Chapter 4
Southern Star
Alexa
“You can’t just leave me here alone. Aren’t you supposed to protect me?” My eyes widen, a deep frown creasing my forehead as the words rush out.
I search his dark eyes, trying to read whatever burns behind them. There is something fierce there, like a fire kept carefully contained. His jaw tightens. For a second, I think he might change his mind. Then he shakes his head.
“I gotta go,” he says. “There are things I need to handle elsewhere. And it’s better if we split up. Makes it harder for those Alphas to track us.” His tone sharpens, edged with impatience.
“But… but how?” I stammer.
“Go inside. Ask for a man named Mr. Moris. He’ll take it from there,” he says, flat and detached.
The idea of walking into an unfamiliar place alone, trusting a stranger I have never met, sends a spike of anxiety through my chest. I bite my lower lip, brows knitting together as I look back at him, trying one last time.
“Please,” I say softly. “Just stay a little longer. At least until I meet Mr. Moris and know I’m actually safe.”
Harlow lifts an eyebrow. “If this place ain’t safe, you really think sticking with me makes it any better?”
The answer lodges in my throat. He is a stranger too. I barely know him. Being with Harlow doesn’t guarantee safety. Still, the thought of being left alone feels unbearable.
He exhales slowly. “Fine. Just until you meet Mr. Moris.”
Relief floods me so fast I almost laugh. A smile spreads across my face, bright and unguarded. Inside me, Mythril stirs, practically buzzing at the thought of more time with him.
“Thank you,” I say, grinning.
He stares at me, eyes slightly widened, and the look makes heat crawl up my neck. For a heartbeat, I feel foolish, needy, exposed.
“Come on,” he mutters, turning away.
He pushes open the club door, and dim light spills over us. Neon glows in shades of purple, blue, and red, casting lazy reflections across the room. Soft electronic music hums through the air, steady and hypnotic.
Thick, cushioned chairs line the walls. Tables circle a long stage, a tall metal pole rising at its center. The smell hits me all at once, sweat, sharp rose perfume, stale alcohol, and something sour underneath it all. My nose wrinkles on instinct.
“Oh, Goddess. What is this place? Why did he take you here?” Mythril mutters inside my head. “Are they drunk in the middle of the day? What kind of creatures live like this?”
I glance around. Some men sit flushed and glassy eyed, laughing too loudly or slurring their words. Others are enormous, muscles exaggerated to the point of absurdity. Women in short dresses lounge across couches, giggling as they shift between laps.
We move deeper into the club until we reach the long bar at the far end. Bottles and glasses gleam neatly along the rack behind it. Every stool is occupied by men, women, and young couples pressed close together.
A man in a black shirt stands behind the bar, carefully polishing a glass. When he sees us, he smiles.
“Hey,” Harlow says.
“Hey there. You folks looking to order?” the bartender asks.
“No,” Harlow replies, clearing his throat. “We’re here to see Mr. Moris. Had a meeting set up.”
I glance sideways at him, frowning. A meeting? Is that true, or is he bluffing?
“Well then,” the bartender says easily, pointing toward a door near the back, “head through there and take the stairs up. Mr. Moris’ll be on the sofa.”
Harlow squints. “You’re gonna have to be more specific. I’m guessing he ain’t the only one sitting on a sofa.”
The bartender grins. “Only one sofa up there. And only one man allowed to sit on it.”
With that, he turns to another customer. Harlow and I exchange a look. I can only knit my brow.
“A real subtle secret door,” Mythril remarks dryly.
“Let’s go,” Harlow says, already moving.
He opens the door, revealing an emergency stairwell that leads both up and down. Noise filters from above, muffled but heavy. As we climb, the sound grows louder, rougher.
“You sure this Mr. Moris can actually help me?” I ask, my breath hitching.
“That’s what folks say,” he answers. “Word is, he used to be a kingmaker.”
“A rumor?” I scoff. “You’re leaving me based on a rumor? And what’s a kingmaker anyway? I don’t wanna be an Alpha. I just wanna live.”
“He’ll give you a place to stay,” Harlow says. “Train you. Help you get control of your wolf.”
“Train here?” I ask, confused. “Wolves need open land. Fields. Space.” He doesn’t answer.
When we reach the second floor, Harlow opens the only door. My jaw drops.
“Oh my Goddess,” I breathe.
The walls are padded, thick enough to smother sound. Sweat hangs heavy in the air, so strong it makes my stomach churn. I cover my mouth, breathing through my fingers.
A boxing ring dominates the center of the room.
People crowd around it, shouting and cheering.
Inside the ring, a massive man trades blows with a muscular woman, a dragon tattoo curling down her arm.
Her hair is braided into two tight plaits, her movements sharp and fast. She lands a clean punch to his eye, and he groans.
I grip the back of Harlow’s shirt, instinctively seeking shelter from the violence unfolding in front of me. Blood streaks down skin slick with sweat as fists collide without mercy.
“There,” Harlow says, nodding toward the side of the ring. “That’s gotta be Mr. Moris.”
Sure enough, a middle-aged man with his hair tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck sits on the only sofa in the room.
He’s not sitting on the cushions but perched on the sofa’s backrest, his face calm, his elbows resting on his knees.
We squeeze through the packed crowd, bodies brushing past us as we struggle to reach him.
“Mr. Moris?” Harlow says when we finally stand beside him.
Just then, the bell rings several times, sharp and metallic, and the room erupts in a roar of cheers. The match has ended. The winner is the woman, lifted by the crowd chanting her name, “Jo.”
Mr. Moris claps and cheers along with the others. We wait until the wave of victory euphoria settles before he turns to Harlow.
“If you wanna fight, sign up at the counter over there,” he says, pointing toward a counter built into the wall.
“We ain’t here to fight. I heard you train special kids,” Harlow says, stepping aside and revealing me behind his back.
Mr. Moris looks me over from head to toe. My sweaty palms tighten their grip on Harlow’s shirt. He studies me in silence, and under his gaze, my confidence crumbles with each second.
“How special?” Mr. Moris asks.
“Eighteen. Lycan. Pure Alpha heiress. Can’t control her wolf, but she’s got serious magic,” Harlow says in one breath.
Once again, Mr. Moris stares at me, longer this time. The room seems to tilt, as if I’m back in the auction hall. Harlow never mentions a price, yet Mr. Moris’s assessing eyes feel no different from the masked bidders who once measured my worth in silence.
“I won’t take her,” he says coldly.
For a moment, the three of us stand locked in tense stillness while the crowd around us keeps cheering for Jo’s victory or mourning her opponent’s loss. I blink, my mouth opening without sound, and Mr. Moris only narrows his eyes at me.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” Mythril snaps inside my head.
“You need money or something? She ain’t got it. She was sold to an Alpha and ran,” Harlow says, his brows knitting together.
“Bad news. Everyone’s got problems in the neutral zone. I don’t give a damn where you heard about me, but if you think I’m gonna hand her a bed and free meals, let alone train her,” he pauses, glancing between me and Harlow, “then you’re dead wrong. She ain’t good enough,” Mr. Moris scoffs.
“Ain’t good enough,” Mythril echoes bitterly.
I frown and lower my head. Am I really that worthless? Am I meant to be nothing more than a punching bag for the rest of my life?
Mr. Moris turns away, greeting several men who shake his hand. Some pass him a portion of the money they’ve won from betting. He grins at the cash, completely ignoring us.
“Come on, Alexa. He ain’t worth it,” Harlow says, turning toward me. His eyes darken, that familiar warning look, like his Lycan is clawing close to the surface.
I bite my lower lip, weighing everything at once. I have no home, no money, and yet something in my chest tells me this place is right. Maybe I’m crazy to listen to an invisible whisper that offers no promises at all.
Still, something pushes me forward. I can’t walk away empty-handed after everything Harlow risks to save me. He’s already made enemies of two Alphas, and with me beside him, his burden only grows. If Mr. Moris truly can give me shelter and training, then this is what I need.
“I’ll work,” I say, and yes, maybe I really am insane.
My voice carries as I step toward Mr. Moris instead of following Harlow. He pauses and looks back at me.
“What?!” Mythril yells.
“What do you think you’re doing? Let’s go,” Harlow snaps, rushing to my side. I lift my hand, stopping him. I know what I have to do.
“I’ll work for you. Any job. I used to be a servant back home. Just let me stay and train here. I wanna get stronger,” I say, meeting Mr. Moris’s brown eyes without looking away.
He studies me for a moment, then a crooked smile slowly spreads across his lips. “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Mr. Moris stands and cups his hands around his mouth, his shout cutting through the noise and drawing everyone’s attention.
“Hey, Jo!”
The fighter turns from the ring to face him.
“One more round!”
The crowd explodes with cheers. Jo nods in response. Harlow grabs Mr. Moris’s arm, realization flashing across his face.
“What the hell are you doing?” he growls.
“Giving her the first lesson,” Mr. Moris says with a smirk, then turns back to me. “Fight Jo, she’s one of my trainees. Do that, and I’ll train you and keep you safe, swear it on my last drop of blood. Go change at the counter,” he says, tipping his chin toward a door across the room.
“She ain’t fighting,” Harlow snaps, but Mr. Moris doesn’t even blink.
Am I really about to put my trust in another strange man who runs a fight club?
I glance at Jo, the tall woman with that confident smirk on her lips.
How does a girl like her take down a half-giant all on her own?
If she gets that strong after becoming his trainee, then maybe I have a shot at becoming strong like her too.
I’ve had enough of being kicked around by everyone. I want to be like Harlow, a strong Lycan who can take down guards. Or like Jo, strong enough to defeat a half-giant in the ring.
“I will,” I say.
My feet carry me toward the counter. Harlow calls after me, trying to reach me, but I slip through the crowd, the noise swallowing his voice as I move forward.
* * *
“You look decent in that getup,” the man behind the counter says, giving me a quick once-over before nodding. “So, what’s your stage name?”
“Stage name?” I ask, frowning as I pull my hair up into a high ponytail, fingers tightening the elastic until it sits just right.
“Yeah,” he says easily. “Folks always use stage names in fights. Makes you sound tougher. That’s how people’ll know you.” He shrugs, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I pause, uncertainty settling in. My gaze drifts to the fight schedule board, where names are scrawled in bold letters. The High Priestess. X-kay. Jo. Rock Man. Names that feel larger than life, untethered from whoever they used to belong to.
Maybe a stage name isn’t just for show. Maybe it’s a shield. A way to disappear from the world I’m running from, even if it’s only for a while.
* * *
I am crazy. Mythril is shouting with excitement at the thought of a fight, while Harlow only watches me with a sharp, disapproving stare that never once leaves my back.
I walk toward the ring. Borrowed clothes cling awkwardly to me, a short-sleeved shirt a size too big and thigh-length shorts that don’t quite feel like mine.
I stop beneath the ropes, looking up at the elevated platform.
Behind me, Harlow folds his arms and tells me again and again that I shouldn’t do this.
“I ain’t gonna be your burden anymore,” I say quietly, without turning around.
The referee strikes the bell. Metal rings out sharp and loud, and the crowd surges, chanting Jo’s name in unison. The referee lifts his hand and gestures toward me, his voice carrying across the room as he announces the stage name I chose. My grandmother’s maiden name.
“Brianna Smith!”
At the sound of it, I climb into the ring through the metal barriers.
Boos and jeers rain down on me, vibrating through the ring floor, but I swallow hard and let the noise blur into a distant roar.
I chose this name to erase myself, to leave nothing behind for anyone to trace.
From this moment on, I am Brianna Smith.
Across the ring, Harlow stares at me wide-eyed, disbelief written all over his face.
“And on the champion’s side, here’s Jo!”
Jo steps into the ring, rolling her shoulders, fists clenched as she swings her head side to side in a quick stretch. Maybe she’s trying to intimidate me. I force myself to stay focused, scanning her stance, her balance, any weakness I can exploit. I find none.
Up close, it’s even clearer how outmatched I am. She is solid, controlled, powerful. This is the same woman who just took down a man five times my size without breaking a sweat. My chest tightens, pulse hammering in my ears, but I take a slow breath and tell myself I can do this. I won’t back down.
If Mr. Moris keeps his promise and protects me, maybe Alpha Alastair will never find me in this forgotten town. Maybe I’ll finally have time to train, to control my wolf, to become a real Lycan.
“What if I die?” I ask Mythril.
“You won’t,” she says. “You’ll get stronger.”
Jo watches me closely now. She is tall and broad-shouldered, muscles earned through years of training. Her abs are defined, her tattooed arms thick with strength. Yet when our eyes meet, I don’t see cruelty. There’s no malice there. Only focus. Only the need to win.
For a brief moment, I wonder if she’s like me. Someone who fought her way here just to survive. Someone who needed this place as badly as I do.
The referee steps between us. “Listen up,” he says loudly. “No rules. Fight however you want. Whoever falls, passes out, dies, or can’t get back up in ten seconds loses. You got that?”
I nod. Jo nods too.
“She’s gotta be tired from the last match,” Mythril says, her tone turning sharp and calculating. “That’s our edge.”
The referee drops his arm. “Fight!”
The bell rings again, and the room explodes with noise. I raise my fists in front of my chest, grounding myself, eyes locked on Jo as I brace for her first move.