Fangs and Fists

By Kate Hill

In a futuristic world ruled by demons, werewolf gladiators are enslaved to fight for the amusement of their evil masters.

Bolt (Fangs and Fists 1): Bolt and Kiara have loved each other from the moment they met, but Kiara was mated to Bolt’s best friend. When Grit is killed in the arena, they surrender to their desire. Will their love be strong enough to help them win freedom from their evil masters?

Grit (Fangs and Fists 2): Grit died in the arena, only to be resurrected by a demon. He lives a shadowy existence as one of the soulless, remembering only bits and pieces of his former life. Long ago, vampire warrior Zari helped Grit escape. Now they’re free to explore their feelings as they fight the demons. Whatever the outcome, Zari and Grit intend to face it together.

Victor (Fangs and Fists 3): Jolanda’s a member of a secret pack of wolf witches who want to free their kin from the demon tower. Victor is the Alpha she needs to help her. Together they plan an escape from the tower, hoping to strike a blow the demon masters will never forget.

Haylen (Fangs and Fists 4): Faith healer turned resurrection demon, Haylen served the masters for centuries, creating legions of the soulless. Maddy, a mechanic with magical powers, has studied Haylen’s history and finds the demon fascinating. But she’s even more intrigued by the man he can become. In a world where good and evil are constantly at war, can the good witch save the demon’s soul?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Feb 12, 2023

Kate Hill

Kate Hill is a vegetarian New Englander who started writing many years ago for pleasure. When she's not writing, she enjoys reading, watching horror and action movies, working out, and spending time with her family and pets. She also writes under the name Saloni Quinby.

Book preview

Bolt (Fangs and Fists 1)

Kate Hill

In a futuristic world ruled by demons, werewolves are enslaved to fight in gladiatorial matches for the amusement of their evil masters.

Kiara remembers what life was like living free -- before she was taken by demons and bred to gladiators so that the new generations of wolves would retain their ferocity but forget their freedom. Mated to top gladiator Grit, she has a son with this surprisingly gentle lover who is also planning their escape. When Grit is killed in the arena, his close friend Bolt upholds his promise to protect Kiara and the cub.

Bolt and Kiara have loved each other from the moment they met, but they buried their feelings because she was mated to his best friend. When Grit dies, despite their guilt, Bolt and Kiara surrender to their desire for each other. Will their love be strong enough to help them win freedom from their evil masters?

Chapter One

Promises

Grit wanted to close his eyes to better enjoy the pleasure rolling through him, but he couldn’t resist gazing down at his beautiful mate. Kiara’s eyes were closed, her thick lashes flicking against her smooth, olive skin. Her full, kissable lips parted and she moaned softly, arching her neck. He nuzzled it and trailed his tongue down its length and over the tops of her generous breasts. He licked a stiff, dusky nipple, and then he sucked it.

Oh, Grit, she murmured, her strong fingers biting into his shoulders in a way that aroused him even more. His stiff cock brushed against her smooth leg and he reached down to caress her soft mound.

He loved the springy feel of the hair on her nether regions in contrast to the soft, smooth flesh of her inner thighs. His fingers played around her slick pussy lips. She was already soaked and he longed to thrust into her, but Grit was a gentle lover despite his rough name. Harshness was meant for the arena, not the bedroom.

Kiara was a fine woman. Unlike many who were bound to this damn tower, she didn’t think of herself only. She still cared about others -- about Grit. That was a rare thing these days. Most of the wretched creatures here cared only about their own survival, not that Grit blamed them. Moments of peace, let alone pleasure, were few and far between here.

Beneath him, Kiara moaned again and thrust against his hand. He eased first one and then two fingers into her snug, drenched pussy. He explored for a moment before slowly withdrawing his fingers to caress her stiff little nub, which made her squirm and pant.

Kiara, he said, his voice subtly commanding.

She apparently noticed and her large, dark eyes opened, staring into his. A smile tugged at Grit’s lips. Kiara was a passionate woman. There was nothing subservient about her. Her alpha instincts aroused him. He doubted the masters realized what they’d done when they’d given her to him. Grit couldn’t have chosen a better mate.

It the back of his mind, he knew that if they hadn’t been forced together, she might not have chosen him. Still, she seemed to enjoy their time together and he believed she had grown to care about him. That was more than could be expected in the tower.

While he stroked her, Kiara squeezed his bottom. Then she slid a hand between their bodies to curl her fist around his cock. She caressed him, the motions creating friction between his foreskin and cock head. It was almost too good. He swelled even more and she wickedly slid a finger under the soft skin to directly stroke where he was most sensitive.

You’re merciless, he said breathlessly, a teasing edge to his voice.

Kiara chuckled softly and gasped as he flicked his thumb over her clit, teasing her as she teased him. He then rubbed the sensitive nub slowly, gently.

She purred, sounding almost feline rather than wolfish, though he knew she was as much a wolf as he. Kiara was quite magnificent in her wolf form -- all long, graceful limbs and thick, black fur.

One day in the near future, if his plans went well, he would run with his beautiful wolf mate in the forest where they belonged. Their kind weren’t meant to live as slaves in a hellish tower.

Grit, please, she said in an aching voice. Her legs trembled and he could hear her heart pounding, matching his own frantic heartbeat. He wanted her so much that he couldn’t wait a moment longer and she obviously felt the same way.

Kiara, my beautiful mate, he said in a husky whisper. He trailed his tongue up her torso, between her breasts, caressing them on the way. Then he braced a hand on either side of her head. He didn’t need to nudge her legs apart. She’d already spread them, welcoming him.

Grit thrust into her slowly, enjoying every sensation as her soft, wet flesh enfolded him. He remained still for a moment, his forehead resting against hers, their breath mingling. At times like this, buried to the hilt in her luscious body, he almost forgot they were slaves.

He thrust, driving their pleasure, something that even the dreaded masters couldn’t take from them.

Yes, oh, yes! She panted. Don’t stop, Grit, please don’t stop.

I have no intention of it, he said against her lips. He kissed her, his tongue thrusting against hers in time with his pumping hips.

Kiara cried out into his mouth as she came, her hot flesh pulsing around him.

Grit longed for climax, but he also wanted to prolong their pleasure. He wasn’t allowed nearly enough time with her and he refused to waste a moment.

He hovered over her, as still as possible, except for his pounding heart. The pulsations in her pussy slowed and he regained a semblance of self-control before he started thrusting again.

She moaned again and her relaxed limbs tightened around him as her excitement rekindled. Her warm body with its soft skin and toned muscles writhed beneath him. She locked her strong legs around his waist and pulled herself higher as he thrust into her.

He growled softly and nuzzled her shoulder. He licked her neck and kissed her temple. One hand still supporting his weight, he used the other to stroke her from breast to hip and then back to her breast. He cupped its soft roundness and kneaded gently.

Grit loved her scent -- clean flesh and a wild musk that belonged to her alone.

His mate.

Growling again, Grit thrust faster.

Oh, yes, Grit. Harder!

She didn’t have to beg. Obedience wasn’t in his nature, except here with her. Few things pleased him more than knowing he brought her the same delight she gave him.

Her orgasm almost took him by surprise. She gasped and clung to him. Her pussy clenching around his almost painful erection pushed him over the edge.

Tearing his mouth from hers, Grit howled and came, filling her, draining his cock and emptying the tangle of emotions that always threatened to choke him. Only with Kiara could he release everything -- his rage and shame at being caught and forced into the tower, his desperate need to escape and take her with him.

Finally he relaxed and lay half draped over her. For several moments they remained still. Sometimes words weren’t necessary.

From the adjoining room, a cub babbled.

Kiara started to rise, but Grit placed a hand on her hip.

I’ll get him, he said.

Grit was allowed so little time with his mate and cub. The masters cared nothing about whether gladiators bonded with their mates and offspring. All that mattered was that they procreate. They bred the fiercest males to the healthiest females, hoping to keep the wolves’ ferocity while eliminating their love of freedom. The cubs born in captivity would never know how it felt to run across open fields, to smell the forest and bathe in a river by moonlight.

It pained Grit that if the masters had their way, his cubs would never experience these things, nor would he be likely to bond with a mate whom he loved and who loved him in return.

A gladiator might take dozens of mates and feel nothing for them but the pleasure of the moment, unlike pack life in which wolves mated for life. Cubs had caring parents and extended family among the pack. Wolves had never been the savage creatures so many believed them to be -- at least not when they lived free.

Here, in the tower -- or rather beneath it -- life was different. Brutal. Cold.

Grit rose and washed his hands in a basin resting on a stand near the bed. Then he pulled on his loincloth and walked to the next room. His son -- nearly a year old, chubby and still with his baby baldness -- stared up at him with dark, innocent eyes. His mother’s eyes.

Grit picked him up. Smiling, the boy reached for Grit’s bearded face. Gently, Grit took the little hand and kissed his son’s soft cheek.

No. He didn’t want his son to live the life he now endured as a gladiator, nor did he want Kiara to one day be ripped from him and given to another wolf -- one who might not treat her with the respect she deserved.

He looks more like you every day, Kiara said from where she lingered in the doorway, her lush curves now covered by her plain muslin slave dress.

He has your eyes.

She smiled slightly and stepped toward them to caress the child’s face. Grit placed an arm around her. Glancing from his wife back to his son, he felt deep affection and protectiveness. It offended his very nature to exist like this -- seeing her only when the masters allowed it and then because they hoped for them to produce another cub. They should have a home of their own, far away from here. Back in the woods. Safe. Happy. Free.

Grit had been talking to other gladiators. He wasn’t the only one who wanted to escape, and they had learned that wolves weren’t the only creatures unhappy in the tower.

Be careful tomorrow night, Kiara said.

Grit smiled. You say that before every fight.

And I always mean it, but especially tomorrow.

If Grit won tomorrow’s match, he would be allowed to retire from the arena to train other gladiators. If a gladiator won one hundred fights, he was given this privilege. The masters wanted only the best to train new gladiators for their entertainment. More important, Grit would be allowed to keep Kiara as his mate. She would be bred only to him. At least then he would know she would be safe, but that wouldn’t protect their young for long. They would only be allowed to keep their cubs until they were old enough to wean. After that, they would be taken to train either as gladiators or breeding stock.

I won’t fail you, Kiara, and I won’t fail Jett. He hugged his son a bit tighter. Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear, We have plans to escape. We’re getting out of here. We’re going home.

Kiara’s face tensed. We need to be careful when we speak of such things. If the masters hear, they’ll kill us.

Better dead than here for the rest of our lives. You don’t agree?

Kiara held his gaze. For a moment, the fear deserted her beautiful dark eyes, replaced by the wildness of a free wolf. I do agree and I’m with you.

The next time we meet, I’ll have more to tell you about it. Until then --

Someone tapped on the door. Grit knew by scent that it was his good friend Bolt.

Kiara went to let him in and Grit followed. She opened the door. Bolt stood outside. He was two inches taller than Grit’s six feet, but with a slighter build. He had thick, dark hair and fierce blue eyes. Like Kiara, he was twenty-nine, six years younger than Grit.

Kiara, Bolt said, nodding to her before fixing his gaze on Grit. We need to go train.

Grit reluctantly placed Jett in Kiara’s arms. Then he covered her mouth in a lingering kiss. Tomorrow, after the fight, I’ll come to you.

She smiled, but he could see the anxiousness in her eyes. Make that a promise.

I promise, he whispered against her lips before kissing her again.

When the kiss broke, her gaze shifted to Bolt, who was doing his best to avoid staring at them. It probably felt awkward, witnessing another couple’s affection, especially when he was attracted to Kiara. Grit didn’t miss the scent of Bolt’s lust, but to his credit he’d never acted on his desires. He knew that Kiara belonged to Grit. It wasn’t worth destroying their friendship to satisfy physical passion. Such integrity was a rare commodity in the tower.

Not that Grit didn’t sympathize with his friend. No doubt Bolt longed for a mate, even if just for pure sexual release. To Grit’s knowledge, it had been over a year since the younger wolf had bred and even then he hadn’t produced a cub. Bolt claimed that he preferred celibacy to being treated like livestock. Grit even agreed, but despite his principles, he was glad Kiara had been given to him. Unlike many in their position, they had grown to care about each other. Love was more than physical. It included friendship, understanding and loyalty.

Goodbye, she said.

Until tomorrow, Grit told her.

He left with Bolt and Kiara closed the door behind them.

You must be on your guard tomorrow night, Bolt warned, reminding him of Kiara.

You and my mate sound almost like you don’t believe I’ll win.

I know you’re a great warrior. You’re better than Titus, but I don’t trust the masters.

Titus, a wolf from another gladiatorial house, would be Grit’s opponent tomorrow. He was younger than Grit and larger, but not as experienced. If possible, Grit intended to spare his life. He had tried to satisfy the masters’ lust for watching werewolves attack each other, but he preferred not to kill. Sometimes it was impossible. Many wolves had been completely brainwashed by life in the barracks, becoming as evil as their demonic masters.

I have no doubt that I’ll win tomorrow, Grit said. I have no choice. It’s the only way I know for sure to keep Kiara and Jett safe, but I have a favor to ask you.

Bolt raised an eyebrow.

Even though we’re friends, this is a lot to ask, Grit continued.

Like you said. We’re friends. That time I suffered grave wounds in the arena, you didn’t leave my side. I’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for you. Whatever you want, if I can do it, you can count on me.

If by chance I don’t survive tomorrow, will you watch over Kiara and Jett? Will you see that they’re still included in our escape plan?

Bolt held his gaze and nodded. You didn’t even have to ask. I’d die before leaving them behind.

I knew you’d say that, Grit said truthfully.

He only hoped that if he died, Bolt’s lust for Kiara, and perhaps her lust for him, would turn to love. Yes, he’d always smelled Bolt’s desire when they were around each other, but Kiara also smelled of desire. Grit couldn’t be sure if that scent was from making love with him, or because… No. He couldn’t think about it. Kiara was his. One day they would be truly mated and live in freedom.

Grit placed a hand firmly on his friend’s shoulder. You’re the best man I know, Bolt.

Likewise, but you won’t need me for this favor. You’re going to kick Titus’s ass tomorrow night and then you, me, Kiara and Jett are going to get out of this hell tower and live like wolves are meant to.

Grit felt the same.

Tomorrow, Kiara, my love. Tomorrow you will be mine forever and we’ll escape this place so Jett will hopefully never remember what it was like to live in captivity.

* * *

Bolt gritted his teeth and raised his sword to block an overhead blow from Grit. He kicked the other gladiator, pushing him back several paces. A gong echoed through the training chamber and the gladiators stopped their practice.

Bolt and Grit slapped each other’s palms.

I’m glad we’re on the same side and never had to face each other, Grit said.

I can’t argue. I would have taken no pleasure in killing you.

Grit laughed. In your dreams, brother.

They walked to the concrete wall surrounding the training ring and jumped onto it to sit and wipe sweat from their eyes.

Throughout the session, Bolt had tried to focus on training, but his thoughts kept returning to Kiara. Whenever he saw her, he felt restless and suffered an ache in his chest that hurt nearly as much as an enemy’s blow.

He’d first seen her nearly two years ago when she had been given to Grit. From that moment, he hadn’t succeeded in getting her out of his mind. He’d never thought about love at first sight. It was a woman’s fantasy -- or so he’d believed until it became his reality. He sensed Kiara felt the same way about him, that whenever they met, the scent of lust emanating from her wasn’t only because she’d bedded Grit.

The beautiful brown-eyed, black-haired wolf desired him -- at least he told himself that at times. It was comforting to believe that spark wasn’t one-sided. Yet if she loved him in return, how cruel was it that they would spend their lives apart? Even worse, Bolt couldn’t try to claim her for himself because Grit was his closest friend. Yes, he could challenge Grit -- tell the masters that he wanted a fight to the death for the chance to claim Kiara as his own, but he couldn’t live with that and he doubted Kiara could either.

Even if she was attracted to Bolt, she obviously cared for Grit as well, not to mention they had a cub together. How could Bolt one day explain to Jett that he had murdered his father?

Unless they escaped the tower he wouldn’t have to explain anything. Jett would be torn from Kiara and trained to follow in his father’s footsteps as a gladiator.

Because of such circumstances, Bolt had managed to avoid mating -- not because he lacked the desire. Lately passion had nearly consumed him. Still, he refused the women presented to him because he couldn’t abide the thought of producing a child within the confines of the tower. The masters wouldn’t allow him to rebel against mating forever, though. Eventually he would be required to accept a female. If he didn’t take her willingly, he would be forced to swallow a potion that rendered his sex drive unstoppable. Or they could harvest his seed and use it to impregnate some unknown female.

He was among the best gladiators in his house, so he was granted leniency and allowed to be choosy when selecting a mate. At least for the time being.

Bolt often dreamed of mating with Kiara, but short of Grit’s death, that would never happen. Soon Grit would win his final match and claim Kiara as his own forever.

Bolt needed to move on and forget her.

Did you hear me? Grit nudged Bolt’s arm.

No. Sorry. I was thinking.

I said one day this will be just a memory for us and with any luck, Jett will remember nothing of this place at all.

A whistle sounded and a guard in black body armor waved the gladiators out of the training hall.

Grit growled and glared at the guards. One day there will be no more taking orders from these evil cowards with their armor and magic.

Save your temper for the arena, Bolt warned.

Right. Grit clapped Bolt’s shoulder. You’re a good friend. Always have been.

Don’t get soft on me or I’ll think you’re aiming to lose tonight.

Grit growled again. That is the last thing on my agenda. Tonight is my final fight and I intend to win. I didn’t win ninety-nine others to forfeit my chance to keep Kiara. After tonight, I won’t have to worry about her being given to another wolf. She’ll belong only to me.

Bolt didn’t reply. He couldn’t. While he wanted Grit to get what he deserved, he couldn’t bear the thought of never having Kiara -- never tasting and holding her. Never hearing her say she loved and wanted him. Yet his desires weren’t worth Grit’s life. That’s what he told himself. He even believed it, but he couldn’t control how he felt.

* * *

Thoughts From the Master’s Gazing Room --

The best matches are when warriors fight for what’s most precious to them. That one -- Grit -- we’ve watched him love his mate and cub. He’ll do anything to keep them. Victor is different. Pride is his weakness.

He fancies himself leader of his slave house. Leader of the pack. I can smell their blood already -- see their shredded flesh and their wolf eyes.

It doesn’t matter which one kills the other. Either way, we’ll win.

Chapter Two

Punishment

Bolt growled and slammed his sword toward his opponent’s head. Knox -- a bearded wolf about Bolt’s height -- raised his shield to block the blow, but he was cornered and already weakened by Bolt’s relentless onslaught. Knox shifted to wolf form and drove the shield upward. Bolt staggered back, managing to keep his footing as well as his inner wolf under control.

He hated to shift in the arena because the masters preferred to watch gladiators in wolf form tear each other apart with fangs and claws to slicing each other with blades or pummeling each other senseless with a club or mace. Such weapons were only to whet the masters’ appetites for the savagery of true wolf combat.

In the wild, such battles were only to protect the pack, not for entertainment. This was not the wild. It was a chamber beneath a tower in what had once been, in the time of human rule -- Detroit.

Underground chambers extended miles beneath the earth’s surface. Hell on Earth -- or under it, like in the legends.

At the moment Bolt had no time to contemplate the state of the world. In wolf form, Knox had a strength advantage, but Bolt still had his weapon. Even in man form, he was faster than Knox. He was probably the fastest gladiator in the tower. Now using that skill, he systematically dodged Knox’s swiping claws and struck back, tormenting his opponent with small stabs and slices that soon turned the wolf’s silvery fur crimson.

Knox panted and growled, saliva dripping from his powerful jaws. Knox managed to grasp Bolt’s arm and shake the sword free. To onlookers, it seemed that Bolt had moved a bit too slow, but he knew better. He was more than ready to forfeit the weapon. Though he hated to give the masters what they wanted, the wolf in him needed release and it was time to end this game.

Knox’s vicious claws lashed at his throat, but he shifted and at the same moment thrust his knee into Knox’s gut, hurling him back. The gray wolf landed on his ass, stunned and furious but unable to react quickly enough to stop Bolt from pouncing on him. Seated on his chest, his knees on either wide of his head, Bolt stared down at Knox and growled, his teeth bared. One good bite and it would be over for Knox. The other wolf knew it and went still, panting hard, his gaze averted in surrender.

The masters seated in the hundreds of stone chairs circling the arena shouted for Bolt to end the match with a kill. If he failed to do what they asked, he might or might not be punished. The masters despised consistency. They preferred chaos in just about everything.

Bolt had no intention of killing an opponent who had submitted, regardless of the consequences.

Accompanied by a loud blast, Bolt’s name in smoky letters floated above the arena, proclaiming him as the winner.

Bolt turned to exit the arena, but Knox pounced on his back. If Bolt had reacted even a second slower, Knox’s claws would have torn his throat open, but Bolt’s natural speed saved him yet again. He reached behind him and flung Knox over his shoulder.

Kill me, Knox demanded, his voice a deep rumble in his beastly chest.

Bolt stared hard into Knox’s eyes.

What’s wrong with you? Kill me. Now!

I don’t kill cowards. Bolt stepped away, but this time kept Knox in sight.

Knox growled and jumped to his feet only to be knocked back by the electrical spear-like weapon called a shock prod wielded by one of four armor-clad guards. Like all guards, helmets covered their heads. Their eyes glowed red behind their dark face shields.

Bolt and Knox were escorted in separate directions out of the arena. Apparently the masters didn’t want to prolong their match tonight. It wasn’t the main event. That would be Grit’s final fight.

The guard left Bolt at the edge of the arena in the barred pit belonging to his house. From there, the gladiators could await their own fights as well as watch the matches.

Bolt walked toward the back of the pit where the doctor tended his injuries. A lean, ginger-haired man of human appearance, the doctor rarely spoke, except to gather information from a patient regarding his injuries. He efficiently cleaned Bolt’s healing scrapes and scratches.

Afterward, Bolt strode to the front of the pit so he could watch Grit’s fight. The sandy arena had been raked clean for the final match. The deep, resounding voice of the announcer echoed through the arena as he introduced Grit.

Bolt glanced behind him to watch his friend, clad in a leather loincloth and carrying a sword and shield, stride to the gate. Grit’s expression was stony and determined. He didn’t notice anyone, including Bolt, but stared past the bars to the arena.

Bolt understood Grit needed to focus on the match or else risk not only his chance for retirement, but his very life.

Still, Bolt was confident that Grit would triumph. While anyone could have an exceptionally good or bad fight, Grit should defeat his opponent, Titus, with relative ease. Titus was strong, but less experienced than Grit. It was as if the masters were prepared to allow Grit to depart from the arena with dignity.

Bolt should have known better than to think the best of demons.

Attention! said the announcer. There has been a change to tonight’s fight. Titus will not be fighting. Victor will take his place.

Bolt was stunned. Glancing at Grit,