The All Encompassing: Shifter MC Novel (Pureblood Predator MC Book 1) by May Ellis Daniels Page A

rage, shaking me back and forth like an errant child. I reach down and grip his testicles, pulling and twisting. Maul’s grip on my neck weakens, but still he holds on, realizing now that perhaps my death will not arrive so easily. Realizing perhaps he will have to work for his fifty thousand dollars.
    This realization. It always arrives far too late.
    One of Maul’s testicles crunches in my hand.
    The offering named Maul shrieks and releases me. I collapse to the floor at his feet, gasping, each breath searing my lungs.
    Maul limp-shuffles for the lead pipe, picks it up, smashes it into the metal cage again and again in his fury and pain, making the entire cage rattle. He’s out of his mind now. Then he turns to me, grips his dangling left eye between his thumb and forefinger and tears it from his face.
    The audience gasps.
    “Dirty fucking spic,” Maul says in his broken English.  
    I stagger to my feet, face the offering square on and begin the prayer: “O master, O Lord of Far, O Lord of Night, O Night, O Night Wind…”
    “You better fucking pray,” the offering says, whistling the metal pipe through the air.  
    “…O Night Lord have you mistaken me for another? I who am a commoner, a laborer. In excrement and in filth my life is lived…”
    The Maul laughs and yells at the audience, “I don’t need to be paid for this one. I’ll kill him for free.”
    The audience chuckles and raises their champaign flutes.
    “…I am unreliable. I am filth. I am an imbecile. I am stillborn. Why do you darken the sky for one such as me? For what reason do you offer such a wondrous gift?”
    My voice quiets.  
    “You finished?” Maul says, the gaping, bleeding hole where his left eye was making my mouth water.  
    “No,” I answer. “Your blood must be offered.”
    “You got it all wrong, spic,” the Maul screams, charging at me, the metal pipe raised over his head.
    Maul swings the pipe down, far too slow. I step to the side, slam my fist into his kidney as he stumbles past and crashes into the cage. I move into the center of the cage as he whirls, shrieks, and charges again. This time he feints high, alters his swing at the last minute and brings the pipe sideways, aiming for my head.
    I am flesh and blood. Like he is.  
    I don’t doubt the metal pipe will crush my skull.  
    But first he has to hit me.  
    I leap aside again.  
    The Maul screams in frustration. “Come ‘ere, you chickenshit motherfucker!”
    I permit him charge one more, and this time I drop to the floor, sweep my right foot into his legs and send the offering crashing to the ground.  
    The pipe flies from the Maul’s hands, rattling against the concrete.
    A few in the audience stand. They are the ones who have wagered the most on me winning or losing.  
    The pale-skinned couple remain seated, their faces impassive and unreadable.
    “Place me on the reed mat, O Night Lord, Wind Lord, Lord of Blood…”
    The offering scrambles to his feet, growls and runs at me. Ducking his clumsy punch, I bring my clawed hand across his cheek, raking my long fingernails deep into him.  
    Maul pauses, presses his hand to his cheek, looks at his blood through his single eye.  
    His eyes widen.  
    There.  
    He’s in the dark wood now, listening to the Night Wind howl his name.  
    “Lift me into your night sky, O Lord of Blood, Lover of Blood, Drinker of Blood…”
    The offering named Maul staggers at me. He’s sweating, bleeding, gasping for air, pale with shock and fear and rage.  
    The reek of his blood makes my stomach ache with hunger.
    The offering takes a final slow swing at me. It’s a desperate, half-hearted attack. His mind may not know it yet, but his spirit has already offered itself to my Night Lord.  
    I snatch his wrist from the air, twist behind his back until his shoulder wrenches from its socket. The Maul shrieks in pain and I twist and twist until there’s a sharp crack and when I release him the offering falls to his