Chapter Two

Faith

The guard—a bald, thuggish alpha who goes by Axe —drags me to the edge of the ring. I flash him a snarl as he shoves me inside, knowing damn well I could take a chunk out of his neck if I wanted to. But the bidders aren't here to see me bite the hand that feeds.

They're here to see me bite her .

On the opposite end of the ring, another guard escorts K-4. The crowd roars from up in the stands, but the fluorescents are so intense, it's impossible to pick out their faces without getting blinded.

Lewd cheers rain down. "Fuck her up!"

"Show us your teeth, sweetheart!"

If K-4 is aware of the racquet, she doesn't let on. Her dark eyes are locked on me.

I know Hamish is finally finished talking when the crowd reaches a fever pitch. They're cheering so loudly I almost don't hear the starting bell.

Just like that, K-4 charges me. I hold my ground, even as my heart lurches up my throat, waiting until she gets as close as possible.

And I side-step.

She collides with the fence like a big feral bull. Metal rattles, reverberating across the entire ring.

I strike before she can gather her bearings, my foot whipping the arch of her spine.

"F-7 is in her element, ladies and gentlemen," Hamish calls. "Quick as a viper."

Just blocking K-4's next attack makes my forearms feel like they're going to snap in half. I make a low, sweeping kick, throwing her off-kilter. K-4 curses. She grabs a fistful of my hair—cropped short, like hers—for balance.

I hiss, clawing at her until she lets go.

Well, I say ‘let go'—more like ‘throws me halfway across the ring'.

Only the cement can catch my fall before I tumble to a halt. I try to leap back up, pain exploding in my ankle.

"And here comes K-4!" Hamish cheers. "Reminding all of us just how strong an omega can be."

The air is thick with pheromones, alphas grinning down at us so hungrily I don't know if they want to fuck us or actually eat us alive.

"What will our little viper do, ladies and gentlemen?"

Defiance simmers inside of me.

K-4 brings her fist down over my head. I grab her forearm with both hands, digging my nails in until they draw blood.

We exchange punches, me distributing lightning-fast blows across all her weak spots, her landing sluggish but destructive hits anywhere she can reach. I manage to swerve, weave, and duck away from the worst of it.

K-4 is not so lucky.

She cries out as I execute a particularly nasty uppercut, clipping the base of her ribs.

"Ouch!" Hamish laughs. "K-4's looking a little winded there, wouldn't you say?"

My opponent seethes. With more agility than I thought her capable, she ducks, throwing all her weight into my gut.

Bile floods my mouth—or maybe it's blood. All the air in my body seems to disappear.

My knees hit the floor.

And the crowd goes wild.

I can practically smell the money being traded amongst the stands. All the people who placed their bets on K-4 cashing in. All those who bet on me probably cursing my name.

K-4 takes a step back, her gaze flicking up to the stands.

There's your chance, I imagine Fang's voice in my head.

Snarling, I slash at K-4's heels. My nails feel gritty, as if I've ripped the tendons clean out. She drops, and I don't hesitate to pin her down, putting all my weight down on her injured rib. Something snap s.

K-4 howls.

And then I'm pounding her head into the cement. She must be fighting back, or I wouldn't still be attacking, but it's hard to be certain.

Hundredth fight. Hundredth win. I'm getting the fuck out of here, no matter what it takes.

"Down on the ground!"

"Everyone, down on the fucking ground, right now!"

No-one is taking me down , I want to snarl back, but who I'd be snarling to, I have no idea.

K-4 stares up, only half-conscious, her face a bloodied mess. The sight of it makes my hands shake. I try to spell out the words— I'm sorry —when I hear those voices again.

"NCPD! Get down on the ground, or we will put you down!"

NCPD ? What is that—another group of contenders?

The fluorescent lights flicker, dark shapes filtering through the stands, knocking down everything in their path. Maybe I should take some pleasure in it—seeing the audience at each other's throats, for a change—but I don't.

They should be looking at me. Bidding on me .

Fang ! I sign desperately, wondering if he's still watching from the cells. FANG !

The metal fence rattles open. An alpha I don't recognize—not a rogue, and certainly not a ringleader—enters the ring. He's as tall and strong as Fang, but with colour in his skin, and light in his amethyst eyes.

"Hey, there." He approaches with his hands up. "You're safe now." Then he sneaks a look at K-4—beaten, barely conscious—and his face changes.

Like he's realized I'm not the one who needs rescuing.

My inner omega screams at me to stand up. She doesn't care who this guy is. He walked into the ring, which makes him a contender. Someone I need to fight, to defeat, so I can save my mate.

Those bright amethyst eyes are the last thing I see before I attack.