Claiming His Prize (Bad Boy Alphas) (Feral Breed Followings Book 2)

D
ragons don’t play well
with others…

D
ragon-shifter Piers
has been fighting at The Pack House—an underground MMA-style fight club—for months. He’s bested every opponent, won every prize, except the attention of the hot human doctor he can’t get off his mind.

D
octor Jane patches
up shifters to keep her father safe, a fate she was forced into by the owner of The Pack House. She’d be okay with her lot in life if it weren’t for the handsome dragon shifter with the charming smile she can’t stop thinking about.

W
hen another dragon
claims Jane as his mate, Piers will have to fight to the death to save her from a fate she didn’t choose. But the biggest obstacle in his way isn’t the fire-breathing dragon set on claiming what isn’t his but the doctor herself who might choose duty over everything else. Maybe even him.

S
cales will fly
, hisses will sound, and dragons will take to the sky, but only one will end up with the ultimate prize: love.

P
ain exploded
across my rib cage. The bastard landed a halfway decent punch, but there wasn’t enough strength behind it. Kudos for me. I curled my body, exaggerating the strike and moving with the hit to avoid any serious damage. I may have been able to heal quickly, but a broken rib would put a kink in my form for a solid two minutes. Not ideal when you were in the middle of a no-holds-barred cage match.

The crowd responded to my show with cheers and hisses, growing louder as I pushed the other man away from me. I brought my hands back up, ready to take him on again. I didn’t attack, though. I waited and watched. One second, two. I let the crowd and anyone tracking the fight think this douche had a shot. That he’d actually be able to get one over on Tidal, that he’d mar my perfect fight record. That suspense and possibility of an upset added to the drama of the match. It made the humans in the stands bet a little bit more. Risk their hard-earned dollars on the dream of someone being a better fighter than me. That risk meant money, and money made the bosses real happy with me at the end of the night. So I faked like this kid had a shot at beating me, and my opponent was just dumb enough to think it was real. Sucker.

As the other guy in the ring came at me again, I purposely stumbled back. Yeah, I could put on a show with the best of them. A little wincing, a little wobbling. A little hiding out until I had this guy right where I wanted him. I’d call myself a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but that would be too far from the truth. I was a dragon in wolf’s clothing, and this guy was about to find out what that meant.

My opponent hit the wall of his own patience in a decidedly obvious way. He dropped his left arm, swinging with all he had on the right. But I was faster than this schmuck, and I’d learned a hell of a lot from watching guys fight. I dodged right and down, practically ducking under his fist, then came up hard. I didn’t go for a punch, though. Didn’t need to—this was no boxing ring. I clutched his shoulders and pulled, then brought my knee up into his gut. His sternum cracked against my thigh, the snap more felt than heard. Not nearly a fight-stopping blow, but enough to get his attention. And by the way he growled an inhuman rumble as I shoved him back, I’d say I pissed him off.

Pissed off wolf shifters made bad decisions.

“You’re fucking mine, Tidal.”

I grinned around my mouthguard and gave him a wink. Dumb bastard.

There are moments in every fight when, as a fighter, you see the end clearly. You can spot the trajectory of a run or the angle of a hit. You can tell by the way your opponent limps on one side or slows his swings that he’s reached the end of his endurance. I saw the end of this particular match right as my opponent took a single step toward me. One step, and the rest of the fight played out in my head. Every angle, every attempt to beat the best. He was going to rush me, but in his haste and rage, he’d forget to guard his body. He’d leave me the perfect opening for an uppercut to his chin. A knockout shot. If I hit him hard enough and at just the right angle, I’d scramble his brain for a few hours. If I missed… Shit, I couldn’t miss.

Time slowed in my reality. I leaned into his attack, dropping into a fighting stance to give myself room to maneuver. The man moved with purpose, each step precise and planned, each circle of his shoulder screaming his intentions. He was going to swipe left then hit hard with his right to fake me out. Thinking he could get my focus on the wrong hand. I was too good a fighter and had been through far too many matches to fall for that old trick, so I tucked my right arm in to block the body shot I knew he’d take and balanced my weight on my toes. One more step—he only needed to take one more step.

He took that last step, and he came up hard with his right straightaway. No left.

I reacted with a dodge, but I wasn’t quite fast enough. My inner beast raged at the pain as that right fist connected with my ear. The world wobbled around me, my equilibrium thrown off from the blow. I stumbled back for real and grabbed the cage around me to stay on my feet. Motherfucker, that was a cheap shot, and the bastard knew it. He came at me harder, faster, swinging without a plan and not using the rest of his body for the attack, taking advantage of my dizziness. Of my need to figure out which floor I should attempt to step on. There were three, after all.

I took four more solid hits before I said fuck it all and rushed him with my eyes closed. There was no way I was going down like this; no way he was winning from a goddamned hit to the ear, of all things. I barely stayed on my feet, but I still managed to move in on his body and use proximity to get a couple of jabs to his ugly mug. And when he stumbled back, when he lost his balance and fell against the cage, I took advantage. Fuck this clown, I was winning this fight. I won every fight.

I beat him down with a procession of hits that left him trapped against the cage with his arms up and his head tucked behind them. But this wasn’t boxing—this was all-out war. Something this dude needed to remember. Boxing experience was good for the ring and to make the fights last longer—it was a fucking art form at times—but wrestling, martial arts, and street fighting were what made the difference between an opponent and a threat. He was no threat.

Gripping him by the shoulders, I pushed down again and brought my knee up into his chest, cracking a few ribs this time. He growled and curled to one side, leaving me the perfect shot. I brought my knee up harder, aiming for his face. Knowing this was the end of the fight. The snap of his chin hitting my kneecap was loud enough to hear over the screaming spectators, as was the sound of his body hitting the mat. He was breathing, though, something that couldn’t be said for all fighters who lost in this ring.

“And the winner is…
Tidal!
”

The crowd roared, and a team of trainers hurried into the cage to look after the loser. He’d need their attention, for sure—probably end up spending the night in the medical wing. Not that I gave a shit about him. He wasn’t dead, and that was all I needed to know. I was more worried about my own self and the fact I still couldn’t keep my balance. The blow to the side of my head must have knocked something loose or snapped something within my ear, something that wasn’t healing as fast as I’d like. Let the second-string medical team deal with the loser on the floor; I was going to see the best. And the prettiest, by far.

“Great job, Tidal,” my trainer Laudon said as I exited the cage.

“Gotta see the doc.” I ripped the tape off my hands with my teeth, fighting off chills as my sweat caused my body to cool below ambient temperature. “Fucker caught me right in the ear.”

“I’ll make sure he’s waiting for you.”

“She. I want Doc Jane.” I stepped as if to head for the locker room, but the floor tilted. I lunged for Laudon’s arm to keep from falling over, nearly knocking him to the ground with me. He turned with a questioning look, to which I rolled my eyes and pointed at my head.

“Ears?” he asked. I nodded, swallowing back the nausea that was threatening to make me spew all over the damn floor. Without another word, Laudon pulled my hands to his shoulders and hurried toward the back, jumping around as if he were celebrating. And thank fuck for his quick thinking. If the others figured out a weakness of mine, they’d take full advantage of it. I’d have bastards knocking me in the side of the head in every match. I knew, because I’d have done the same thing if it meant winning.

I let go of Laudon once we reached the back, holding on to the wall instead to stay upright. The man didn’t comment, simply stayed by my side as I fought my way along the hall. I wasn’t about to appear weak in front of anyone on staff if I didn’t have to. But the closer we got to the medical ward, the harder it was for me not to want to run, which wouldn’t have ended well. She was there… Jane. The human doctor. The woman I’d been flirting with for months. The woman who started off as a simple distraction but had grown into something so much more in my head. The woman I’d become completely obsessed with getting into my bed. The only woman I’d run into in this place who wouldn’t give me the time of day.

And yes, it was completely ridiculous that her refusal to see me as more than a patient made her epically hotter. But I’d been chasing her for months, following her around like a damned puppy. And she shot me down every time. I liked that.

“Who died?” Jane asked—her back turned to the door—as I struggled into her exam room. Laudon snickered behind me, though I ignored him. I was too busy trying to use some sort of magical energy to get the woman to turn around while holding myself up against a cabinet. Stupid fucking ears.

“Good to see you, too, Doc.” I gripped the counter as the room spun hard. Shit, I couldn’t drop now. Not here. Even if she was my doctor, I didn’t want to fall on my face in front of her.

Jane barely glanced over her shoulder at me before going about whatever she was doing at the back counter. “What is it this time, Tidal?”

I swallowed hard and pasted on my most charming smile. “Are you ever going to call me Piers?”

“I treat fighters for Mick and the other owners of The Pack House. You’re a fighter, so I’ll use your fighting name.” She shot me an irritated look, her dark eyes sparking as she lit an acetylene torch. “I have work to do. Are you coming in here for some sort of care or what?”

Grinning, trying hard to cover up how queasy moving made me, I stepped away from the counter.

And promptly fell face first to the floor.

“Shit.” Jane’s shoes squeaked as she rushed to my side. Her hands were warm against my skin when she turned me over, hot even. Blessedly so. The blood in my veins felt ice-cold, and the room refused to hold still.

I held out a hand to keep her away and swallowed back the sick that was definitely about to make an appearance. “I’m fine.”

Laudon completely ignored my attempt at shoving him away, the bastard. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet, manhandling me toward the gurney in the middle of the room. “He took a big hit to the ear during a fight. Hasn’t been stable since.”

“I’m fine.” I grabbed my head when the room spun again, trying to hold my vision together while not vomiting all over the pretty doctor’s shoes. “I just need to lie down for a few.”

“You need a bit more than that,” Jane said. “Thanks, Laudon. I’ll take it from here.”

I groaned and clutched my midsection, willing the room to just stop spinning. There was no way to feel balanced, no place to spot for reference. I was a fucking dragon shifter; I flew loops through the air and dove at speeds humans were unable to comprehend, but this dizziness was completely new to me. New and slightly terrifying. Fuck, if hitting me in the ear could put me out of commission, my fighting days were close to over.

The door barely had time to close behind the trainer before Jane jabbed me in the thigh with a needle.

“What the hell?” I grabbed the table as a growl rumbled through me, the animal side of me a bit too close to the surface. Sharp claws ground against the metal, and my vision exploded into a rainbow of colors. Struggling, I yanked hard on my inner dragon to pull him back into place. I couldn’t shift in here. Not now, not in front of Jane. She’d never want to be near me again if she saw that side of me.

Jane leaned over the gurney and pushed my shoulders back down. Her long, dark hair was caught up in some kind of bun thing, but there were wisps floating around it. As if they’d escaped, like they couldn’t stand to be contained. Those strands mesmerized me as something like warmth flowed through my veins and fuzzed out my brain.

“Ow,” I murmured, still captivated by dark hair, by the roundness of her face. The light freckles I’d never been close enough to notice before. She was so fucking beautiful, it hurt. And she was looking at me like I was some sort of specimen to be examined. Shit.

Jane raised her eyebrows—drawing my attention to the honeyed brown of her eyes—as she pulled the needle from my leg. “Hurt, big guy?”

“No,” I huffed, though the word came out a little higher than I’d planned. A little too dragonesque. “You surprised me is all.”

Jane hummed and turned away. “Stay still for a bit. That’ll help with the nausea until the anti-inflammatories kick in. Hopefully, your metabolism won’t burn through either before whatever your opponent probably broke in your ear repairs itself.”

“He didn’t break shit,” I mumbled, my entire body relaxing as the sick feeling began to recede. Even the claws and colors faded, the dragon side of me taking a back seat. Jane just laughed. At me. The woman I was obsessed with seeing naked was laughing at me. “Mind telling me what’s so funny?”

“You.” She shook her head, her smile lighting up the room in a way I rarely got to see. She tended to scowl more when I was around. “You’re such a Neanderthal. God forbid you admit that an opponent got the better of you for a single punch.”

She was looking at me in a way she never had before, as if she were truly seeing me. That stirred something within me. For the first time, it seemed I had her attention, and I wasn’t about to lose it. Trying to appear tougher than I felt, I grabbed her arm and lifted myself onto an elbow. “That’s not me being a Neanderthal, Doc. It’s me being a survivor. If I admit—even to myself—that one of these chumps is better than me, I open the door to lose. I give them the chance to take me down.”

“You have to win.” Jane pulled her arm away halfheartedly, but I refused to release her. If she’d wanted to get away from me, she could. I wasn’t one to force a woman to be close to me. But she was barely trying, only tugging on my hold a bit. I could tease her a bit with my strength. Maybe.

Daring it all, I pulled her a little closer, leaned up a little more so I could be in her face as I whispered, “It’s not that I have to win, it’s more that I refuse to play by someone else’s rules. I never lose, Doc, because I don’t want anyone lording their control over me. I can’t live that way. It’s against my nature.”

“So dragons are competitive and independent?” she asked, her voice a little breathy. She was staring at me in a way she never had before. Truly seeing me. A fact that made the man in me hopeful.