Hunting My Outcast Luna

Three

A familiar voice booms above me, dragging me from my thoughts. “Do you think this will be the fight that finally takes her down?” Grant’s voice is smug, teasing the bloodthirsty crowd. Their answer is deafening. The ground vibrates beneath my feet from the sheer force of their excitement.

I don’t hear the cage door open. But I feel the shift in the air. A new scent. Musky, primal, laced with something rotten and wrong. I step forward into the arena and lock eyes with the thing waiting for me. My stomach turns to ice. The wolf standing across from me is huge, its fur bristling in jagged patches, foam gathering at the corners of its bared teeth. Its eyes snap to mine, and my blood runs cold. They’re black. Not dark brown, not the deep onyx of a normal wolf. Pure, soulless black. The human side of it is completely gone.

A feral.

My stomach twists into knots, but I force my breathing to remain steady. Fear is a luxury I can’t afford. Not now. Not ever. There was no room for it. No room for hesitation. Fear means death.

Across the pit, the heavy iron gate rattles violently, the chains groaning under the strain as they slowly inch higher. The scent of blood sharpens, thick and metallic, like rusted steel left to rot. The crowd roars wildly as the beast steps into the arena, a monstrous thing carved from nightmares.

It’s massive. Larger than any wolf I’ve ever seen. Its fur is patchy, matted with filth and dried blood, stretched too thin over jutting ribs, but there’s nothing frail about it. The sheer power in its movements, the way its muscles coil and ripple like a storm barely contained—it’s built to destroy.

Its eyes are wrong. Black, bottomless voids that swallow all traces of reason or restraint. Its lips curl back, exposing jagged fangs still stained from its last kill. It paces forward, slow and methodical, as if savoring the moment before the slaughter.

My body tenses, instincts screaming at me to run.

I don’t.

Instead, I shift into a defensive stance, forcing my mind to sharpen, to focus. Kellan’s warning rings through my skull. Keep moving. Tire it out. Don’t let it learn how you fight.

I focus, watching the way it moves, the way it breathes.

The feral snarls, stalking the perimeter of the pit, claws scraping deep grooves into the hardened dirt. It's waiting for something. It’s testing me, waiting for an opening, for hesitation, for weakness. It wants me to run.

I won’t give it what it wants.

The energy in the pit shifts as Alpha Grant rises from his seat. The firelight casts deep shadows across his face, sharpening the cruel amusement in his gaze. He lifts his glass, a smirk curling his lips. “Ladies and gentlemen, what do you think? Is this the fight that finally ends our little weak link?”

The response is deafening. A savage chorus of voices, some chanting my name for sport, others howling for my death. The walls vibrate under their bloodthirsty cries, but I barely hear them.

Because the second Grant lowers his glass, the feral moves.

It’s a blur of motion It’s fast. Faster than anything I’ve ever fought. I twist, barely avoiding the charge, the wind of its movement cutting against my skin. It skids to a halt and pivots sharply, coming at me again before I can fully reset my stance.

I reacted on instinct, driving my foot toward its ribs. My heel connects, but it may as well have hit solid stone. The beast doesn’t even flinch.

Shit.

The feral lets out a guttural growl, a deep, bone-rattling vibration that crawls up my spine. Then it moves again, faster this time. I barely have a second to throw myself to the side before its claws carve through empty air where I stood moments ago. My body hits the dirt hard, pain ricocheting through my ribs.

Too slow. I can’t keep reacting—I have to get ahead of it.

A flash of claws, a blur of fur-

I roll just in time, feeling the rush of air as the feral’s claws tear into the dirt where my head had been. Too close. I push up, ignoring the burn in my muscles, and force myself to move. My feet slide against the packed earth, my breath ragged as I keep my distance. I can’t go blow for blow with this thing. I won’t win that way. I have to think. I have to be smarter.

I dart left, then feint right, keeping my movements unpredictable. The feral tracks me with unsettling precision, but I can see the way its breath is quickening. It’s not invincible. It’s alive, which means it can be killed.

I just have to last long enough.

The crowd’s roar fades to a dull hum as I focus, my world narrowing to the beast before me. I duck under a swipe, twisting around to land a solid strike against its back leg. It stumbles, just slightly. I press forward, launching another attack—but this time, it’s ready. It shifts, too fast, too aware, and I barely manage to block as it rams into me full force. The impact sends me sprawling, the breath knocked from my lungs as I hit the dirt once more.

Stars dance across my vision. Pain pulses through my ribs, sharp and unrelenting. I push myself up on shaking arms, sucking in a breath. My body screams at me to stay down, but I can’t. If I stop now, I die.

The feral circles, sensing weakness. My blood drips onto the dirt, staining the ground beneath me. It lets out a low growl, muscles tensing.

I don’t wait for it to attack first.

This time, I move. I feint left, forcing it to react, then drop low and roll beneath its massive frame. The second I’m behind it, I strike—slamming my elbow into the soft spot behind its front leg.

It lets out a sharp, pained yelp, stumbling forward.

I don’t waste the opening.

I throw myself onto its back, wrapping an arm around its throat, locking my hold tight. My muscles burn, my lungs scream, but I don’t let go.

It thrashes, trying to shake me off.

I squeeze harder. My arms tremble, my grip slipping, but I refuse to lose. I think of every night spent in this pit, every wound, every broken bone. I think of Kellan, his warning. I think of escape.

With one final, desperate surge of strength, I wrench my arms tighter, twisting sharply. A sickening crack echoes through the pit.

The wolf goes still.

I collapse beside its body, gasping for air, my chest heaving. My limbs feel like lead, my vision darkening at the edges. The scent of blood is overwhelming, thick and cloying.

The crowd is silent.

Then the cheering erupts, shaking the ground beneath me.

I collapse beside its body, gasping for air, my chest heaving. My limbs feel like lead, my vision darkening at the edges. The scent of blood is overwhelming, thick and cloying.

The crowd is silent.

Then the cheering erupts, shaking the ground beneath me.

I don’t celebrate. I never do, its just means I will just have to fight again for my life. This is it. This is the final straw. I have to leave. I probably have better chances outside this packs boarders.. The rogues will have to be dealt with as they come. But I would at least have a chance. A choice.

I drag in a shuddering breath and push myself up onto shaking legs. I expect someone to call for me, to drag me away—but no one moves. My gaze flicks toward Grant. But he isn’t there.