Blood-sniffer’s body, all muscle and sinew, twisted, turned and kicked away from Ryan’s jaws. Then the wolfs fangs snapped and slashed, and scarlet spurted from Ryan’s chest. The beast squirmed backward out between Ryan’s locked legs and inflicted a bite on his right calf.
The wolf bounded out of reach and watched as the maddened man-beast got to all fours and sprang again. The animal moved like a great gray wraith, and Ryan fell facefirst to the ground. Before he recovered his balance, the wolf smashed him to one side with its heavy weight, and claws raked Ryan’s rib cage.
Ryan didn’t cry out or even pause. He leaped again, managing to close his hand around Blood-sniffer’s leg. The wolf snarled in pain and anger and its fangs ripped bleeding furrows in the back of Ryan’s hand, forcing him to let go.
Rolling, Ryan came back up to his knees as Blood-sniffer bounded forward. He fell over on his back beneath the wolf, coming up with one foot into the belly and kicking. The beast’s hindquarters flew up with the impact of the kick, and it tumbled snout over rump to land gracelessly on its back.
Before Blood-sniffer could rise, Ryan was up and over and on top of the wolf. He secured a headlock, one arm around the furry throat, the other pressing forward from behind.
The wolf struggled, muscles like steel cables covered with fur, hind legs kicking and flailing. Ryan heaved the animal’s body up, then smashed it against the ground. The wolf grunted noisily as air was driven violently from its lungs.
With a convulsive effort, Blood-sniffer twisted inside Ryan’s crushing grip. Fangs fastened around his forearm, and he was forced to release his hold or have his arteries ripped open.
Back-somersaulting away, Ryan kicked the wolf so hard in the rear that its hindquarters rose off the ground and it rolled in a tangle to the edge of the arena. He thought he heard Sisoka cry out.
The pair of combatants paused, glaring at each other. The hot, sweet taint of fresh blood tinged the air, and the spectator wolves sniffed and wrinkled their snouts in snarling grins.
Blood-sniffer stood on wide-braced legs, flanks heaving, head hanging low, ears laid flat. Blood and sweat wetted the gray fur.
Ryan trembled with fatigue. As the first rush of adrenaline faded, he began to feel the pain of his wounds, feel weakness as his blood streamed from them. Perspiration formed beneath the heavy wolf skin, trickling down his body and into the raw lacerations on his chest and ribs. Though they stung fiercely, surrender wasn’t an option.
Slowly he scanned the spectators. Pizi and his human warriors were as blank-faced as before. Only Sisoka showed any emotion. An expression of pity, of sorrow, was in her somber eyes, but Ryan had no idea if it was for him or Blood-sniffer.
Though the dulled fire of beast-rage still burned within him, Ryan’s reason told him that he couldn’t hope to chill his opponent. It was doubtful if Blood-sniffer could chill him, either. They were too evenly matched. The best that could be hoped for, after a protracted and bloody battle, was a stalemate. Even if that was the outcome, he would be so chewed and clawed he would have to spend days, maybe weeks, convalescing.
Taking and holding a deep breath, his face set in a grim mask, Ryan slowly climbed to his feet, noting distantly that standing erect felt a little strange. He tugged the wolf cowl back from his head.
From his position on the slope, Pizi barked, “On all fours, outlander!”
“Fuck you,” Ryan snapped. “I won’t perform for you any longer. Neither of us will. Come and chill me yourselfif you have the guts.”
At Ryan’s words, expression and emotion formed on Pizi’s face. His brows lowered, and a monstrous wrath flared in his eyes. His lips writhed, and hefting his lance, he made a motion to jump down into the arena.
Blood-sniffer suddenly bounded forward, taking a position between the two men. The wolf took three, soft padding steps toward Pizi, and sunlight gleamed on bared fangs. The meaning of the low, menacing growl was unmistakable.