H.T. Night's 8-Book Vampire Box Set (117 page)

I quickly learned that you can take the
fighter out of the fight, but you can’t take the fight out of the
fighter. During the next few months, I tried to play the role as
the good and obedient boyfriend. Honestly, I was bored as hell and
trying to figure out what to do with all of my testosterone without
wearing out Maya in the bedroom. I was used to expending adrenaline
and now, without fighting, I felt a loss in my physical being that
could not be replaced by working out with no goal of fighting. Yes,
even working out became sort of lackluster. Not to mention, I
missed the money that I usually made in MMA.

I started taking some classes online so I
could get my Master’s degree in Education. California has a lot of
red tape if someone wants to be a teacher. Now with the economy so
bad, the extra crap they make you do is ridiculous. I was working
toward a teacher credential because I’d like to go into coaching.
It was my compromise to Maya, the queen of my life.

I did everything Maya asked me to do. I had
become the ideal boyfriend. I wasn’t complaining because I was
spending most of my time with most fantastic woman in the world.
But I had an itch. The longer I went without scratching it, the
antsier I got. I dreamed of MMA fights every night, and sometimes
woke up lathered in a sweat, as if I had fought in my sleep.

Maya was taking classes, too. She took some
nursing classes at Cypress College. I silently wondered if she was
doing that to ensure that she would always be able to patch me up
if necessary. She got a job doing odd jobs as a hospital tech at
Anaheim Hills Hospital. Maya and taking care of people seem to go
hand in hand. Our love grew daily, and just when I thought I
couldn’t possibly love this woman more, she would do something
really thoughtful like organize my DVD collection by genre or make
me an awesome mix tape.

When my time of month came around—and
coincidentally, it was Maya’s time of the month—Dave had been
taking me to that property in Northern California. The brush was so
thick and there are just trees for miles and miles. It was a Carni
paradise, just like he said. It was a nice piece of private land
that had been designated for our kind as a nature conservancy of
sorts. The billionaire who owned the property fell in love with a
female werewolf and had been helping other Carni for years. It was
nice not to be caged in and to be able to run with my own kind,
under the full moon, noses to the sky and the wind in our fur. Or
at least I imagined that it was fun. It was certainly better than
waking up in a cage. I began to love my uncaged werewolf freedom to
be myself. With my werewolf brothers. It was almost like MMA, the
brotherly camaraderie of it.

Dave and I settled into a routine. Each
month, he and I would pack up and head north a day before the full
moon. Every time we got on the road and headed north, it always
reminded me of the movie Sideways. We enjoyed our road trips,
talking about movies, women, fighting, world issues, politics,
everything.

Something else started happening while
making those monthly trips. I began to develop a lot of friendships
with other Carni. This was something that gave security and a sense
of belonging. I felt that the tighter a group of friends we had,
the better it would be for all of us in the long run. We could
support each other and we bonded as a pack. Because there were six
of us in all, we called ourselves ‘The Six Pack.’ We roamed the
earth by each other’s side when we turned into our werewolf forms.
We must have gotten along really well when we turned, because in
fleshly forms we had a bond like no other. That old expression,
“they had my back,” came to mind.

‘The Six Pack’ consisted of Dave and I and
four others. There was a tall, skinny Hispanic kid named Albert who
was about as tough as a non-fighter could be. The fourth member of
our group was an older man named Steve. Steve was in his forties,
and had been a world traveler before he was bitten in the 80’s. He
had amazing endurance for a man his age, and was almost as funny as
I am. The last two members of our little clan were twin brothers.
Yes, we had twin brothers in the group as well. Their names were
Evan and Eli. Those two guys were built like roided-up WWE
fighters. They were the prettiest men I had ever seen, and I don’t
say that lightly. They both worked harder than most women on making
sure every bit and piece of them was well groomed and fit. Evan and
Eli were bulky, Greek men with 36-inch waists and both had a good
250 pounds on them. That inverted triangle look we all sought in
MMA? They had it. I was envious. They swore it was their diet of
Greek food that contributed to their physique. How they turned
their baklava breaks into muscle, I never knew.

We were a bad-ass group and it was fun
hanging out with them. We’d spend the night wandering the property
and none of us had any idea where we go or actually did. We could
be killing squirrels all night for all we knew. But we weren’t—we
were werewolves and I am sure we were formidable as a pack.

We spent the daylight hours in one of the
houses owned by the landowner. He had about five enormous houses on
the entire property. At the south end was an old, two-story, rustic
house that suited the six of us well. We pretty much had a house to
ourselves.

We would sleep, hang out and just shoot the
shit. It reminded me of what actual guys in the Army Reserve must
feel…once a month having a strong bond, and then going back to
their lives each time. Speaking of Army Reserve, that was where
Maya’s family thought I went each month. Josiah asked a lot of
questions about the specifics of my assignments. He such a little
shit that way. Never let anything fly under his radar. I think he
was just fascinated with fighting and war and was trying to build
some knowledge of the art of war in his mind. That boy definitely
has a superhero complex. Everything out of his mouth was about
saving people and doing the right thing. He was a good kid, but if
he wanted to be a great MMA fighter, he was going to have to get
more blood thirsty. Josiah loved fighting, but he always did it out
of principle, in self-defense or to save someone vulnerable. With
me, sometimes I just needed to get into it with another guy just to
see who was tougher. I had a hard time convincing Josiah how his
superhero aspirations needed to connect with the same kind of
bad-ass mofo aspirations that I possessed. I took him under my
wing, trying to direct his energies toward the MMA mindset, instead
of saving the world. It was going to be a long haul, making him
bloodthirsty.

That is where I was tonight. Albert and I
had crossed that road. I was sure that I was the Alpha Male in the
group. Even though the rest of the guys in the Six Pack could take
care of themselves, I had the experience. Truth be known, I loved
going toe to toe with anyone. I fed off of it, as a human, and now
as a werewolf.

Even since I got this Carni-werewolf blood
in me, I have had a stronger desire to fight. Which sucked, being
that I had told Maya I would quit fighting for her. I tried to be
patient while she did her education as a human, wanting to be a
nurse, and I supported that. I diligently worked on my own
education credential toward coaching, but every night, like a
bedtime prayer, I visualized myself back in the MMA ring, competing
and winning. Every sleeping dream I had seemed to be about MMA.

Every time I kissed her good night, it
seemed like a metaphor for kissing the MMA goodbye. I loved her so
much, but I was tormented by everything I wanted, and that I could
not have without some serious fallout with my girlfriend.

Hopefully, she’d come around and let me get
back into the ring in the near future. I was going crazy with my
promise to give up fighting. I was the owner of my own crushed
dream, my hasty promise that I had made, in order to keep her
happy. I wanted MMA back, but I wanted Maya, too. Damn. Somehow, I
would have to find a way to have my cake and eat it, too.

On this day, out at the Six-Pack hangout,
Albert decided to do a little bit of talking. It always starts with
‘the talking.’ We were all playing poker, and we were about an hour
away from the full moon. I had recently started playing the game,
and didn’t realize that there was etiquette to a game of cards.
Apparently, you’re not supposed to discuss people’s hands when you
have folded and are out of a hand.

The six of us were sitting around the table.
I had folded pre-flop which meant that I didn’t bet because my
cards were awful.

Albert and Steve were the last two in the
hand. The twins, Dave and all others had folded. I could tell that
Albert was bluffing—he put all of his money in once the river card
hit the board. He was trying to muscle Steve out of the hand. Steve
looked as if he was going to fold. I said, “Don’t fold, Steve. He
has nothing.”

Albert shot me a stern look, and I gave him
a response as if to say, “What is your problem?” He cleared his
throat in an “a-hem” way and said, “Kyro, you’re not supposed to
talk if you’re no longer in a hand.” Albert voice demonstrated a
high level of frustration with me.

“Hey, are you talkin’ to me?” I joked,
throwing out a movie line. “I’m not supposed to talk? Who came up
with that rule?” I laughed. “I think the guy who came up with that
rule was bluffing. Are you afraid to have me talk because I know
you’re bluffing?”

“It doesn’t matter what you think. You
folded. You’re breaking every poker rule in the book right now by
talking. Once you are out, you stay quiet until the end of the
hand.”

I laughed out loud. “Every poker rule in the
book? That must be a pretty small book. I looked at Steve and said,
“Call his bet. I guarantee you, you will win.”

“Dude, you can’t fucking talk!” Albert
yelled at me.

“Settle down, young gun. Don’t go all Billy
the Kid on me here,” I said, laughing even more. I was my own
favorite joke and was having a ball being hilarious.

“Young gun? I’d kick your ass,” Albert
stated.

“Albert, shut up!” Dave yelled at Albert.
“You have no idea who you’re messing with.” I had told Dave not to
tell anyone in our Carni group or entire community, for that
matter, that I was to be a pro fighter. I just didn’t want people
to know anything about me—keeping things a mystery allowed moments
like this one to happen.

“I’m not afraid of a guy who calls himself
Kyro,” Albert said back to Dave.

“Well, you better be,” Dave said.

Then to everyone’s surprise. Steve shocked
the room and said, “I call.”

Guess what! Albert was bluffing. He threw
his cards on the floor and began yelling at me, “Are you fucking
demented? Do you even have a brain in your fucking head?”

I knew Albert had a hot temper, but he was
now walking a very thin line with me. I am a very proud man, Carni
werewolf. I was just not about to let a young kid that Josiah could
beat up with one hand behind his back speak to me that way.

“Listen, Chachi,” I said.

“What is a Chachi?” he asked. “What the fuck
does that mean?”

“You never heard of Chachi?” I asked. “You
know, Fonzie’s cousin.”

“I don’t give a shit who Chachi is!”

“You have never seen Happy Days?” I was more
upset by that than by the stupid poker game. “You know, Joanie
loves Chachi… Scott fucking Baio. Scott Baio Turns 50 and
Unmarried.”

“Oh, that Chachi. That show on the oldies
channel?”

“You have got to be kidding me. Oldies
channel? Those are classic TV episodes!”

“When the fuck did this conversation become
a talk about Nick at Nite?” Albert shouted back at me. “Listen to
me, Kyro. You’re a fucking moron. There are ethics and etiquette in
the game of poker. You don’t freaking talk if you’re if you’re not
in the freaking hand! It disrupts the entire integrity of the
game!” I could see the veins bulging in his neck. This guy had lost
his lid. I fought the urge to laugh again.

“Settle down, brother,” I said. “You need to
listen to my man, Dave, and know when it’s time to let it go. You
lost 20 bucks and you’re acting like I made you lose $500?”

“It’s not about the money.”

“Then what is it about?”

Then ‘Albert the Kid’ stood up and said,
“It’s about how fucking stupid you are. And that you have no
manners when men are playing serious card games. Poker is sacred,
you moron, you asshole, you c—”

That did it. Before he got the word out, I
stood up, grabbed him by the shirt and threw him up against the
wall. Albert took a swing at me and hit my chin.

Oof! Lucky punch. I felt like we should have
Batman thought bubbles with fight words in them: Biff! bamm!
Ka-pow!

I took a step back and shook off the hit. I
ducked and shot my upper body in between his legs and grabbed his
shirt from the back and picked him up and body-slammed him on top
of the hard, carpeted floor.

When we both hit the ground, he tried
wrestling me and it was more than cute. I was two-time, all-state
wrestling champion in the state of California. He knew quickly that
I was an ox, and that he had no chance. He couldn’t even budge me
in any direction.

“Give up?” I grunted.

“Fuck you,” he said and tried to wiggle
away.

I pinned him back and I rammed my elbow into
the side of his head, and he was out cold. “Fuck,” I whispered to
myself. I had knocked out one of the Six-Pack brothers, my own
kind, over a stupid card game. I was definitely feeling some
chagrin.

“Fucking Kyro, you shouldn’t have fought
him,” Dave said over my shoulder as one of the pack ran for ice and
a washcloth for Albert. “He didn’t know that you’re a professional
fighter. Do you think for one second he would have even mouthed off
to you if he knew he was doing it to Mike Tyson?”

“I’m more Hulk Hogan than Mike Tyson, but I
get your point,” I said. I looked down at Albert and I could see
him coming to. His eyes were rolled back in his head and he was now
gaining some focus back. “Hey, Albert,” I said. “You awake?”