Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Pits of Hell, The Alpha Underworld
“ T he trick is to imagine that we’re not the ones in the cage: the rest of the world on the other side of the bars are.” Laurent lounges in the giant birdcage, which is swinging from the ceiling of the Pits of Hell.
This time, I’ve been trapped inside alongside Laurent.
Whereas Laurent looks like a fashion model, with his waist length hair dramatically styled over his rose embroidered suit, as if being lit by silver spotlights for the entertainment of Alphas is nothing to him, I’m struggling not to tumble forward onto my face.
I had a dress delivered this afternoon to match Laurent’s suit. It is gray silk, which is as cool as his eyes, with cloth roses climbing over the shoulders.
Unfortunately, I’m not used to wearing dresses anymore. I’m even more unused to being on display in a situation where I’m not fighting.
How has Laurent spent so many years posing like this? As if he’s an object?
No wonder he’s developed a mask.
“Also,” Laurent shoots me a secretly sharp smile, “that the mafia knotheads, along with the corrupt politicians and elites in the audience, whose knots are getting hard at the thought of people dying for sport…are actually the ones locked in the cages for the death matches.”
Laurent, my Sweet Thorn.
“I thought that you got over stage fright by pretending that people were naked.” I snuggle as close to Laurent as I can.
“Was I talking about stage fright?” He bares his teeth.
I love a fierce Omega.
Laurent is scanning the faces of each of the Alphaholes who are sitting at the tables and drinking champagne. He is studying them like he’s memorizing them for his future revenge.
With what I now know of Laurent, I’m certain that he’ll find a way to take down these men who bet on the pain of the fighters in the Underworld.
Below us, the warehouse has been divided into the Nine Pits of Hell: nine small octagons.
Each octagon cage has been made even more dangerous because there is barely the space to fight without being thrown against the barbed wire sides.
Extra weapons have been strewn on the floor: bottles, bricks, and short iron bars.
For this first round, nine fights will take place at once.
Nine fights to the death.
Dad has made sure that they will be more brutal than normal.
Yet nine competitors won’t get through to the next round tomorrow night.
With the size of the octagons and the added weapons, no matter how much their packs attempt to heal those who survive, some won’t be able to stand, let alone fight again so soon.
All the fighters are outside the cages, waiting for the start of the round to be announced. They’re warming up, focused and attempting to ignore the audience.
They’re the strongest fighters from each pack. But their terror is obvious.
They’ve also been chosen to be sacrificed.
I scrunch up my nose at the scent of blood and sweat.
Yet because of the large ventilators, which suck out both pheromones and scents to stop them affecting fighters, I can’t smell my men (even Laurent), and it makes me uneasy.
At least I can feel them through the bond. Only, it’s their fear that I can sense.
Sadness.
We all know that this may be the last time that we see each other.
Suddenly, I sense that Laurent and I are being intensely watched.
When I glance down, I find myself staring into a pair of midnight green eyes.
Painful longing stabs through the bond.
Harbinger.
He’s standing in front of the cage, which is next to Feral’s.
He looks as gorgeous as the first time that I saw him with his sun-kissed skin and athletic shoulders.
More so.
Because this time he’s my Alpha.
My Wolf.
He’s only dressed in black shorts. His hair is tied back from his face with bone-white ribbons.
The lights make the howling wolf tattoo on his chest appear alive.
He’s been made pretty for this fight like his face and body aren’t already marred by bruises and soon won’t be running with blood. His cheeks glitter, and his eyebrow, as well his nails, gleam with silver.
As soon as he realizes that I’m looking, Harbinger straightens his shoulders and shoots me a flirtatious look.
He’s as good at wearing masks as Laurent is.
Next to me, Laurent notices the direction of my look. His breathing hitches.
“He’s smart,” Laurent whispers. “Harbinger will catch on. Also, he beat you last time that you fought. He’ll be all right.”
He’s reassuring himself. But still, I needed to hear it.
Feral and Harbinger will fight for me. But River and Laurent together have scheming minds. I knew that they wouldn’t leave anything about this to chance.
Morally gray has become my favorite color.
When Laurent smiles at Harbinger, Harbinger dramatically blows him a kiss.
Laurent blushes. “Idiot.”
I laugh, needing the moment to break the tension. “ Our idiot.”
I watch Dad wind between the packs below in his bright red suit like the ringmaster. Allegra trails at his shoulder in a floor-length crimson dress with feathers at the shoulder.
My sister looks as miserable as I feel.
After all, this night is the celebration of me becoming heir.
Doesn’t she understand that I am being used as a puppet by Dad? I could have to watch the men I love die.
Allegra should be punished for sending me into a heat. Yet Dad has forgiven her.
I won’t.
Dad jokes and laughs like he isn’t just about to wrest ultimate control by slaughtering the best fighters.
He glances at Laurent and me to check that we’re behaving.
I’m secretly relieved that Dad has put me on display like I’m not his Omega heir but am another Omega prize.
This way, I can be close to Laurent to keep him both company and safe.
We don’t need to be alone, while our Alphas risk their lives below us.
I don’t know if either of us could have dealt with that.
Laurent rests his hand on my knee. I entwine my fingers with his.
He’s shaking.
Yet his face is expressionless. He hides his fear perfectly. I hate what he’s been through in his past that means he can manage this.
I’m a mess.
I whimper.
I’m desperate to be down in that cage, fighting at Feral’s shoulder.
Yet the simple touch of Laurent’s hand is enough to quieten the swelling anxiety that’s making it hard for me to breathe.
River passes underneath our cage.
He’s working as the water boy for the evening.
River hates cage fights. He has suffered to avoid them. Yet he’ll face their violence in order to protect his pack.
River is dressed in a smart white shirt and black trousers, carrying a bucket with water bottles.
His head is ducked deferentially. His curls cover his face.
For a split second, River looks up at Laurent. River’s eyes glitter.
Laurent’s lip curls up at the side, before he nods.
River ducks his head again and hurries past.
“The plan is on,” Laurent says.
I bite my lip, as River holds out the bucket to each fighter. They take the bottles without even noticing or thanking him, apart from Harbinger.
Harbinger reaches out to touch River’s cheek. “Thanks, Sunshine.”
Sunshine looks up, shaking his head.
Harbinger looks confused.
Shit, what happens if Harbinger drinks the water like the other fighters already are?
River has poisoned it.
River glances down at the bottle again but doesn’t dare do anymore, before he hurries back to stand underneath our cage.
Harbinger hesitates, uncertain.
The flower that River was experimenting with won’t cause permanent damage — and importantly, won’t be obvious enough to be detected — but slows an Alpha’s senses down by disorientating them.
I swallow nervously, as the other fighters begin to drink the water.
If every Alpha drinks, apart from Feral and Harbinger, then they’ll have the advantage tonight and tomorrow.
But Harbinger mustn’t drink it.
“He’ll understand.” Laurent’s gaze becomes determined. “He will.”
River shoots a panicked glance at him.
I know River. He’s about to do something stupid like rush back to Harbinger.
I growl, loud enough for Feral to hear.
Feral is standing outside the small octagon cage directly below me.
Feral looks more fearsome than normal. He truly appears to be a savage Devil Alpha.
Barefoot, he’s dressed in red shorts. His chest and back have been smeared with paint like blood. His smoky eyeshadow and eyeliner has been darkened.
Feral is thrumming with the rush of adrenaline that comes before a fight. The noise of the crowds, along with Jin’s “Caged Dreams” that’s playing through the warehouse, is pulling him into his feral nature.
Even though his eyes are wild, he’s holding onto his control in a way that he could never manage in the past.
In the last few weeks, Feral has learned what it means to live no longer in isolation, outside his cage in the attic. He’s grown and developed with the support of a new family.
Now, he glances at Harbinger, who has opened the bottle of water and is studying it.
Instantly, Feral understands our fear.
But how can he help without giving away our plot?
Feral growls, deep in his throat, before prowling to Harbinger. He pounces on him, batting the water out of his hand.
In the struggle, Feral’s water also…conveniently…drops to the floor.
Both bottles spill out into a puddle.
River’s shoulders slump with relief.
“Smart Alpha,” Laurent praises.
But then, I see that Allegra is pulling out the remote control to Feral’s shock collar.
“No!” I yell.
To my surprise, Lionzio breaks off his conversation with Vinnie and glares at Allegra. “Don’t you dare.”
Lionzio marches to the two Alphas like both of them aren’t strong enough to break him in half.
“Stop this,” Lionzio barks at Feral.
Feral rests his hand around Harbinger’s neck for a moment longer. To people who don’t know the two Alphas, it looks dominating in an aggressive way.
I know, however, that Feral is taking the chance to show his possessive love.
To make sure Harbinger is aware how much we’ve missed him.
Harbinger’s pain lessens through the bond, suffusing with a loving softness.
These two Alphas understand each other at a deep level without the need for words.
Harbinger appears to have caught on about the water. He’s vibrating with a new confidence now.
Lionzio rests his hand on Feral’s elbow, leading him back to the gate of his own octagon.
Lionzio pats him on the shoulder. “Good luck.” Then to my shock, he drags him into an awkward hug. “I’m sorry.”
Feral stands frozen.
What does my brother mean?
Lionzio coughs, pulling back.
Embarrassed, he smooths down his suit. “Win for my sis, okay?”
Feral nods.
Lionzio peeks at me like he expects me to glower back.
Instead, I smile.
Lionzio’s smile is strained, but he nods. Then he wraps his arms around himself and stiffly walks to stand next to Dad.
Feral bounces on his toes, warming up.
I tighten my hand around Laurent’s.
The song is nearing its end.
The death matches are about to begin.
“Fighters, step into the cages,” Dad bellows.
Immediately, the eighteen fighters step into the nine cages. The doors clang shut.
I flinch.
I study the Alphas that Feral and Harbinger are facing.
Feral’s rival is the tallest Alpha in the Underworld, Knot King.
He’s an arrogant jerk. His choice of ring name proves it.
He’s one of the older fighters in the NPH Championship. His pack may want to get rid of him because they’re bringing him out of retirement for this.
He won three elite male Omegas as prizes five years ago.
He makes the Omegas’ lives hell.
Even within the Underworld, he’s infamous for his cruelty. I’ve dreamed of being able to beat his ass and save those Omegas.
I bet that he was chosen to fight Feral because he’s the only Alpha, apart from Harbinger, who has any chance of taking on the Champion.
Knot King is taller than Feral with a shaved head, small eyes, and hands that are strong enough to break through brick walls. He’s dressed in navy shorts.
Harbinger is facing the Hit Man.
The Hit Man is the best martial artist in the Underworld. He’s quicker than I am.
I’d also bet any money that he’s the man Dad sent to assassinate River’s family in Sicily.
Hit Man is known to take on contracts by other packs to do their dirty work. Dad threatens others because he gets a thrill out of it. But he rarely pulls the trigger himself.
Hit Man looks much younger than his true age. He’s small and lithe with side-swept bangs, dark brown eyes, and delicate features. His shorts are the same brown as his eyes.
You’d never know that he was a serial killer.
Laurent’s breathing picks up. “River has timed this right. It will kick in.”
“I trust our Alphas,” I reply. “They’re fighting for us as well. Nobody has a stronger motivation.”
Except, the other men are psychos and they’re fighting for their literal lives.
Hit Man casually stoops and picks up an iron bar, resting it on his shoulder.
Knot King snatches up a bottle, smiling sadistically, as he smashes it against the side of the cage.
He holds the jagged side up in front of himself.
Feral doesn’t reach for anything.
He is the weapon.
Dad has been honing him into one his entire life.
Harbinger circles the cage like he’s taking a casual stroll. He stretches, before throwing me a wink over his shoulder.
“Our idiot,” I repeat, despite shaking with fear.
Three…
Two…
One…
The bell rings.
All at once, the fighters in the nine cages attack each other.
The crowd roar.
Blood spills.
Laurent whimpers and turns his head away. “I can’t watch.”
He nuzzles against my neck for comfort.
River’s distress shoots through the bond. I wish that I could wrap my arms around him as well.
Feral growls and rushes Knot King.
Feral is glorious. His aggression is born not only out of his feral nature but years of hard training and experience.
From his blood, sweat, and tears.
Knot King’s eyes widen in panic at the immediate attack. He attempts to wave the broken glass, slashing it across Feral’s shoulder.
Feral bares his teeth with pain but doesn’t allow it to slow him down.
Blood drips down from the wound.
Feral acts like he can’t feel the injury, however, driving the other Alpha back onto the barbed wire.
Knot King howls in pain, then again as Feral grabs his wrist and twists it, until he drops the bottle.
There are two ways to win fights: the complex back and forth with an opponent, until you outsmart them or simply, beat them into submission.
You never stop moving forward, only showing strength, until you dominate them.
Or you go in with such aggressive, forward pressure that you’ve beaten them from the first move.
And this is what Feral has done.
I should have known that he would, when not only his life, but also our bonds are at stake.
Knot King attempts to knee Feral in the groin, but Feral dodges.
Then Feral simply bites Knot King in the neck.
But not like when he bit River or me.
This is a savaging.
Feral is tearing out his opponent’s throat.
I stiffen.
The crowd is going wild.
Finally, Feral allows Knot King to fall to the floor.
Feral looks like a warrior god, as he wipes his hand over his bloody mouth, daubing the true blood over the fake paint on his chest.
He turns to the crowd. Defiantly, he raises his chin and roars.
The Alphas in their suits pale.
“Feral did it.” I nudge Laurent to open his eyes. “He’s fucking won.”
Laurent opens his eyes.
“My Champion!” He calls down.
Feral turns in the cage, glancing between Laurent and me.
He didn’t even need the other Alpha to be weakened by the drugged water. It hadn’t kicked in yet.
Feral is the uber Alpha in this room. And everyone knows it.
The moment that Feral is let off Dad’s leash, nobody can doubt that they should watch out.
And Feral is my Alpha.
I don’t know that this is the message Dad was intending to send tonight.
“Wait,” Laurent pales, “why aren’t the fighters looking weaker yet? Is Harbinger…?”
Panicked, we both scramble to the other side of the birdcage to be able to see Harbinger’s fight better.
Shit, it isn’t going well.
Harbinger was already in bad shape before it began. He’d clearly had fractured ribs, he’d been limping, and his back was covered in welts.
He must have spent the last nine days in the Discipline Cells.
How hard will it be to fight in this state?
Harbinger is still doing his best.
Hit Man swings the iron bar like it’s a bat. It cracks into Harbinger’s already bruised ribs with a precision that means Hit Man is aiming at his opponent’s weaknesses.
I wince.
Harbinger barely reacts, however, merely staggering back a step.
Harbinger swaggers around the octagon like he owns it.
“Is that all you’ve got?” He taunts Hit Man. “Did you bore your victims to death?”
He has balls.
Yet when Hit Man hefts the bar over his shoulder to kick Harbinger’s legs out from underneath him, I suck in a breath.
Shit, shit, shit.
Underneath me, River is pacing, as worried as I am.
What’s Harbinger doing?
“Why isn’t he attacking?” I hiss.
“Harbinger trusts us.” Laurent’s expression is tight. “He’s betting his life on it, in fact.”
My throat is dry.
Harbinger didn’t fight back in the study for our sake. Now, he’s doing the same thing because he’s waiting for his opponent to become disorientated, before he strikes.
Harbinger was trained by an ex-military Alpha. It’s why he fights with such good strategy. It’s also why he can take pain so well.
But what if this is another one of River’s failed experiments?
“Work,” I whisper. “ Work .”
Laurent nuzzles against my neck, desperately.
All of a sudden, I notice some of the other fighters stumble. A couple start to slow their attacks or miss their punches.
It’s subtle but enough.
Yes.
Hit Man’s eyes become glassy. He blinks, before loosening his hold on the iron bar.
The bar slips from his fingers. “What…?”
Harbinger’s expression becomes steely, as he instantly pushes himself to his feet. “ My guess? Vengeance .”
I jolt.
Does River know that this man may have killed his parents? Glancing down at River and seeing how intently he’s watching the fight, I realize that he must.
How could he not have investigated it?
I should have guessed that Harbinger would have also put it together.
Has River talked about this with him?
Harbinger has worked out more about how the Underworld works and its dark secrets than I thought was possible.
Hit Man staggers back a step.
Harbinger strolls toward him, catching him with a flurry of jabs that he tries to unsuccessfully block. Then he relentlessly drives Hit Man against the side of the cage, grinding his shoulder into his solar plexus.
Hit Man looks like he’s drowning. He waves his arms around, trying to regain some of the power, but he can’t.
Harbinger grabs Hit Man by the hair and tosses him to the floor. Then with cold military precision, but none of the Feral’s wildness in the kill, he chokes Hit Man out and doesn’t stop until Hit Man stops moving.
Harbinger is breathing hard.
He’s ashen, but when he stands up, he turns to look at River through the bars of the cage.
He nods at the Beta.
River’s eyes gleam with tears. He nods back.
Harbinger has avenged River’s pack.
“They did it,” Laurent whispers. “Harley, they’re…”
I pull Laurent against my side. “…alive.”
With shock, I notice that the other fights are over too.
Except, they’ve been bloodier than Feral and Harbinger’s. Even the winners aren’t winners because they’re wounded or in need of emergency medical care.
I can see how hard it is for River as a medic not to rush to help them.
“Silence!” Dad raises his hands. The warehouse falls silent apart from the groans and sobbing of the wounded or dying fighters. “What a spectacular Championship Special! It looks like there are only two fighters capable of continuing, Feral and Harbinger. Ladies and gentleman, I’m therefore declaring that we will continue straight onto the final between these two impressive fighters tonight in the ultimate death match. Place your bets: Who will live and who will die?”