Gisli threw off his fur robe, showing he wore only heavy cotton white gi pants beneath with some kind of light-colored footwear that appeared to grip the ice well. Had he come straight from training? He didn’t look tired. In fact, he looked fresh as a daisy. Maybe he’d just been waiting around in his fighting gear, ready for the challenge. He’d definitely known they were coming.
Mitch didn’t waste any time. He shrugged out of his coat and removed his shirt. He was wearing light-gray sweat pants and boots. He wasn’t cold. In fact, the extreme atmosphere invigorated him. And his boots and pants wouldn’t inhibit him if they shifted later in the fight. The boots would simply slip off his paws, and the pants would either tear or slide away when he shifted. Either way, he’d be unencumbered in his tiger form.
If this fight lasted any length of time at all, they’d end up in their fur, fighting beast to beast. May the best cat win.
Paul Miller was at Gina’s side. Gunnar was next to her, slightly in front as if in a protective stance. She wasn’t certain where Gunnar’s loyalties lay just yet, but it certainly looked like he was trying to shield her.
Mitch had discarded most of his clothing and his knapsack on the ground. She scrambled to pick it up and hugged it to her chest. She wouldn’t distract him now, no matter how much she wanted a final kiss. They’d said everything they needed to say already. She wouldn’t dare break his concentration now that it was time to face the devil in his lair.
She sent a silent prayer upward to the Lady for Mitch’s safety.
“We should withdraw to a safe distance,” Paul said in a low voice near her ear.
“If he doesn’t win, no place will be safe,” she countered so that only Paul could hear. He met her gaze and nodded once, acknowledging her words, but continued to insist they move back, away from the fighting.
Gina complied, not wanting to get in the way. She would give Gisli a wide berth and not be foolish enough to let him use her presence to his advantage. The last thing she needed was to be grabbed by him or one of his henchmen—or a group of them—and threatened to make Mitch concede.
She kept her group of loyal Old Guards around her. Truth be told, she wouldn’t have been able to get away from them if she tried. They were stuck to her like glue for the duration and she was glad of it. She knew for certain that she wasn’t going to be in any shape to watch out for herself until Mitch was in the clear. Worry for him distracted her too greatly.
She watched as Gisli and Mitch circled, sizing each other up. The challenge started slowly, cautiously. Each man testing the other, feinting to test reach and reflexes. She knew for a fact that Mitch was holding back. He wasn’t showing all his cards in these opening rounds, and if her uncle had any sense, neither was he. Which made this confounded situation all the more dangerous and tense.
“I didn’t know you were a Gustovson,” Gisli said loud enough for Gina to hear from many yards away. Was he going to taunt Mitch now? She hoped Mitch wouldn’t rise to the bait.
She was glad when Mitch didn’t answer Gisli’s question, but her uncle wasn’t dissuaded. He kept talking and she heard every word of it.
“If I’d known you were going to grow up to cause me bother, I would’ve killed you along with your parents. They were always troublemakers. I’ve killed a lot of Gustavsons in my time, starting with your sire. Did you know he squealed like a stuck pig when I tore him open with my claws? I can still hear it,” Gisli taunted, laughing.
But his words were taking on the mindlessness of a rant, in Gina’s opinion. Was he not sane? Her mouth went dry at the thought that Mitch was facing a crazy man. Who knew what he would do when pushed? He’d been unpredictable before, but adding a little insanity into the mix made it all that much worse.
Mitch seemed to keep his cool even through the taunting, but a moment later, Gisli launched himself at Mitch for real. Maybe he thought he’d weakened Mitch in some way with his words, but the furious attack was rebuffed at every turn. Gina clutched Mitch’s jacket to her chest, digging her fingers into the fabric with each block, each parry, each tumbling leap out of the way.
It was clear to her now that Mitch was the more nimble of the two men, even though they were closely matched in size. Mitch was big, but he was light on his feet in a way Gisli wasn’t anymore—if he’d ever been. Would it be enough to tip the scales in Mitch’s favor? She prayed as hard as she could that it would.
And then Gisli landed a crushing blow to Mitch’s right side, right near his kidney. It was very possible he’d broken ribs.