one of a thousand problems lurking around the corner. War was brewing with the bullshit lion consortium trying to pit shifters and humans against one another—his alpha had nearly lost his mate in the first skirmish—but Roland Levine was the extra weight that snapped Lindley’s carefully crafted mask of control.

He launched himself across the cage, fists swinging. The asshole—bear, maybe, he didn’t give a fuck—barely had time to register the attack before Lindley landed a hard hit on his chin, snapping his head to the side.

The crowd roared, bloodlust hot on their lips. He could taste their excitement in the air, smell it with every breath he dragged into his lungs. They wanted to see red spilled on the floor.

He jumped back before the man he fought recovered. He watched and waited, shifting from foot to foot. The blow was a knock-out punch to any human, but the bear just shook it off like a mosquito bite. Lindley had fought enough times in the ring or out in the wilds to know the next move to their chaotic dance.

Like clockwork, his opponent surged into action. A shout on his lips, he punched out with sharp jabs, trying to catch Lindley in the gut or head. He blocked the first, grunted as the second connected with his shoulder, and met the third with a solid blow of his own.

His lion roared through him, aching for blood just as loudly as the crowd cheering on the match. The fight was a necessity he couldn’t ignore, just as much as breathing and eating and drinking. Nothing quenched the fire boiling in his center like a hard-fought win. Nothing else kept him steady.

That was the Levine in him. Lindley loved it. Hated it. Two sides of the same damn coin, with his father’s face stamped on both.

A sudden crack to the head staggered him back against the chain-link of the cage wall.

He didn’t see stars; he saw faces. His father, a malicious smirk twitching the corners of his mouth. His mother, worry and regret in her eyes. His sister, laughing, always laughing because she was so fucking happy even while the rest of the world burned around them. And… Kyla.

Blonde hair, apple cheeks, lips that were made for kissing. He’d tasted them only once, but that kiss stuck with him where all the faceless encounters since faded from his memory. The one woman to hold his entire attention was the one he couldn’t touch.

Another blow to his ribs pulled Lindley out of his trip down insanity lane. With a snarl, he lunged for the other man and grabbed him around the waist. Locked together, they slammed fists and elbows wherever they could reach. Seconds slid by, then the whole cage shook with the slaps of the referee's hand against the fencing.

“Break it up!” he shouted.

Throwing a final punch, Lindley shoved away from the bear.

The howling of the crowd didn’t drown out the words that played over and over through his head. His father’s dark promises fueled his need to fight and make someone bleed.

The Levine legacy in action. Blood and darkness.

Lindley had been on a tear for days, jumping from one fight to another. It'd started when his sister's number lit up his phone. He'd answered the call, thinking it was Sage on the other line. Instead of one of their infrequent, secret conversations, his father spewed the snide hate he'd force-fed Lindley throughout his childhood.

He hadn’t been home for ten long years, but he was as mired in place as ever.

Lion slashing his insides, Lindley roared. His fists blurred with the inhumanly fast punches he threw into the bear’s sides, but the asshole still didn’t back down.

The faces haunting him didn’t fade, either. Weeks had passed since he’d heard from Sage. Kyla was a distant blip on the horizon. And his mother? Dead and gone. Killed by her own mate, yet the blood stained his hands.

He’d failed them all, and that fucking phone call proved it all over again.

Your ruin is coming, son of mine.

No threat, there. He already lived in the ruins of his life.

Murderer, they’d called