Two
1413 Words
The walk to Alpha Grant’s office feels longer than usual, every step dragging like I’m wading through thick mud. The Bloodmoon Packhouse looms around me, its once-grand halls now more of a prison than home. The scent of damp wood and old blood clings to the air, a constant reminder of the suffering within these walls. I force my breathing to remain steady, clenching my fists at my sides. Whatever awaits me behind that door, I refuse to let him see me break.
Enforcer Maddox walks beside me, his heavy boots echoing through the corridor. He’s been Grant’s right hand for years, a man who enjoys the power he holds over others a little too much. He doesn’t just enforce Grant’s will—he relishes in it. I can feel his gaze lingering, waiting for me to show some kind of fear, some weakness he can report back to his master. When we reach the door, he doesn’t bother knocking. Instead, he shoves it open with unnecessary force, then steps aside, grinning as if he expects me to hesitate. I don’t give him the satisfaction. Without a word, I walked past him into the room.
Alpha Grant lounges behind his massive desk, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows over his already severe features. The office, once meticulously maintained, now reeks of whiskey and decay. Papers are scattered haphazardly across the desk, some stained with what looks like dried blood. The scent of burnt-out cigars thickens the air, mingling with something more rancid—something metallic. I don’t want to know what it is.
He doesn’t acknowledge me immediately, taking his time as he rolls the glass of whiskey between his fingers, his eyes fixed on the amber liquid as if it holds the secrets to the universe. The silence stretches, calculated and cruel, meant to remind me of my place. A game he likes to play, where he pretends I don’t exist until it amuses him to acknowledge me.
Finally, his gaze lifts, cold and assessing. His lips pull into something resembling a smirk, but there’s no humor behind it. “Ah, Zarya. How nice of you to join me.”
I keep my expression neutral. “You sent for me.”
His smirk deepens, as if amused by my lack of submission. “And yet, you still somehow manage to make it sound like I’m inconveniencing you.”
I don’t respond. I’ve learned the hard way that anything I say can and will be used against me.
Grant leaned back in his chair, tapping a finger against the rim of his glass. “You know, I’ve been thinking. Keeping you around all these years… it’s been quite the gamble, hasn’t it?”
I swallowed the immediate retort rising in my throat. He wants a reaction. I won’t give him one.
“You should be grateful,” he continues, swirling the whiskey. “Most would’ve had you killed outright. A girl like you… wolf-less, useless.” He tilts his head, studying me like I’m some curious specimen under glass. “And yet, here you are. A survivor.”
Survivor. That’s what they call me, because they refuse to say prisoner.
He watches me closely before exhaling through his nose, as if disappointed. “Tonight, you’ll be fighting. Not sure how you keep managing to win, but maybe tonight will be a nice surprise.”
My pulse kicks up, but I keep my stance firm. “Against who?”
A slow, sinister grin stretches across his face. “Now that would ruin the fun, wouldn’t it?”
A chill laces down my spine. I’ve fought before, forced to entertain his twisted version of sport, but something in his tone feels different this time. There’s an edge to it, something almost… eager.
“You don’t seem excited.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Not looking forward to another chance to prove yourself?”
I bite back the response I want to give. If I say the wrong thing, he’ll twist it against me. I’ve seen what happens to those who defy him. The bodies are dragged from the pack house, the way no one speaks their names afterward.
Grant stands, circling the desk until he’s directly in front of me. He reaches out, and I fight every instinct telling me to flinch when he trails a finger down my arm, pausing at my wrist. His grip tightens, just enough to bruise.
“You’ve been a stain on this pack for far too long,” he murmurs, his breath reeking of alcohol. “But I’ve found a use for you yet.”
I grind my teeth, forcing myself to stay still.
He releases me suddenly, and he gestures lazily toward the door. “That will be all for now. Maddox will make sure you’re where you need to be.”
I hesitated for only a fraction of a second before turning on my heel and walking out. The moment I step past Maddox, his hand clamps down on my arm, his grip just shy of painful.
“You should start saying goodbye, runt,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with mockery. “I don’t think you’ll be walking away from this one.”
I yank my arm free, my jaw tightening. “You sound disappointed,” I say flatly.
His smirk widens, but there’s something darker behind it. “Oh, I won’t be. Either way, I win.”
I don’t dignify him with a response. I just keep walking, forcing my body not to tremble, forcing my breath to stay even. Because he might be right.
As he drags me toward the pit, I lift my chin, schooling my features into steel. Whatever Grant has planned, I will survive it.
I’ve been sitting in the pit, waiting. For hours. The cold stone beneath me leeches warmth from my skin, the thick, damp air carrying the scent of sweat, blood, and desperation. The roar of the crowd above grows louder, their excitement feeding off one another like a pack of starving animals. I try to tune it out, to center myself, but the weight of the unknown presses down on me.
Not sure what Grant has in store for me tonight. Maybe instead of one opponent, I’ll have to fight two. He likes to mix things up when he’s bored. The stronger I get, the more he raises the stakes. He always finds someone for me to fight—mainly those who’ve broken pack laws, the kind of crimes that would’ve been punishable by death in any sane pack. But instead, he plays executioner his own way.
Grant thinks he’s a king, that he alone decides who gets a second chance. If they kill me, they live. If they fail, it’s me who delivers their sentence. Male, female—it doesn’t matter. I stopped seeing faces a long time ago. They all blur together in the end.
The door to the hallway creaks open, the heavy sound nearly lost beneath the crowd. I glance up, expecting Maddox, but it’s Kellan.
He’s dressed in his guard uniform, but his usual composed expression is gone. His chest rises and falls too quickly, his eyes wide with something I rarely see in them—fear.
My stomach tightens.
“What are you doing here?” I pushed to my feet, lowering my voice. “You can’t be here. If someone sees you—”
“I don’t have time,” he cuts me off, his words rushed, urgent. “Listen to me. Watch its every move. Keep moving. Tire it out.” His hands clenched at his sides. “If you attack too soon, it’ll learn how you fight. And then it will kill you.”
My breath hitches. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He glances at the door as if expecting someone to burst through at any moment. “Just remember what I said,” he mutters, before slipping out as quickly as he came.
I stared at the empty space where he stood, my pulse hammering.
What does he mean? What the hell did Grant throw at me this time? My mind races through the possibilities. I’ve fought warriors before, some stronger than me, some faster. But Kellan wouldn’t have warned me about that. The only thing that makes sense—the only thing that could make him look that rattled—
No. Feral wolves don’t exist anymore. Right?
- Writer
