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  “Mates would just distract us from our training,” he said. “Do you have any idea how many arena champions have disappeared from the scene … from promising careers … after finding their mates?”

  The doctor gave him a hard stare. “I guarantee you not a single one regrets it, either. Statistically speaking, yes, mated league champions tend to retire, but not because they lose their edge. Think of your partner, Mr. Karsten. At least give him a chance to recover. I know how close champion duos and trios tend to be, but I also know how bloody stubborn you can be, too. You have to be on board with the decision, if you’re going to talk your partner into it when he wakes up.”

  “Shit. You made your goddamn point,” Ignazio muttered.

  The idea of changing their lives to such a degree threw him off balance. He stared at his friend, who still lay sleeping with the shining band of the health monitor and its blinking lights wrapped around his chest. The League had spared no expense, and Ignazio himself was willing to go bankrupt if he had to in order to make sure his friend kept both his health and his career. Except it sounded like what Bryer needed was something money couldn’t buy.

  And to top it all off, here the doctor was telling him there was an answer to their problems, but it might cramp his fucking style. What the fuck was he thinking?

  “Yeah,” he said, slowly nodding and turning to face her. With more conviction, he said, “Yes. You got it. When Bry wakes up I’ll lay it out for him. I’ll get him on board before we leave the hospital.”

  The doctor patted him on the arm and offered a warm smile. “That’s good to hear. I’ll be back tomorrow morning to see how he’s doing. You should try to get some rest, too, okay?”

  Rest wouldn’t come to him for a while, though. Not when he had to figure out how the hell to convince his partner that finding a mate was the best plan.

  Chapter Three

  Pain. Agonizing, searing pain burned like wildfire all along Bryer’s right side. It shot from his thigh to his ribcage when the claws dug in, ripping through his flesh. At first he wanted to cry foul, but he heard the referees and at least two other voices screaming nearby while the roar of the crowd grew to a level that drowned out everything else. His entire world was nothing but the pain that racked his body as he collapsed to the grass of the arena, gasping for air, just before his body inexplicably stopped working.

  Ig’s voice was the closest, his fellow champion’s anguished words vowing to fucking kill the cheating bastard who did this. After that, the pain blotted out everything until Bry faded into unconsciousness.

  * * *

  The world felt fuzzy and warm now as Bryer opened his eyes and tried to focus. He blinked several times until the beautiful vista of the yellow mountains coalesced. The sterile scent of soap and something more astringent hit his nostrils. He closed his eyes again, refocusing his attention and drawing on his dragon’s strength to help clear his head.

  Vague memories of voices and sounds flitted through his memory—the final match, their short-lived victory before the pain ripped through him. After that … he wasn’t clear on anything that happened after all that pain.

  Now he heard faint beeping sounds as well as the ambient noises of a hospital.

  “Hey, brother. You awake?” a deep voice said from nearby.

  Bryer opened his eyes again and saw his arena partner sitting beside the bed, his elbows propped on his knees.

  “Ig …” he croaked. His throat seized up and he started to cough, the reflex wrapping his entire body in a vise grip of pure pain.

  “Shit, man, hold on.” Ignazio grabbed a cup and pressed a straw to Bryer’s lips. “Drink.”

  A rapid beeping filled his ears, gradually slowing as the pain faded and a pleasant, euphoric sensation coursed through his body. He took the offered straw and sucked, relishing the way the coolness of the water soothed his dry throat.

  Ignazio sat, leaving the cup on the tray table attached to Bryer’s bed and looking at him with what could only be described as abject relief.

  “What?” Bryer asked. “You didn’t think I’d die on your sorry ass, did you? You know me better than that. Too many matches to win, too many meals to eat, too many females to fuck … who has time for dying?”

  Ignazio’s brows twitched in the tiniest frown before his lips split into a wide grin. “You fucking got that right, brother. You hungry? Let me see if we can get you some food up here.”

  “Um, no thanks. I would rather die than eat hospital food. Any chance you can get Nessa to smuggle me in some real food? If that woman weren’t mated, man … I’d be all over that.”

  Ignazio laughed. “Keep your talons off Nessa. Every shifter male knows better than to cross a breeding mama bear, especially one whose mate would tear you to fucking shreds if you looked at her the wrong way. Besides, it’s impossible to find a good chef who knows how to feed a champion. I don’t know how I’m going to live without her after the cubs come.”

  “You know I was joking. I love her like a sister. A smoking-hot sister with the right amount of curves who knows just the way to a man’s heart.” He pressed a hand to his chest, but the cold metal of the health monitor was in the way. Dropping his hand back to his side, he said, “I wasn’t joking about the food, though. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.”

  “That’s because you haven’t. You’ve been out for three days. I’ll send Nessa a message.” Ignazio slipped his communicator from his pocket and tapped a quick note.

  When he was done, he met Bryer’s gaze again. Despite the drugs making Bryer’s mind fuzzy, he sensed his friend holding something back. He didn’t like the look on Ignazio’s face, but he wasn’t ready to think about what it meant. No doubt the pain he’d been in moments earlier had something to do with it, but he’d wiggled his toes and he could certainly feel everything below the waist, even though ‘everything’ felt like it’d been mauled by a hyena. He supposed it had, in fact.

  In a rough voice, Ignazio said, “They locked Herrick up. His partner testified against him—no idea if Simon was just covering his own ass or if he genuinely had nothing to do with it, but that fucker will never fight again, either way. They forfeited, and we’re still world champions, for what it’s worth.”

  Bryer nodded. “Good.” He swallowed tightly. What did being a world champion mean if he’d never get to defend the title again? Fuck, he both dreaded and craved knowing what the damage was. Whatever Herrick’s fucking claw had done to him wasn’t healing if he was still down for the count after three days in the hospital.

  A pretty female with short, curly dark hair and a white coat came in, smiling at him pleasantly. “It’s good to see you finally awake, Mr. Vargas. I’m sure you have some questions.”

  He took a deep breath. Time to rip the bandage off, he supposed.

  As he asked her the hard questions, he was dimly aware of Ignazio slipping from the room and moving across the hall to stand out of earshot, as though he already knew what was up and just couldn’t bear to hear it again. Bryer didn’t fucking like hearing it, either.

  “So my career’s over, is what you’re telling me,” he said to the doctor.

  “Odds are not good for you making a full recovery, no, but it is possible. You’ll need disciplined therapy that focuses not only on repairing the damage done, but on the strength of your link to your dragon. Your diet will have to be strictly monitored, as well as your exercise. And one more thing …”

  Bryer lost focus when his second-favorite person in the entire world came into view. Nessa, very pregnant and standing just outside his room, paused when she saw Ignazio and accepted a ferocious embrace from the big man. She laughed and handed him a pair of huge baskets she’d been carrying. The aroma of her cooking wafted through the door and Bryer’s dragon perked up.

  “Sorry, doc, you were saying something about my diet? I sure hope ‘strict’ means ‘eat whatever that
woman out there cooks,’ and I especially hope that means ‘start right fucking now.’ ”

  The doctor turned as Ignazio and Nessa entered the room.

  “Here’s your food, hungry boy,” Nessa said, leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek and ruffle his hair. “Iggy says I need to talk to your doctor about a new diet, is that right?” She glanced at the doctor, who nodded. “Well, then. Good thing I came prepared!” She brandished a tablet and tapped it, already taking notes as the doctor began to speak.

  The two women disappeared, Nessa avidly listening as the doctor explained what dietary changes Bryer would need to assist with his recovery.

  “That’s a start,” Ignazio said. “No better woman to see to it than her, huh? Give me that basket, man.”

  The two of them didn’t speak much for the next few minutes while they wolfed down Nessa’s delicious meal. When nothing but crumbs remained, Bryer sat back with a sated sigh and a loud belch.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if her food could work miracles,” Ignazio said, leaning back in his seat.

  “So, another championship win. I’m not giving up on us having the world record of consecutive winning seasons. Only two more to go and the honor’s ours.”

  Ignazio frowned. “You know it might not be that easy, right? You’re in pretty fucked up shape right now.”

  Bryer gritted his teeth. He’d heard everything the doctor had said, but wasn’t willing to leave it at the half-assed ‘maybe’ she’d given him where his full recovery was concerned. He had three months until pre-season exhibition matches started. He’d be damned if he didn’t get back to fighting form by then.

  Choosing to ignore his friend’s defeatist tone, he said, “It’ll happen one way or the other, but now that the season’s over, we’ve got a tradition to uphold.”

  “That we do,” Ignazio said, his dark demeanor instantly disappearing at the reminder of their annual post-championship bet.

  A fresh dose of drugs were taking effect, clouding Bryer’s thoughts. He gave his friend a look of mock concern. “You don’t look so hot, Iggy old buddy. Think you’ll be up for the bet this year? I mean, I’d totally understand if you wanted to call it off …”

  Ignazio laughed. “There’s no way in hell I’d forfeit, but I do think it’s time to step it up. I mean, every year it’s the same thing, right? Whoever has the most notches in his belt at the end of summer wins. Sure, we leave behind a lot of happy females, but we aren’t getting any younger.”

  “Dude did your life flash before your eyes when I went down? Don’t tell me you got maudlin while I was out cold for … how long has it been again?”

  “Three days, and fuck no. Maudlin? Not this dragon. It just made me realize how much a deep connection like the one we have really matters. So I propose we raise the stakes a bit and make it a bigger challenge.”

  Bryer narrowed his eyes. “I hope this is still going to be worth sharing with the fans. Don’t want to disappoint the masses, especially the female masses who are hoping they get their chance this year. What was our side best last year? Three women at once? Four? I’ve lost count.”

  “Five, and I’m still happily sipping that case of Sidaii wine I won from you. The best vintage on the planet. That haul will last me to retirement.”

  “So, what’s on the line this year?”

  “Your choice, but I call the challenge. Deadline’s the same as always.”

  Bryer nodded, “Fair enough. I will win whatever this challenge is by the night of our annual party. And you will loan me Nessa to cook for me for a year.”

  Ignazio snorted. “All right, fine, but that prize is contingent on her agreeing to it and it can’t happen until after her maternity leave. When the cubs come, she’s taking six months off.”

  “Agreed. So, what’s the challenge, Mr. Not Getting Any Younger?”

  “First man to find his mate wins.”

  Bryer wiggled a finger in his ear trying to decide if he’d heard right. If he had? Well, then shit just got real.

  Chapter Four

  “You’re moving in,” Ignazio said, setting his jaw. “It isn’t like I don’t have room.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Bryer grumbled.

  “I don’t doubt it, but the fact is that you’re always at my place, anyway. My training gym’s nicer than the one in that cave you call a home, Nessa’s committed to a new menu for your recovery, and Mondaro’s made plans to stay on-site for PT until you’re flying again. We should be living together, regardless of your injury.” Ignazio crossed his arms, meeting Bryer’s stubborn gaze. If a stare-down was needed, he’d be happy to stand here until his friend caved.

  Bryer scowled and rubbed at the back of his neck. His gaze finally dropped to the cane he was leaning on. “Fine, but only until I’ve recovered.”

  “I’ll take what I can get, but you know the more time we spend together, the more in sync we are in the arena. We’ve shared everything our entire careers except a home.”

  Bryer’s lips tightened and he shot a warning look at Ignazio. “I heard you, all right? But when I win this fucking bet and introduce my perfect bride-to-be at this year’s party, there’s no way I’m going to expect her to shack up with you, too.”

  Laughing, Ignazio nodded. “Fair enough. I guess we’d better get you whole again so that can happen. Now, will you get in the fucking transport?”

  Bryer limped to the vehicle and hauled himself in. Ignazio grimaced inwardly at his friend’s struggle to get his right leg up, but forced himself to keep from helping. Bryer’s morale was damaged enough without feeling like he had to be supported like an old man. At least his upper body strength was still intact, which boded well. As soon as he was cleared to shift, flying might just mean the difference between recovery and paralysis.

  “I had Levi move your stuff in,” Ignazio said when he climbed in and set the transport’s destination to his lake house.

  Bryer snorted. “Of course you did. You knew I’d give in to this plan, didn’t you?”

  “The way I see it, you don’t have a choice.”

  Bryer remained silent for some time, Ignazio’s skin prickling with the tension spilling off the other man.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Bryer finally said, his voice strained with emotion.

  “Yeah, man. I do.”

  “I can handle my own shit, I mean. You’ve got better things to do in the off-season than cart my sorry ass around and take care of me. It’s on me if I can’t get back into fighting form in three months. My career’s the one on the line here.”

  Ignazio clenched his teeth. “The fuck it is. You think I don’t have a stake in this? We’ve been partners for ten fucking years. You go down, we both go down.”

  Hot rage filled his gut, but it wasn’t directed at Bryer. The target was the fucker who’d done this, and the helpless feeling that everything he and Bryer had worked for all these years might be slowly falling apart.

  He swallowed roughly and glanced at his friend. “I lose you, I lose everything. This isn’t just about you.”

  Bryer nodded, his eyes bright with his dragon’s vivid blue showing through. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again without a word. Blinking rapidly, he turned away to stare out the window at the beautiful countryside speeding past.

  “No pressure,” Ignazio said, hoping to defuse the tension.

  Bryer sagged in his seat and let out an exhausted laugh. “No pressure? Fuck you, man.”

  * * *

  For the next few weeks, Ignazio and Bryer settled into a routine in much the same way they did during training. Only this training was focused on his partner’s recovery. While the physical damage was superficial, the poison had sunk deeper, affecting Bryer’s bond with his dragon—and by extension, his synchronicity with Ignazio in the arena.

  The physical therapy was designed
to refocus Bryer’s mind as well as heal his body. Their long-time trainer, Mondaro, worked Ignazio just as hard, insisting that as a team they had to be in this together every step of the way. So Ignazio kept the same grueling schedule, did all the same exercises and therapy, and was beside his friend at every turn.

  Except once the sun set each day and he tried to wind down for the night, he just couldn’t quell the incessant itch to keep moving.

  Bryer tended to crash early after a nightly dose of meds he was slowly weening himself from. As a result, Ignazio felt out of sorts—rudderless without his wingman by his side to head out for the evening. Their old pattern at the end of the season was to hit as many bars as they could and pick up as many beautiful shifter females as their impressive stamina could satisfy.

  Ignazio told himself his nightly excursions were all about finding a mate … that this was all just about winning their new bet. Besides, sleep wouldn’t come without the utter exhaustion that ensued after he’d fucked a female or three into a stupor, and he needed to sleep if he was going to be of any use helping Bryer with his therapy during the day.

  The daily sessions finally paid off a few weeks after Bryer moved in. When he finally shifted again for the first time since his injury, Ignazio was right there with him, ready to fly.

  Once he’d completed his shift, Bryer’s huge, blue-winged shape launched off the roof like his tail was on fire, and it took Ignazio a second to catch up. When he did, Bryer looked back and roared out a challenge. Ignazio rejoiced, thrilled to see his friend back in rare form.

  They flew for the rest of the bright, summer afternoon until sunset, racing each other to the mountains and back down to the lake again over and over until they were both exhausted.