Page 2 of Promise & Artem (The Wolf’s Mate Generations #8)

Artem Connelly danced around the ring, sweat rolling down his upper body. His beast rolled under his skin, and he was so damn tempted to shift that he wanted to bellow.

He couldn’t shift, though. The last time he’d shifted, he had trouble getting back to his human form. A terrifying six hours later, he’d finally been able to return to human, but since then he’d tried not to shift.

He’d just turned twenty-four.

He had one more year, give or take, to find his truemate, or one day after he turned twenty-five, he’d shift into his minotaur form and be stuck that way forever. It was the curse of being a minotaur and it hung around his neck like a noose. The curse meant without his truemate by his side, one day he’d shift and that would be it. No returning to human. So he fought shifting as much as he could, because he was worried he wouldn’t be able to come back to himself.

Not shifting and getting older made his beast nuts and the aggression was hard to manage, so he followed in his father’s footsteps and joined an underground shifter fighting group.

His vision blurred as a bear’s meaty fist narrowly missed his cheek. Dodging to the side and bringing his focus back to the fight, he decided he’d fucked around long enough and ended the fight by attacking the bear with the full weight of his aggression. The male was bigger than Artem, but a few well-placed punches to the face and the male went down in a groaning heap.

The crowd cheered. Mostly human, they apparently liked paying to watch and bet on shifters beating each other all to hell.

Nero Hilliard, owner and former alpha wolf, had been ousted by his pack for fighting his pack members for money. Alphas were meant to lead, and the fact that he’d been harming his people by fighting them and been subjected to a coup that stripped him of his rank and authority would have hurt him gravely. Not to mention the fact that his former pack had a lot of balls to oust him in the first place, because it was not an easy task to take a male in that position and force him out. People died during coups. Since he'd been removed from power, he’d been running the underground fights for a decade, moving into an area under the radar of any government agencies who disliked unofficial shifter fighting groups.

Nero strode out into the middle of the ring and lifted Artem’s hand in the air. “Winner, Artem the Bull! Our next fight is in ten minutes, folks. Be sure to place your bets, it’ll be a wild one!”

He dropped Artem’s hand and said, “You got distracted out there.”

“Sorry.”

“Well, how would it look if my best fighter got felled by an out-of-shape bear like Roy? Come on, the male reeks of alcohol and he’s got a beer belly the size of a keg.”

“I won’t let it happen again.” Artem unwound the tape from his hands and flexed his fingers.

“See that you don’t.”

It would be a lot easier to ensure the distractions didn’t get the better of him if he could find his damn truemate. Without her, he was a ticking time bomb. He either seemed to be distracted or an out-of-control maniac when it came to the fights.

Walking through the crowd, he made his way to the locker room and tossed his used tape. He washed his hands and dried them at the row of sinks, then went to his locker to get the supplies to tape up his hands again.

His phone buzzed and he was surprised to see a text from his sister Isolde. Unlike him, Isolde took after their mother and was a snowy owl shifter. But that was the way of minotaur shifters. The males took after their father and the females after their mother. There were no female minotaurs.

Hell, he and his dad were the only ones in North America as far as they knew.

And there was the tiny detail that his parents didn’t know he was spending his nights fighting shifters for money. Not only had his father told him that illegal fighting rings were built by deranged males who would do anything to win and rarely cared if the fighters were hurt or killed so they should be avoided at all cost, but if he was caught by the authorities, he’d be imprisoned and face a long and lonely life behind bars.

It wasn’t about the money, though.

It was about letting out the aggression from his minotaur so he didn’t blow up at his family or friends. Living and working at the Freshwater Campground was something he truly loved, and he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. But he also knew he had a finite amount of time left before he hit the point of no return and became a monster forever.

He answered his sister’s text asking if he’d take her to town in the morning so she could pick up an old desk from the online market everyone seemed to love.

Sure thing. What time?

Seven. I told Ally I’d help her clean up after breakfast and make a batch of blueberry cream cheese muffins for lunch.

Ok. See you at seven.

He turned off his phone and put it in the locker.

“Who’re you up against in the next round?” Bailey, a wolf shifter who’d been part of Nero’s pack, asked with a southern drawl.

“The new guy, Varro.” The male was from North Carolina and had been in a handful of fights since he joined. Artem wasn’t sure why Nero wanted Artem to fight him, since the male hadn’t really proved himself yet with the lesser fighters, but he was looking forward to the big payout to win the prize fight for the night.

“Well, he’s not bigger or better than you, but he is determined, so watch your back.”

“Thanks, man.”

Finishing up his tape, Artem tossed the roll in the locker and slammed the door. Time to beat the new guy, collect his winnings, and get home before anyone realized he was gone.

He didn’t want to have to explain to his dad why he’d purposely joined up with a fighting group when his father told him it was a bad idea. His parents were already worried about him. He didn’t want to add to it.

He made his way out for the last fight of the night.

“I thought you were The Bull!” Varro taunted as he hopped away from Artem’s fist again.

The male was proving to be harder to put down than he’d thought. He was wiry and quick, and had a mouth that never seemed to stop squawking.

Letting out a growl, Artem faked to the right and spun around, sweeping Varro’s legs out from under him. As the male hit the floor with an oof , Artem leaped, fists high, ready to smash him deeper into the concrete.

Varro rolled out of the way at the last second and Artem landed on his upper arms, his weight making his wrists buckle and his joints crack.

“Fuck!”

Varro rose to his feet and Artem almost caught a foot to the face.

His vision blurred as his minotaur roared, angry that the male was harder to defeat than anticipated.

Overhead, Nero watched from a balcony, smoking a cigar, the smoke billowing around his face. Next to him stood his second-in-command, a dangerous wolf named Adir. The word among the fighters was that Adir lost his family years ago during a territorial dispute with another pack. Nero had taken him in and gave him a sense of purpose and belonging which he dogmatically clung to. The trauma of losing his family had left him with a hatred to those who threatened his new “family” in Nero’s fighters, and he was exceptionally vicious toward outsiders.

Artem had once witnessed Adir’s unhinged loyalty to Nero, when a group of shifters attempted to disrupt one of the fighting ring’s events. He orchestrated an ambush and led the group into a trap, where he captured and killed the leader as a warning to the group to stay far away from Nero and his business.

Artem got distracted for a moment staring at the two wolves. Then pain exploded in his temple as Varro’s fist connected with his face.

Dropping to a knee, Artem blinked through the pain.

Varro crowed with glee.

The crowd cheered, the tide of appreciation turning against him.

He felt the hold on his beast start to slip as a bellow wove its way up from his chest and out his mouth. His eyes burned as his irises changed color from natural brown to bright red.

He ground his teeth together to stem the tide of his shift, but he could feel that he was losing hold.

Varro’s laugh was cut off as he realized that Artem was starting to shift.

Everyone knew that once Artem shifted, all hell would break loose.

He roared and lunged, taking the young male down. His hands ached and his joints cracked as his body began to transform. His muscles burned and sweat dripped down his face, his vision blurring as his shift started to come over him.

People yelled. There was screaming from…somewhere.

A sickening crack.

The wolf crumpled under him, his body going limp. For a heartbeat Artem hovered over him, panting heavily, adrenaline making his heart pound. A chill ran down Artem’s spin as he realized what he’d done.

“No,” he whispered, horror spreading through him. He dropped to his knees next to the body, his minotaur roaring in disbelief. “I didn’t mean…”

Before he could say another word, rough hands grabbed him from behind and yanked him away from the wolf’s body. He struggled, his minotaur pushing again to be free as worry for his own safety and guilt over the loss of life battled within him. An arm wrapped around his neck and squeezed tight, cutting off his air.

He tried to pry the arm away but his strength was fading fast. His vision blurred again and the last thing he saw before everything went black was the fight doctor kneel next to Varro and then look up toward Nero and shake his head.

Artem fucking wanted out. He just needed to find his truemate.

With a groan, he succumbed to the darkness.