It had quickly become apparent that the “friendly game of football” had merely been an excuse to launch balls at Marcus’s head, constantly tackle him to the ground, and for every male there to pile on top of him in what appeared to be an effort to crush him to death.
He was covered in bruises and bumps and gashes, had pain radiating from the shoulder that he’d minutes ago popped back into place, and was pretty sure some of his ribs were broken. Also, he’d almost passed out twice. Clearly they were hoping he’d have “special needs” by the time this was over.
Nick arched a brow. “You sure you don’t want to run along home?”
“You sure you don’t want to accept my place in your sister’s life?”
“Roni can do better.”
“So can Shaya.”
Nick actually smiled. “You’re right, she can. But she’s mine.”
“And Roni’s mine.” Marcus briefly slid his gaze to Zander as he said it, who raised a brow, seemingly amused.
“I’ll admit you have balls—there aren’t many guys who’d willingly take on my sister.”
Panting and using the back of his hand to wipe away the blood dripping from a huge gash above his brow, Derren nodded. “But he’s clearly tougher than we gave him credit for. You’ve got a skull like granite, Fuller.” Well, he’d know, since he tried to head-butt Marcus and it kind of backfired—the idiot almost knocked himself out.
Flexing and cradling his jaw, Eli nodded his agreement. “He’s got a fist like granite too.”
“I’ll bet everything I own that Roni’s right hook is better,” said Marcus.
Eli laughed. “I can assure you from past experience, it is.”
“He’s starting to come around!” shouted a badly bruised Kent from where he squatted beside a moaning Caleb. The guy had been out cold since the ball collided with his head, thanks to a solid throw from Marcus.
Zander popped his nose back into place. “I say we call it quits. Roni will kill us if we rough him up any more than this.”
“Yeah. I’d rather not have salt in my coffee again.” Eli shuddered.
Derren looked at Nick. “What do you say? Truce?”
All the Mercury wolves turned to their Alpha. Nick was staring at Marcus studiously. “If you hurt even a single hair on her head—”
“Haven’t we been over this already?” Marcus sighed. “You’d have to get through Roni to get to me, and I’m pretty sure I’d be dead by that point. At best, you can hope to play football with my severed head.”
A smile curved Nick’s mouth. “I can work with that.”
CHAPTER NINE
Should he have found it kind of endearing that Roni seemed caught in her worst nightmare simply because a stranger was talking to her? Probably not, but Marcus did.
He’d arrived home twenty minutes ago to find that the party was in full swing—a mix of the Phoenix wolves, the Mercury wolves, and some of Grace’s relations from her childhood pack.
After taking a shower to wash off the mud, blood, and grime from the “friendly game of football,” he’d pulled on some clothes and headed to the living area. Now he was leaning against the doorway, smiling to himself as one of Grace’s relations chatted on and on about designer shoes to a clearly uncomfortable Roni.
He was just about to go and rescue her when Trick appeared at his side, wearing the oddest expression. Marcus had no idea what was going on in that mind. Trick seemed like an open book, but in reality, he wasn’t easy to read.
Trick took a swig of his beer. “I saw you and Roni the other night.”
It was obvious what Trick meant¸ and it rubbed Marcus the wrong way. “Really?” he drawled, his voice a little menacing.
Trick smirked slightly. “You don’t like that I know what she looks like when she comes, do you?”
“No, I don’t.” His wolf was particularly pissed about it, which was unexpected, given that his wolf liked and trusted Trick. He and Marcus had scratched each other’s itch from time to time and even shared females. But if Trick were hinting at sharing Roni, it wouldn’t happen. Possessiveness roared through him at the very idea of it, almost making his claws slice out.
Trick casually leaned against the wall. “She marked you.”
“Yep.”
“And you marked her.”
“Yep.” When Trick just looked at him, Marcus sighed. “Trick, if you’ve got something to say, say it. But if you’re about to suggest sharing her—”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“Then, what? Do you have a problem with Roni or something?”
“Not at all. I like her. Tough, shrewd, fast—just my kind of girl. But she’s not your kind of girl. She’s very different from your usual type.”
“What does that matter?”
His expression completely serious now, he asked, “Have you considered that she might be your mate?”
Okay, that wasn’t what Marcus had expected him to say.
“You like her, Marcus. I mean like her, like her. You’ve never been so hot for anyone before, never been possessive or jealous. But your wolf wants to take a swipe at me right now because I’ve seen her naked, doesn’t he?”
No, he didn’t want to take a swipe at Trick. He wanted to gut him.
“If you were anyone else, I’d let you work it out by yourself. But you’ve got more issues than Playboy—without a kick in the right direction, you could head down the wrong one. I wouldn’t like to see that happen.”
“But—”
“Just hear me out. Roni doesn’t bristle when you invade her personal space. She doesn’t seem to welcome touch, but she allows it from you. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s much more comfortable with you than she is with most people. And fuck, when you two are together, sexual energy practically pours off both of you.”
There was no denying that Trick was right about all of that. And yes, she and Marcus being mates would explain a lot—particularly his reaction to her, and her reaction to him. “It’s not her. The Seer I told you about described someone totally different.”
Trick snorted. “So?”
“What do you mean, ‘so’?”
“Seers can be wrong.”