Chapter 4
Four
Blake
A jolt of electricity snakes through my body, dancing painfully along my muscles and startling me out of a light doze, the closest I’ve gotten to rest in… I don’t know. I can’t remember the last time they let me sleep. Or eat.
Which means another fight is coming up.
Tonight? Tomorrow? I don’t know, but soon.
Because the starvation and sleep deprivation are purposeful. Lack of sleep and an empty belly help thicken the mental fog, suppressing the human part of my mind, pulling my wolf and his more vicious impulses closer to the surface.
And that’s exactly what they want—the violence that comes when my wolf and his blind rage are in control—because unless my more primitive lupine instincts are driving me, I just don’t care anymore.
Whether I win. Whether I lose. Whether I live.
Or whether I die.
I’m so damn tired. Tired of the pain. Tired of the hunger. Tired of the blood.
And tired of living like this.
The years I’ve spent here all run together. The dim artificial lighting in my cell and irregular schedule of meals and fights make it near impossible to track the passage of time.
But there is one memory that stands out, a tiny sliver of light in all this darkness.
A few months ago, I overheard a conversation between Alpha Doyle and one of his lackeys and learned my little brother escaped the hell he stumbled into because of me and is finally free.
Now that I know Ollie is safe, I just want it to be over. Escaping isn’t an option. I’ll never be truly free again, so the only way out of this horrific existence as Doyle’s “champion” is death.
And I’m ready for it.
Tonight will be my last fight.
Because I want it to be.
They might control every aspect of the hell that is my life, but this is a choice they cannot take from me.
Giving my head a brisk shake, I shove myself to my feet and pace from one side of my cell to the other, the edges of the metal collar around my neck chafing against my shoulder blades with every step.
My gaze moves to the two handlers standing on the other side of the bars, and I pin my ears back, a soft growl rumbling and my claws clicking against the concrete as I move toward them.
One is a human, that cursed remote in his hand, and the other is a beta holding the metal pole they use to transport me from here to the ring. The human smirks and taps the button on the remote, sending a painful zap of electricity through my body.
A flood of rage washes over me and my wolf surges forward. My lips pull away from my teeth and my growl morphs into a vicious snarl as I lunge at the bars with a sudden, desperate hunger for their blood.
My captors.
My torturers.
My jaws snap closed on nothing but air.
I try again anyway, throwing myself against the bars with a mindless intensity.
The two handlers startle backward half a step, and I preen at the bitter scent of fear now wafting off them. They should be afraid of me.
The human steps closer to the bars, the remote clutched in one white-knuckled hand. “Back up,” he says. “In the corner.”
I only glare at him, lips pulling away from my teeth and spittle dripping from my jaws.
He scowls and narrows his eyes, then holds the remote up and wiggles it back and forth. “A good jolt now might mean you’ll still be feeling the effects by the time the fight starts.”
Don’t care.
The hair along my spine rises as I continue growling, gaze fixed on this familiar enemy.
The human chuckles, the confident sound made a lie by the lingering smell of fear. I snap my teeth and he jolts in place even though there’s no way in hell I can reach him across the distance between us.
As if embarrassed by his own reaction, the human’s face twists with anger and he bares his teeth at me in a poor imitation of a lupine snarl. “You think you’re so tough? Well, I think you’ll finally get what’s coming to you tonight, mutt.”
He sneers as he presses the button on the remote so hard his nail bed turns white.
This time he holds it down.
White-hot fire rushes through my body and my muscles seize. My legs give out and I crash to the ground with a sharp yelp, nothing but a broken animal consumed by pain.
But it’s a pain I’m used to, and I retreat into my mind to wait for it to pass.
Time speeds by—minutes, maybe hours lost—and my mind processes the next however long in only flashes of awareness.
The pain gradually recedes, but the lingering aches and muscle spasms help cut through some of the mental fog, allowing me to pull myself back to the present and force my wolf and his blind rage to the back of my mind.
I never thought I’d be grateful for the agony this collar brings, but if my wolf were to stay in control, the animal’s drive to survive would overcome my wish for death.
And I can’t have that.
Not tonight.
Not now that I finally made the decision to be done with this place.
By the time the human part of me is fully in control, my wolf’s feral instincts locked away again, the cell door is open and the metal loop connected to the beta’s pole is around my neck.
“Get up,” says the beta, jerking on the pole and yanking my head into an awkward angle until I manage to struggle to my feet and relieve some of the pressure on my neck.
He half drags me out of the cell, and I’m forced to plod along behind him as he leads me through the tunnels, the human walking alongside with the remote clutched firmly in his hand.
We travel for a few minutes, twisting through the bowels of the casino until we reach a large service elevator.
The human presses the button to call the elevator.
Once the doors open, I’m forced inside. Head low, I press myself against the wall opposite the handlers, taking a few deep breaths to steady myself and clear my mind.
I can’t lose myself to the wolf, not tonight.
My human side must stay in control.
I pull up a mental image of my brother, of a time we were together down by the river splashing around and having fun.
The idea that I’ll never see him again, that I’ll never again feel the sun on my skin—or the sensation of having skin instead of fur—hurts, but not as much as continuing to exist in this hellish half-life would.
The beta hits whatever number corresponds with the floor the entry to the pit is on and the elevator shudders upward, the shaky movement making it hard to keep my balance even on four legs.
A few seconds later, it jerks to a stop, the door slides open, and the handlers pull me out into the long hallway that leads toward the pre-fight holding area.
The overly bright fluorescent lights along the ceiling hurt my eyes after the dimness below, but I ignore the discomfort and walk at a steady pace.
As we draw closer to the set of steel doors at the end of the hallway, the sound of the bloodthirsty crowd begins to leak into the air.
The beta yanks me to the right so he can use his access card to open the doors, then drags me into what I consider the holding area—a square concrete room that’s barely large enough for me, my two handlers, and the stupid pole.
The beta glances at his watch, mutters something to the human, then shrugs and leans one shoulder against the wall to wait. In here, the sound of the crowd is even louder, the mob of people, both human and shifter, hyped up and baying for blood.
I hate them.
I hate them all.
My mind drifts for a while—I’m not sure how long—but I’m instantly pulled back to myself at the sound of a blaring claxon.
The beta straightens, adjusting his grip on the pole as the light above the oversized metal gate that leads into the pit itself turns green.
A beat later, the gate slowly slides open, the heavy steel grating against the concrete below.
The beta uses the pole to maneuver me into the ring, his human cohort hovering just behind him, finger ready on the remote.
Once all four of my paws are past the doors, the human hits something on the wall in the holding area and the gate begins to slide closed.
The beta waits until the absolute last moment to loosen the noose around my neck, and he pulls the pole back just as the gate clangs shut, leaving in the ring with my opponents.
Three of them this time, which is new, but not entirely unexpected.
In the same conversation where I learned of my brother’s freedom, Doyle and his lackey were discussing ways to make things more interesting during my fights.
Supposedly, the audience was “getting bored” with me, and with the humans who helped barter my sale out of business, there was no one to replace me, so Doyle suggested they could liven things up by putting me up against multiple opponents.
I lift my nose and scent the air, confirming all three are shifters, almost certainly betas since Doyle said he wasn’t able to get his hands on any more alphas.
The one to my left is older, around his mid-forties. His shoulders are broad and his limbs bulky with muscle. He cracks his knuckles as he gives me a hard stare. The one in the center is slightly smaller and at least a decade younger, his eyes flat and cold.
My gaze moves to the third, and my wolf perks up, trying to push forward.
The last of tonight’s opponents is my age, maybe younger, early twenties at the oldest. He’s almost the same height as the one in the center, but he has a more slender runner’s build.
Dark brown hair falls over his forehead, but I can’t tell what color his eyes are since his gaze is focused on the drain in the center of the concrete floor.
Unlike the other two who are dressed in sweatpants and T-shirts, this guy is wearing a suit.
It’s a little worse for wear, but still a suit.
Also, unlike the other two, his hands are shaking.
My wolf whines and tries to push forward again, but I shove him back.
This isn’t the first time an opponent hasn’t been here voluntarily, and there’s nothing I can do for the brunet except kill him as quickly and painlessly as I can if it comes to that.
My wolf lets out another plaintive whine at the thought, but doesn’t try to battle for control, only curls into a ball in the back of my mind with a soft whimper as if resigned.
I’m not sure what to think about that. The animal side of me has been drowning in rage and darkness for so long, I almost forgot what it was like not to have to fight him.
What changed? And why now?
As I continue watching, the young shifter glances over his shoulder for a second then returns his attention to the ground in front of him. He shuffles his feet, the slight shift in his position revealing a fourth person behind him.
A human female has her back pressed against the wall of the ring. Like her… friend?… she’s a little worse for wear, her shiny dress torn, and wisps of blonde hair falling around her pale face. Her eyes shine with fear, but her mouth is set in a determined line.
“Just stay back, Raquel,” says the brunet before glancing over his shoulder at her again.
There’s something about his voice, something about him, that has my wolf surging forward, fighting for control again, but, with effort, I force it to retreat. I cock my head to the side, a flicker of curiosity running through me, the feeling strangely foreign after so long.
What is it about this young shifter that can pull at my wolf like that?