Savage Craving - Cecilia Lane Page 0,2

at the end.

Another punch slammed into his gut. Seth cranked his head around and threw his focus back into the fight. A second fighter dropped in on his other side and went after him with a screaming howl that had the rest of the gang roaring until Seth sent him sprawling against the ground with a sharp elbow to his nose.

Two more stepped into his place. Uneven odds for most, but they needed to knock him down and make him suffer.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Seth told them with a cocky grin. He backed away, eyes bouncing between the closest two, waiting for one to take their shot.

They moved swiftly, both lunging for him at the same time.

“Fucking traitor,” one growled.

“You’re leaving here in a body bag,” the other sneered.

“Not fucking likely.” Seth shot between them, landing a punch to one’s kidneys as he slipped behind them. With a growl, he rounded on the other man and let two rib-cracking blows loose.

Something brushed against the back of his mind. He reached for that tickle and bit of pressure, tried to stroke a hand over his inner animal, anything to keep the fleeting feeling for seconds longer, but it wasn’t enough. The sensation disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

So he fed it more. More jabs and snarls. More hedging in the other fighters and backing them up across the tight circle. Years of anger and resentment fueled his punches. Insults and being shoved aside, the hurts directed at his saint of a mother, all of it hardened him. He didn’t need anyone. Getting close only set himself up for disaster.

And still, he couldn’t make himself leave Bearden, Dash, or the Crowleys. Not that there was anywhere for him to go. There was no returning to the pride of his birth. His mother was better off without him dragging her down.

These fucks weren’t going to drive him away. He made the decisions, not them.

Seth flung himself at his opponents. He was a whirlwind of fury, never giving them more than seconds to recover. He ignored the slaps and blows and scratches, pushed all the fresh pains into the beating force deep in his mind.

There, between the grunts and growls, between the fists and kicks, those moments, he could feel his lion. He could feel normal.

Seth whipped around, latching a hand around one man’s arm. He drove his other fist into him again and again, until a blow cracked against the side of his head. Seth wheeled around and took another jab to the nose. Pain flashed bright and hot, but he growled and advanced on his next target, only to feel the hollow clunk of a pipe hit him across the back. Seth staggered forward. Another blow struck the back of his knees.

“Keep our fucking names out of your mouth,” Zeke sneered. He raised the length of pipe and drove the end into his gut. Seth doubled over as more shots followed. Head. Ribs. Back.

Fuckers. Assholes. There was something petty in the fact that they stayed to their human forms—they’d be disqualified for shifting in a ring fight, but here, out in the open, it was an indictment on ratting them out. They kept to the rules while he was the one to break them. He wanted to rip out their throats and tear them to shreds.

With what claws? What fangs? He curled in on himself as the beating continued. He was nothing against the entire pack of them. Worthless. Broken.

With a roar, a foot coming straight for his face disappeared. Grunts and growls filled the night as the tide of the battle changed. Seth pushed himself upright to see the other Crowley males throwing punches of their own into the attackers.

Even before the others were fully chased off, Dash broke away and offered Seth a hand. Seth slapped him away and pushed himself back to his feet.

His skin crawled. Weak. Pathetic. If he’d had his lion, if he’d been able to shift... He hated the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t a damn cub in need of a rescue.

The last of the fuckers turned tail and broke from the fight. Rhys, shifted and snarling, padded after the slowest and offered an extra swipe of his paws before turning back at Trent’s sharp whistle. He wasn’t the only one to march across the parking lot. The females, with their human leader in the middle, shot out from wherever they’d been ordered to stay out of danger.

“The fuck