ELIANO #4
At first it is one by one, then in pairs, and finally even three at a time.
I have to keep moving constantly. My body remembers every training session, every damn fight I have ever been in.
I slip into it like a machine. Precision.
Dodge. Shift. A hard strike with everything I have.
Twist. Power comes from the hips, rooted all the way from the ground.
I pivot on my heel, the force travels through my arm and lands.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
I hit them and drop them.
The surge inside my body is massive, and suddenly I realize something is happening to me.
The tips of my fingers start to itch, and my gums begin to ache.
But they, almost as if feeling their losses in smaller waves, form a larger group and start pressing in with a unified front.
I know fists will no longer be enough.
They’ll swarm me and tumble me to the ground in a heartbeat. I have maybe three seconds to make a decision.
My gaze lands on the metal frame supporting one of the spotlights aimed at the dance floor.
With a powerful spinning kick, I knock it over, and the reflector mast gives with a sharp metallic cry.
The entire lighting rig shudders, tips, and crashes sideways, scattering light and rattling.
Almost instinctively, I grab a length of metal that tears free from the rest. It’s long, straight, and well-balanced.
It is not a kendo sword, but it might as well be.
The weight sits where a bokken would, the length close to a shinai, and my grip finds its place with ease.
I roll my wrists and send it into motion, a clean circular wind-up that hums through the air, steel cutting space the way a bamboo bō staff once did.
The sound alone is enough. The alphas slow, hesitate. No one wants to be the first to test whether the arc will stop for bone.
I hold center, feet set, shoulders loose, the pipe spinning once more before I still it, the tip leveled to promise reach.
For a split second, I meet Salt’s eyes. He stands pressed with his backside to one of the nearby tables. It’s shock and respect. But I don’t care. It’s not done yet.
The tingling in my body is rising.
Fuck, why are my gums aching?
That is when one of the alphas breaks from the line. I recognize him. He was the one Bashir had the longest fight with. He’s considered second in skill here.
Courage or stupidity pushes him forward.
He rushes in low, trying to beat the arc, and I step off-line instead of back, in a swift and sharp movement.
The pipe snaps down, not to strike but to sweep, taking his legs out from under him in a clean cut.
He hits hard, air blasting from his lungs, and I am already on him, knee dropping to his chest as my weight pins him flat.
But fuck, my hands feel wrong. My fingertips burn. The makeshift bokken slips from my grip…
What is going on?
Around me, the alpha group stays where it is, no longer advancing, watching me with their mouths gaping.
To my shock, I feel control slipping, immersing me in a red haze.
I tilt my head back, open my mouth, and let out a drawn-out, guttural roar, low and rumbling. In the AO language, it signifies victory, triumph.
"Holy shit," some beta shouts. "Back off, people! He’s going into fighting mode!"
Oh, fuck.
He’s probably right.
I can literally feel my glands swelling, my muscles bulging, but what’s with the gums? Am I about to deploy fangs?
The fighting mode is a unique state alphas enter when they are protecting their mated partner. Which makes no sense here. This should not happen with a beta. And yet, in my case, it is happening anyway.
I feel blood almost painfully flooding into my muscles as they swell and tighten.
"Back up, back up!" a beta yells. "His eyes are already red!"
He waves his arms and grabs at his own alpha, trying to pull him away from the floor. That is when I notice blood pouring freely from the man’s mouth. In his open lips, I see two lower teeth missing.
The beta’s shouts finally have an effect. No one wants to fight an alpha in fighting mode. Our bodies change then, turning almost beast-like. Pain doesn’t register. The adrenaline rush is so intense that we are nearly indestructible, at least for the duration of the episode.
The ring of alphas around me thins out. Some of them retreat to the back. None of these guys can enter fighting mode, since they're not mated alphas. They can't beat me, not at this stage.
Amid the chaos, one person stands motionless, observing me calmly.
Sidorov. Our eyes meet, and I let out a low growl.
He seems content! Psycho.
Then, I turn and, one more time, look at Salt. He still stands a few feet away, frozen in place, staring at me with his mouth hanging open. On his face I see fear, panic, and a painful awareness of what his behavior has led to.
"I’m sorry," he blurts out, his voice breaking.
Suddenly, Jeff cuts in from the side. He did not join the attackers. He stayed nearby, clapping and cheering the alphas as they rushed me.
"Don’t apologize, beta. This turned out great. When he kept wriggling out of Last Man Standing, we thought he didn’t have the balls."
My contract husband’s face darkens.
"Oh, you really know a lot about missing balls, don’t you?" Salt fires back, rage in his eyes as he glares at Jeff.
"What did you just say?" Jeff growls.
"Cuck!"
The word rings out across the dance floor.
A horrifying silence falls.
Everyone stares at Salt and Jeff.
Jeff, apparently, didn’t get the memo the first time, because he is about to make the same mistake. He raises his hand, about to take a swing at Salt, but I see it literally in slow motion. The fighting mode grants me that.
I charge at Jeff like a raging bull and slam him to the ground.
He learns slowly? He’ll learn this time!
Blow after blow lands on Jeff’s face, turning it into red pulp in seconds. All I hear is my breath and my pounding heart, and the smell of blood drives my adrenaline even higher.
Then… right next to Jeff’s battered head, someone drops to their knees.
It’s Shane.
His hands are clenched at his chest in a pleading gesture, his face soaked with tears.
"Please, alpha! Please don’t kill him, I’m begging you. I love him!"
His scent, with its distinctive hint of vanilla, immediately reveals pregnancy. That snaps me back to myself, even though it’s incredibly hard in the state I’m in.
Focusing on reining in my energy, I stop punching, aware that I’ve already done plenty of damage.
Slowly, I stand up, leaving Jeff’s unconscious body on the floor. Shane bends down over his bloodied face, as if trying to shield him from me. I turn in a slow circle. A heavy silence has settled over the room, and someone has even turned the music off.
That is when I notice a small group of betas grouped near Sidorov, dressed in staff uniforms. They are holding tasers, but none of them makes a move to use them. They just stand there, watching passively.
Sidorov also observes it almost indifferently.
Of course. They had no intention of interfering with the spectacle. Why am I not surprised?
I look at the alphas still standing, and at those sprawled on the floor or struggling to get back up.
"If anyone here ever tries to touch him, I swear I’ll make you suffer. And I mean it."
Silence answers me, no one dares to say a word. I assume they took me pretty seriously. When someone speaks while in fighting mode, it is hard not to.
I look back at Salt. He is staring at me, lips parted, breathing fast.
I walk over, bend down, grab him around the waist, and sling him over my shoulder like I’m some damn caveman.
With a grim expression, I head toward our unit, leaving the silenced aftermath behind.
Not for long, though.
To my astonishment, once I am about sixty feet away, someone turns the music back on! What the fuck? Just another night here, apparently.
It is shocking, and yet somehow not. This island really is a strange place.
Carrying Salt, completely limp and letting himself be hauled over my shoulder, I enter Unit 71.
Only then do I set him down against the wall, unsure how well he will be able to stay on his feet after all the blood has rushed to his drunk head.
I stand facing him, looking straight at him, at his beautiful face, wild and feline and provocative. His lips are red and parted, and suddenly there is nothing I want more than to bite them.
"Your eyes," Salt whispers. "Your irises are completely red. How’s that possible, Eliano?"
I ignore it and take a step closer.
"How come you are in fighting mode? We’re not mated!"
We are staring at each other now. In this state, an alpha sees differently, and I am finding out firsthand how peculiar it is. Every motion I catch seems slightly slowed down, probably because my own movements are so intensely accelerated, and my senses are on almost superhuman high alert.
That is why the way his eyelids blink looks almost languid, provocative, sensual. The way his tongue slides over his lips seems deliberate and erotic too, even though it might just be the distorted perception of my condition.
And then I just decide to do it, because why not. I simply want to reach for it.
I lean in and close my mouth over his in a violent, hungry kiss.
The response is enthusiastic.
Salt grabs me by the neck and gives himself to the kiss with the same fire.
I have never kissed anyone before. This is my first kiss, and holy shit, I like it a lot.
His tongue piercing makes quiet, clinking sounds as it slides over my teeth, adding extra spice to everything.
My body feels like a drawn bowstring, I grab him around the waist, lift him into the air, then throw him onto the bed and jump after him.
My gosh, what a shame you cannot enter fighting mode during ring fights. The lightness and power in my body right now is incredible, as if it is drawing from some inexhaustible source of energy.