Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Pits of Hell, The Alpha Underworld
“ W e’re fighting to free you tonight, Fer.” I rest my forehead against Feral’s, as we stand in the center of the octagon shaped cage. It already stinks of blood and sweat. “Once we win, we can finally pay off your contract. Then you won’t be in debt to Dad.”
Feral nods.
The spotlights are blinding on the octagon shaped cage, which is in the center of the vast warehouse.
The warehouse is named The Pits of Hell, where the fights take place.
The walls are painted scarlet with rough graffiti sprayed over them: UNDERWORLD COMBAT ALPHAS .
This is Dad’s personal fight club.
Sometimes, Dad allows the rich assholes who watch to have a go. It’s funny to watch these corrupt politicians, billionaire bros, and cops beat the shit out of each other…badly.
They think that it proves how big their knots are that they can survive a round here.
They often forget that in the Pits of Hell there are no rules: You can bite, eye gouge, and head butt. Even groin shots are allowed.
R.I.P their knots.
Large ventilators suck both pheromones and scents out of the room to stop them affecting fighters.
It makes my skin crawl to sniff and be unable to smell something .
The octagon itself is raised on a platform with only one gate in and out. The walls are high, mesh, and wound with barbed wire. They’re a weapon themselves.
I’m wearing red shorts and bra. My hair has been tied tightly back with a sleek, black cat clip.
My ring name is Cat .
I’m fast.
The fastest.
I’m also the smallest and lightest. But Romilly has taught me a way to turn that to my advantage.
It’s earned me the name, Cat.
My strength is that I may seem to only be playing with my rival, as a cat does with a mouse. Yet I still kill them in the end, or while they’re escaping me, they don’t notice the ambush from Feral.
My makeup, which River helps me with, plays up the whole villainous Catwoman vibe. My eyes are painted with charcoal gray eyeshadow. My lipstick is purple.
My long nails match my lips but with a twist. These fake nails have been developed by Dad. They’re a secret weapon.
I can use them to claw and slash like a real cat.
I rest my claws carefully on Feral’s back.
Feral looks fearsome, a savage Devil Alpha.
Like me, he’s barefoot.
He’s dressed in red shorts. His chest and back has been smeared with paint like blood but artfully in a way that draws attention to his muscles.
His smoky eyeshadow has been darkened. River has made Feral’s eyeliner even more dramatic.
Feral is thrumming with the intensity of being only moments before a fight.
After the isolation and being raised around so few people, the noise and sudden crowds is too much stimulation for him.
Jin’s rocky “Caged Dreams” is also booming through the warehouse.
Dad knows the impact that all this noise has on Feral.
In fact, he’s relying on that fact to trigger my lover’s feral nature.
It’s working.
Feral is shaking. His eyes are wild. And he is growling low in his throat.
Everybody is staying well away from the walls of the cage.
On the other hand, the fans who have paid to be here, as well as spend millions to bet, look delighted. I hate the openly lascivious way that they eye both Feral and me.
After all, where else can they see a hot feral Alpha and Omega in close quarters like this from the safety of their comfortable leather chairs, while they cuddle their elite Omegas on their knees and drink champagne served by the prettiest Betas?
The elite Omegas look frightened, glancing around themselves with wide eyes.
In fact, these Omegas look like I imagined Laurent would, when he was first brought into the attic at gunpoint.
Laurent, however, is endlessly surprising, brave, and dominant for an Omega.
He makes me feel more confident that I will truly find a way out of here for everybody.
I still feel sympathy for these other Omegas.
I hope that when they watch me fight, I’ll be able to inspire them that an Omega can do more than snuggle on their Alphahole’s lap.
I glower at the wealthy Alphas in their seats around the octagon.
They only look more thrilled.
Are their lives truly so boring in the world Above that they need this to get off?
We’re the modern-day gladiators.
These fans would be still bloodthirstily cheering, if we used tridents and nets. They’d be fucking thrilled, if Dad released a lion into the cage.
They want blood.
Are these dark desires deeply buried in everyone? To see people trapped and unable to escape? Battling in brutal, violent competitions for dominance?
Is it because they don’t have the balls to do it themselves?
I always wondered why Alpha Squid Game was such a popular TV show.
I should hate these Alphas. I do. I’m desperate to stop these fights.
Yet I don’t hate all Alphas. Their aggression isn’t to do with their dynamic.
Isn’t my sister an Omega? And she’s one of the most vicious people that I know.
I think that the world is both beautiful and terrible. All I can do is fight for my corner of it and rise up for what I feel deep in my soul to be right.
I won’t turn away, look away, or only look out for myself.
The most dangerous thing isn’t evil but not caring quite enough to stop it.
But I care.
I glance to the side.
Dad has set up a giant, pretty birdcage that’s swinging from the ceiling. It’s brightly lit by silver spotlights.
He has a flair for the dramatic.
Laurent is posing on the perch like he was made for the role.
He’s lying sideways with one leg bent up. He looks like he’s in a fashion shoot for Vogue .
He’s both the sexiest and most untouchable thing that I’ve ever seen.
He’s an ice prince in a cage, only to be won by his knight.
Dad knows what he’s doing .
Laurent is famous. Beautiful. A prize worth killing for.
His waist length pale blond hair splays around him. He rests his elegant fingers on his knee, while he studies the crowd with a half-hooded look that makes my heart race.
His long, pale throat is so fucking tempting that even I want to bite it.
I notice that Dad is pacing around the room greeting the wealthy packs in designer suits and dresses, while sharing a glass of champagne with them. He’s also keeping a careful eye on Laurent at the same time.
Part of me is grateful that Dad is looking out for Laurent, when I can’t. On the other hand, part of me is worried just how close an eye Dad is keeping on him and why.
Feral’s troubled gaze focuses on Laurent, and his shoulders stiffen.
I pull Feral closer.
“We’ll win our Sweet Thorn as well,” I whisper, snatching this final moment of privacy. “Two final matches.”
With great difficulty because I know talking, when he’s in this environment and close to fighting is almost impossible for Feral, he replies, “S-sorry.”
I pull back. “What do you mean?”
Feral’s distracted gaze settles over my shoulder on Laurent again.
Distracted isn’t good this close to the start of a fight.
Feral wets his lips. “S-s-scent match.”
My own gaze flies back to Laurent.
Laurent is my Alpha’s scent match…?
Well, that explains Feral’s reaction to the male Omega in the attic.
Feral Alphas are possessive and protective of their scent matches.
Feral is exactly like that with me .
Feral Alphas are unusual in that they often have multiple scent matches, possibly because their uber dominant natures crave them.
Feral is watching me worriedly like he expects me to be angry.
Instead, I snatch his hand with a smile. “That’s great. I knew that there was something special about Laurent. I could feel it. Plus, I didn’t want to share it before the fight in case it knocked you off form—”
Feral huffs.
“Is that why you didn’t tell me as well?”
He nods.
“We’re dumbasses. It doesn’t make either of us less special. It simply means that we’ve found the perfect male Omega for our pack, if Laurent wants to join us. But whether he does or not, we’ve struck a deal to help him. It’s going to be very hard not to fall in love with him.”
My chest tightens, when I glance at Laurent.
Laurent catches my eye. Then he drops his mask to send me a reassuring smile.
But only for a moment.
Then he’s back to playing the lounging, cold beauty, who has already won the hearts and knots of every Alpha in this room.
Laurent should become an Omega spy or assassin.
He’d be deadly.
I turn Feral’s head to face me. “Focus.”
He snarls, nodding.
“Rise up and no regrets,” I say for him because I know that he can’t speak now.
He bounces on his toes, swinging away from me to our corner of the cage. I warm up as well.
My mind narrows.
The song is nearing its end.
This is it.
We’re facing Vinnie and his newest fighter, Harbinger.
Will they be as deadly as everybody says?
Will Harbinger be brutal? A psycho in the ring?
I wrinkle my nose.
As Romilly has taught me, I won’t get caught up in fighting by someone else’s style. I’ll force him to fight by mine.
Harbinger will never have fought an Omega before, and that gives me the advantage.
When the gate swings open, an insane adrenaline rush surges through me.
Jittery, my jaw chatters.
I make a fist and take a deep breath.
The Hades are known for their theatrical entrances.
The fans cheer, as two tall men in hooded, black capes that brush the floor, sweep into the octagon.
The first man hurls off his cape to reveal the forty year old Head Alpha of the Hades pack, Vinnie, and the Champion of the Octagon until Feral.
He’s six feet seven with a body that’s a mass of scars. One of the rules of the Hades is that no one can tap out of a fight without severe punishment. His body shows the results of that.
He has a thick graying beard and mustache, along with cruel, watery eyes.
I nudge Feral, nodding at the steel chain that’s wound around his wrist.
Is he going to use that as a weapon?
Then I realize that the long length is attached on the other end to Harbinger’s wrist.
Huh, interesting.
I stiffen.
I haven’t fought two people who have been bound together like this.
Is it a new tactic or something else?
My heart speeds up. My pulse roars in my ears.
I can’t look away from the second hooded figure.
Why isn’t Harbinger pushing off the cape? What does he look like underneath there?
I hold my breath.
Then Harbinger lets the hooded cape fall to pool at his feet in a single flourish.
The room seems to let out a collective gasp.
Harbinger stands beneath the lights. They play across his sun-kissed skin and athletic shoulders. He’s only dressed in matching black shorts to Vinnie. The chain that attaches the men together looks too tight around his wrist.
His head hangs down.
His chest is tattooed with a gorgeous howling wolf.
His silvery hair is tied back from his face with bone-white ribbons but flutter to his shoulders.
When Harbinger finally looks up, the breath is punched from me.
He’s the most gorgeous Alpha I’ve ever seen.
Every muscle and sharp line of his face is a work of art.
But art that kills.
Harbinger’s eyebrow is pierced with silver. He’s been made pretty in the same way that Feral has but with a more Gothic twist. His cheeks glitter, but I can see that his nails just like mine have been turned into claws, only silver ones.
He looks like an ice-cold but flirtatious villain, as he boldly meets my gaze with only a quirked eyebrow to show his shock that he’s facing an Omega.
When his gaze slides to Laurent in the cage, however, I’m surprised at the sudden change in his expression.
Harbinger looks troubled and desperate at the same time, before he turns a fierce glare on Feral and me.
I have to stop myself from taking a step back from the deep hate, which has now frozen his midnight green eyes.
I swallow.
Why should I care that this Alphahole from an enemy pack hates me?
I’m about to kick his ass.
I take a deep breath.
Three…
Two…
One…
The bell rings.
Fight time.
Feral and I know each other well enough, our styles and moves, that we don’t need to glance at each other. We can do this, as if by telepathy.
I dart forward, taking on Harbinger like Feral and I have already agreed, while Feral attacks the larger, heavier, and more experienced Vinnie.
I reach Harbinger twice as fast as he was expecting.
This always happens, when I fight someone for the first time. I must make the most of the element of surprise.
Alphas underestimate me.
I rush Harbinger and get in a jab cross.
The first punch can sometimes decide an entire fight. Aggression can beat any height advantage.
Taken by surprise, Harbinger hisses out a breath and staggers back. His hair flies around his shoulders.
Vinnie cruelly yanks Harbinger forward again by the wrist.
He’ll fracture his own fighter’s wrist that way.
“Mind the face,” Harbinger drawls, icy and seductive.
I snort, jabbing him in the nose again.
He laughs, wiping away the blood.
Yeah, definitely unhinged.
“Why? Because you’re too pretty to have it messed up?” Why am I bantering with my rival?
Harbinger circles me. “Aw, you think that I’m pretty.”
“Fuck you.”
“Wish you would.”
Shit, are we flirting?
Vinnie tugs on the chain again, almost tumbling Harbinger onto his ass.
I glance out of the side of my eye.
Feral has backed Vinnie against the barbed wire wall of the cage. He’s wasting no time taking him apart with kicks.
Vinnie is twisting and turning, attempting to escape being pinned down.
But Feral is primal. Savage. Breathtaking.
Like this, he’s relentless and unstoppable.
We’re almost winning this match already.
I steel my expression.
Is this how Harbinger wins? He uses the power of his charm?
It’s not going to work.
When I throw another punch for Harbinger’s jaw, however, this time he appears to have studied and analyzed my style and is ready for it.
He grabs me by the shoulder and reduces the power of my punch. Then he yanks me closer into a clinch.
I struggle, using both my hands to grab him by the neck and pull him in close enough to stop him from attacking me.
Then I sink the tips of my nails into his skin as hard as I can.
Harbinger doesn’t let me go.
Fuck, this man has a high pain tolerance.
“Kitty has claws,” Harbinger murmurs, amused.
“My ring name,” I hiss, “is Cat.”
“Kit.”
“I said,” I say, through gritted teeth, “ Cat .”
“Oh,” Harbinger’s green eyes sparkle, “ Kitten .”
“What do you foreshadow, Harbinger? Pissing me off?”
“ My little Kitten ,” he purrs.
I deliberately sink my nails in deeper.
Harbinger only smirks. “Are you always this cruel to pretty men?”
“Only you.”
“I’m honored.”
“Don’t be.”
“We’re here to slaughter her, not to make love to her,” Vinnie bellows from the other side of the octagon.
Harbinger and I both glance over to him at the same time.
Feral has Vinnie wrestled to the ground now with his arm twisted painfully behind his back.
At Vinnie’s words, Feral growls in fury. Then he smashes Vinnie’s head repeatedly against the ground.
Any other pack would have tapped out. We’d already have won.
But the Hades can’t.
“It looks like we’ve won.” I smirk. “And I’ve hunted and caught you, puppy .”
“See, here’s the problem with that.” Harbinger returns my smirk. Why is he looking so relaxed? “I’m not a puppy. I’m a wolf with claws.”
Unexpectedly, I feel the prick of Harbinger’s sharp nails, dangerously pressing on my stomach.
He could gut me.
How did he distract me enough to make me miss that move?
I swallow.
“Checkmate.” Harbinger’s ice-cold eyes are hard.
I should tap out.
Harbinger could kill me.
He’s as much of a psycho as everybody says. I’ve never met anybody like him before.
Yet this match is the one that either saves Feral or fucks up his life. I can’t simply give up.
I feel numb.
Sick.
In a move that I know he won’t be expecting from me, I bring my leg up lightning fast to knee Harbinger in the balls.
There was a risk that he’d gut me, even as he falls to the floor with a groan.
But Harbinger doesn’t.
I dance backward, gaining distance from him again.
“Low blow.” Harbinger struggles to push himself back to his feet.
“Did you forget that there are no rules in the octagon?” I grin.
Harbinger glances at Laurent, shaking out his wrist, which is bound by the chain. It’s bruised and swollen.
My guts churn with dread. Why is this enemy Alpha taking such an interest in Laurent?
Does he know him? What’s the story?
My eyes narrow. “Why do you keep looking at that male Omega?”
“Haven’t you got eyes?”
I snort. “Don’t tell me that you’re thinking with your knot, even during a fight?”
“Maybe I’ve fallen in love.”
“Bullshit.”
“Then maybe he’s my scent match.”
“You can’t tell that in here.”
Harbinger’s expression becomes dangerous, as he stalks toward me.
There’s a shift in him like looking at Laurent has reminded Harbinger of something, drawing the enjoyment of the fight out of him.
He appears focused into military mode.
He’s clinically cold now, and I’m the enemy that he’s zeroed in on destroying.
I pale, as if I’m staring at an entirely different man.
I shouldn’t be allowing Harbinger to set the pace, but he’s a true predator. The tables have been turned into me being the prey.
How the fuck has this happened?
“Perhaps, I’m the one who kidnapped him.” Harbinger raises his pierced eyebrow. “What if I’ve been stalking him? Obsessed .”
I attempt to kick him, but he dodges easily.
A sickening realization floods me.
He was only playing with me before.
I try again but don’t come close to connecting.
Feral looks up now, sensing my distress. He leaps up, leaving Vinnie in a puddle of blood but still not unconscious.
We haven’t won yet.
Please, Feral…
My heart is beating rapidly. I don’t understand why I’m this scared.
I make myself force out, “I don’t believe you.”
“Devastating.”
Then faster than any other fighter I’ve faced, Harbinger loops the chain in his hand, before reaching to snatch me by the hair.
He yanks me closer.
I fight and scratch, but Harbinger ignores me like I truly only am a kitten.
When Harbinger slips the chain around my neck, dragging me against his chest, panic rushes through me.
Hell, no…
I kick my legs, raising my hands to try and prise him away from my throat.
He twists the chain.
I hear Feral’s furious howl.
Harbinger is going to strangle me to death.
“Please…” I thrash side to side, as my lungs burn.
My throat is screaming in pain.
My body is buzzing and tingling.
“Go to sleep, little Kitten,” a voice whispers in my ear.
Then my vision fades to black.