Livy walked into the locker room to put on her gear and get ready for that evening’s bout. A few of her teammates called out greetings, some muttered condolences for her father. And Livy simply nodded to all of it and moved on until she reached her locker.

Thankfully, no one on her team expected more from her. Olivia didn’t eat, sleep, and dream roller derby like most of these girls. For her, it was simply a great way to work off aggression legally. At least legally among shifters. She couldn’t get away with half the shit she’d done if she were on a full-human derby team.

The love of the sport, though, was the same for both full-humans and shifters. These girls bought their own gear, did all their own team marketing, and paid for all travel out of their own pocket. They didn’t get even a tenth of the trappings that the bigger sports teams received, and yet they didn’t care. Livy liked that, too. It cut down on the egos considerably when no one was signing million-dollar contracts.

Blayne and Gwen walked in and were greeted enthusiastically by the rest of the team. They’d both become team co-captains last year when Pop-A-Cherry, the old team captain, got pregnant. Once the liger’s child was older, she’d probably get right back out on the track, but for now, she was working from home. She did still manage the team’s website, T-shirt marketing, and fund-raising, though.

Gwen, a tigon and Blayne’s best friend, stopped by Livy. “What are you doing here?”

“Blayne wanted me at tonight’s bout.”

“She did? Why?”

“Because she invited Vic Barinov, whom she seems to have discovered I’ve been fucking, and wants to get us married and popping out babies as soon as possible.”

“And she thinks all that will happen after he sees you playing derby?”

Livy looked over at Gwen . . . smirked.

Gwen’s eyes crossed. “I really hate when you two start doing this shit.” She walked to her locker. “I really, really hate it.”

And yet Livy enjoyed it all so much.

As promised, Blayne had a ticket waiting for Vic at the box office. And when he mentioned he needed to buy one for a friend, they gave him one more. For free.

Confused, Vic asked, “Don’t I have to pay for this extra ticket?”

The fox behind the window shook his head. “There are seats available in that section.”

What did that have to do with anything? “Yeah, but . . . don’t I still have to pay for it?”

The fox chuckled. “No one wants to sit in that section. Trust me.”

Unsure what was going on, Vic walked back to a waiting Shen. He handed him his ticket.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. They didn’t charge me anything.”

“That’s cool, huh?”

“Yeah. I guess. Unless they’re really shitty seats.”

“Jeez, Vic. You really need to learn to relax. Shitty seats. Great seats. Who cares?”

Shen was right. Vic was overthinking things.

They entered one of the smaller coliseums, which was packed with shifters of every breed and species, including hybrids.

Considering they’d gotten free tickets, Vic expected their seats to be way up in the rafters. But those seats were already filled with people.

“We’re down here,” Shen said, pointing.

“Are you sure?”

“I think so.”

They walked down the stairs until they reached the row indicated on their ticket stubs. The seats were nice, plush, and they would be close to the action.

Vic, focusing on the arms of the seats so that he could follow the numbers, went down the line, silently counting until he was forced to stop by very long legs that looked like someone had cut off a couple of tree stumps and covered them in denim.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m in that seat . . .”

His words faded away when he saw who was sitting between him and his seat. Bo Novikov.

Vic locked eyes with the polar bear–lion hybrid and his instincts took complete control. Especially when he saw Novikov’s eyes shift from blue to gold and his hair suddenly drop to his shoulders like a big mane of rage.

They both roared at each other. Novikov leaped out of his seat, the pair of them ramming their foreheads together, fangs unleashing to warn of great bloodshed. It was all very primal and something Vic couldn’t control when he got around certain hybrids. Namely Bo Novikov.

“That is enough!” a voice yelled over the roaring. Vic was pushed one way and Novikov the other.

“I am not going to put up with this bullshit through the whole bout. Now get some control!” That from Lachlan “Lock” MacRyrie. Vic knew him through Dee-Ann. He was a friendly enough bear . . . until annoyed. And he was clearly annoyed because Vic could see the man’s grizzly hump starting to grow. “Barinov, you and your friend sit over here. Novikov . . . sit down. Now.”

MacRyrie placed himself between Vic and Novikov.

Once they were all seated, Shen whispered to Vic, “What is it about that guy that ticks you off so much?”

“I have no idea,” Vic whispered back. “I don’t even know the man. But I get around him and all I want to do is tear his head off and wear it like a hat.”

Shen laughed. “I love hybrids. You guys are always so fucked up. And it’s always so random!”

Now that everything had calmed down, MacRyrie nodded at Vic. “Hey, Barinov.”

“MacRyrie. This is Shen Li.”