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

knees in the center of the cage, staring at the white bone protruding from his forearm.
    “Compound fracture,” a man in the audience whispers. “You owe me ten thousand dollars.”
    “O Night Wind, lift me from this excrement. Lift me from this life of filth. Carry me from this bleak land,” I pray as I approach the screaming offering.  
    The Maul manages to stand. That’s quite impressive, considering the pain he must be in.
    “Filthy spic,” the Maul spits.
    Hatred.  
    It’s probably won the Maul many fights. But not this one.  
    I reach out, slowly, grip the offering’s other hand, then with the practiced steps of a dancer I twist his uninjured arm until it also snaps.
    The Maul is too pained to scream. Instead he looses a long, low wheeze and soils himself.
    The audience boos.  
    “Will this offering convince you of my devotion, O Night Lord?” I whisper. “Will this gift raise your wretched stillborn from this life of defilement and misery?”
    The Maul looks into my eyes.  
    He sees the One I Am Slave To.  
    The Spotted Stalker. Tezcatlipoca. The Night Lord.
    Tears stream down the offering’s blood smeared cheeks.  
    “Do you seek release?” I whisper.
    The Maul mumbles something. His two shattered arms dangle uselessly at his sides.
    I place my hands, gently, on the offering’s blood and tear-stained cheeks.  
    “Do you seek release?” I ask again. It’s important the offering assents to be given as blood sacrifice. The Night Lord does not accept unwilling sacrifice.
    “Make it quick,” the Maul says, his voice broken and wracked with pain.
    “Lay down,” I tell the offering.
    The Maul nods, all the fight in him finally fled. He collapses backward and lays very still.  
    Giving himself to the Night Lord.  
    A sacred moment.  
    Holy. Pure. Eternal.  
    “Fight, you fucking pig!” someone in the audience screams.
    I turn and howl at the offender, a pudgy-faced man in a cream-colored suit, sending him scrambling backward, then pick up the metal pipe, straddle the offering once named Maul and bring the pipe down onto his head again and again, saying the sacred words of the night temple: “Accept this offering, O wind, O Night Wind. Accept what this living filth offers in your proud name.”
    When I finish the offering’s head is a battered mess of bone and blood.  
    But he’s still alive.  
    I lean beside the offering, drop my claws a half inch, not enough to be noticed by the audience, plunge my hand into the offering’s chest, tear out his beating blue-red heart and bring it to my lips.  
    My eyes are a gift from the Night Lord.  
    As are the claws and fangs.  
    This man’s heart tastes bitter and foul, but it’s enough.
    “Raise me from the filth, O Night Lord,” I whisper as I feed.

    ***

    After, when the offering’s blood is still warm, I settle in the corner of the cage and retrieve my deer’s foot amulet. My neck is swollen and sore form the Maul choking me, but I’ve suffered worse. I’m trying to reign in my breathing when a woman’s voice whispers close to my ear, “What is your name?”
    I freeze.
    I’ve never been so close to a woman.  
    I scent her, sweet like sun-warmed mountain wind. It’s the pale-skinned woman. I know without having to look. The one with the gold-flecked green eyes.  
    I keep my back to her, squeeze the deer’s foot, mouth a silent prayer for courage and strength.  
    “It’s all right,” the woman says, reaching through the cage and raking a fingernail across my bare shoulder.
    I try very hard not to recoil from her touch.  
    “You’re exquisite,” the woman says, so quietly I can barely hear. “You’re perfect. And not collared…”
    “Leave me,” I growl.
    I shouldn’t speak to her. But her scent…and her touch…makes something stir. An urge. Something other than the urge to provide Blood Offering.  
    It’s a filthy urge, born of this world of excrement.  
    Tainted. Impure. Deadly.  
    “You don’t have to