Werewolf gladiator Grit faced his own mortality in the arena, only to be resurrected by a demon. Grit now lives a shadowy existence as one of the soulless, remembering only bits and pieces of his former life. Nonetheless, he recognizes evil and knows he must fight for the future of his young son, as well as the rest of the world.
Zari, a vampire warrior, helped Grit escape the tower where he had been imprisoned. She had feelings for Grit when they'd first met, but at the time he had been mated to another wolf. Now that he's on his own, they're free to explore their feelings as they fight side by side as part of the rebellion against the demons. In the midst of war, their love grows, but danger is everywhere.
Haylen, the demon who resurrected Grit, offers a bargain that may save or destroy the rebellion. Whatever the outcome, Zari and Grit intend to face it together and explore the once forbidden passion between them.
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Grit (Fangs and Fists 2)
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2017 Kate Hill
Grit awoke with a start, his heart pounding and growls rumbling deep in his throat.
Instead of dark walls and the bodies of his brethren, he gazed into the huntress's face. Zari had a square jaw and strong but compassionate eyes the color of rich earth. He didn't recall everything about his past, but he knew she had been a loyal friend. Seeing her comforted him -- until he realized others stood across the spacious room in what had been, in a more productive time, a Detroit warehouse.
The rebels with whom Zari worked had brought him here after she had aided him and others in escaping the tower. The demon masters ruled the city from that hellish place. All over the world such towers had been erected -- dark skyscrapers that extended even farther below ground than they stretched into the sky.
Captured and enslaved by the demons who now ruled the world, werewolves were used as entertainment in gladiatorial matches.
At one time, Grit had been a prized gladiator. Then he'd been killed in the arena.
Glancing at the metal claws on his fingertips, he strained to recall that last match. All he could remember were small flashes of a bigger wolf tearing his throat. He placed a hand to it, feeling the cool metal that covered what had once been a gaping wound.
Then he had awakened in a cold, dark chamber, his only company the silent bodies around him and the voice of the demon who had resurrected him whispering in his thoughts.
In his sleep, he had been there in the chamber again, and he remembered.
Jett. His son.
The boy was gone now -- safe in the care of his mother, Kiara, and her mate, Bolt, on their way back to wolf country.
Despite his murky memories, Grit knew Bolt was loyal. He knew Bolt loved Jett and Kiara. She had belonged to Grit once, but only by the will of the masters. Kiara and Bolt loved each other as mates should, and in a way that he and Kiara never could.
Now Grit wasn't sure if he could love at all, and surely no woman could ever love him -- a creature raised from the dead by a demon.
One of the soulless.
The woman and two men who stood across the room now approached. The tallest of the three was a tough-looking man with a shaved head and stern blue eyes. He had rugged features and a muscular build visible beneath his snug jeans and long sleeved blue T-shirt. By the look of him, he might have been a gladiator himself. There was something familiar about him, though Grit had no memory of meeting him before.
"Grit, these are the rebel leaders," Zari said. She pointed to the rugged one first. "This is Gunner, the Alpha Wolf of Detroit, but you probably know about him already."
Grit wished he could say he'd met Gunner, but memories of his life as a wolf were murky. Still, he knew the Alpha commanded respect. No Alpha remained in power without earning his place.
Zari motioned toward the second man, who looked to be around Grit's height of six feet. He was slim with chiseled features and eyes such a pale blue that they reminded Grit of a frozen lake. The mass of black curls on his head lent him an almost boyish look, but there was nothing youthful or remotely vulnerable in his expression.
"This is my leader -- the Sovereign Vampire of the USA, Blaxton Ward."
"The one who came over on the Mayflower," Grit said, more to himself than to the others. Zari had told him about her leader during a previous conversation.
"Travel has improved since then," Blaxton said, a faint, quirky smile on his lips.
"I'm Ashley Johnson, High Priestess of the White Pine Clan," said the brown-haired woman. At first glance she wasn't particularly remarkable. Of medium height and weight with a simple brown bob, she wore a casual black and white business suit. The eyes that stared at Grit from beneath her steel-rimmed glasses were the most penetrating he'd ever seen. Large and green with amber flecks, they were as steady as those of any gladiator he'd ever met.
She extended her hand to him and Grit shook it, noting that her grip was quite firm for a mortal woman.
"What do you intend to do with me?" Grit asked, glancing at the leaders. He could have fled the city after escaping the tower, but he had chosen to stay. His son, his former mate and his friends were headed back to the woods, but unless the demons were stopped, they wouldn't be safe. No one would be safe. Grit would give his life a second time, if necessary, to see the demons unseated so that Jett and all other cubs, whether human or wolf, could grow up in freedom.
"You've made it clear that you want to join the rebellion," Blaxton said. "And we're willing to accept you, but your situation is unusual, to say the least. You've been resurrected by a demon. How do we know you won't cause more harm than good?"
Anger ignited in Grit, but he smothered it quickly. "You have good reason to doubt me, but I can't prove myself unless you let me."