Deceiving Adrian in such a way would surely break him further, but if it gave us our freedom, would his heartache be worth it? And what of my heart?

  My teeth sink into the inside of my cheek at the traitorous thought and I cringe. “That is not what I’m concerned about. He and I, we are marked by fate for each other. Although, technically, it is not proven until one of us enacts the awakening.”

  Jax frowns. “Explain.”

  I sniffle and duck my head. “He claims we are each other’s heart’s content. It is quite similar to a soulmark you see, but there are key differences. In my realm, a heart’s content is not fully bound until the final stage of unification in the act of the covenant. The connection of a heart’s content is also more profound as it’s divined by the Gods thoughtfully. In contrast, a soulmark is far more intense.

  “A soulmark pressures the bearers with a far greater need to unite because, at its core, it is the representation of one soul split between two. It is a different kind of bond, in that once it is enacted, it can’t be rescinded,” I explain.

  I spy Jax’s jaw working as he processes this news. Words escape him, but they are too soft for me to hear. I glance at Keenan. He listens intently.

  “If you partake in this awakening, you won’t be compelled to take things further with him?” Jax questions tentatively.

  “No. The awakening is a means to acknowledge one’s heart content formally. Next is the entwining which deepens the bond, and last, the covenant, which is the soulmark equivalent of a binding.”

  “Christ,” Jax says the word like it’s a curse and slams a hand against the floor. “All right let me think. I’m sure we can still use this to our advantage.”

  I gape back at him, my face losing color. “You still desire me to use him?"

  Jax grunts, an aura of determination cloaking him. "I wish to be free from this hell, with you, and Keenan, and your other friends. You magnificent girl, don't you see?" Jax clings to the cell bars. "This connection between the two of you can surely be taken advantage of. Use it. Use him.” I cringe and go to protest, but Jax barrels on. “You’re our best chance to get us home without having to wait for the cavalry to arrive. Don't you want to go home? I do."

  The last two words cannot mask the pain Jax bears. I bow my head, thoughts swirling with indecision. Home. I swallow thickly, unable to concede to his plan. Jax continues when I make no move to speak.

  "We all have to do our part to get out of here alive, Luna, because as it is, our lot isn't going to be making it out in one piece." My gaze darts to him just in time to see his lofty gesture toward his bandaged eye. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, my indecision disappearing with his remark.

  "Okay," I whisper. "I'll help."

  A wave of exhaustion hits me and I slump against the bars. Keenan reaches out, his hand going to my knee to give it a kind squeeze.

  "Have faith, Luna," he tells me softly. "Everything will work out, just wait and see. It sounds like a heart’s content isn’t nearly as constraining as a soulmark." He smiles weakly at me, but it fades quickly. “You can’t imagine the pain I’m in being so far away from Callie.”

  I curl my fingers around his hand. "Oh, Keenan. I’m so sorry.”

  His smile doesn’t falter. “We’ll make it out, Luna.” I nod back solemnly, unwilling to relinquish his hands.

  “I don't want to fight tonight," I whisper after a long time.

  Keenan catches my eyes. "It won’t matter. You have to."

  Chapter 7

  “Stay down,” I whisper to myself, trying not to hyperventilate at my bad fortune.

  My amethyst eyes skim the numerous bodies crammed into Trammel House. Carrie is to have her way after all. A fight with what seems like the entire Wselfwulf pack present. From my corner in the boxing ring, their numbers are all the more intimidating. Hollers and whistles blare from above. Lecherous gazes on the main floor track my every step. They slip up and down my exposed body like grease that makes me feel dirty inside and out. I cross my arms over my chest.

  I am outfitted in a sports bra and a pair of shorts that make a distinctly swishy noise with the slightest shift of weight. The outfit was forced on me not fifteen minutes ago when I was taken from my cell by two thugs. The cold weather sneaks into the large fight house on a breeze as more people cram their way inside—how can there be more? Still, it is devilishly hot inside. The combined body heat of the supernatural wolves keeps the temperature at remarkable heights.

  A sheen of sweat gathers at the curve of my spine as I wait for the fight to commence. Impatience gnaws at my gut.

  The litany of instructions Jax and Keenan gave me earlier as precaution tangles together in my head. Block with both hands up. Keep moving. Bob and weave. Take a couple of hits. Let her knock you to the ground and stay down.

  "Stay down," I say more confidently to myself as I relive the conversation in vivid detail.

  "She can't fight you if you don't fight back," Keenan says. "She might kick you a few times when you're down—"

  "But not for long," Jax interjects after I make a noise of distress.

  "Right," Keenan continues, not allowing me to voice my concerns, "As terrible as it sounds, it won't be fun or entertaining to anyone if you can't fight anymore."

  I look sullenly between the two men. "Why can't I fall down right away?"

  "Because, gorgeous, she'll only go after you harder and longer. Put in some effort at the start to make them believe what they want about you, then you can roll up on the ground. Don't forget to cover your head when you do," Jax tells me. "I know you're still roughed up from your treatment the past couple of days. We don't need your head to get any foggier because some bitch kicks you there when you're down."

  "I don't want—"

  "We know, Luna," Keenan interrupts softly. His warm hand rubs my knee through the bars. "We don't want you to either, but you have too. We'd take your spot in a heartbeat if we could, but this is all the protection we can offer you."

  It is not the bellow of the crowd that brings me back to reality, but its silence. I scan the men and women with wide eyes, looking for the reason behind such a moving act. It's my transporter from before with the deep baritone and frightening demeanor. He glides through the audience and gracefully enters the boxing ring. The brute raises a hand in the air, quieting the remaining murmurs and whispers with minimal effort.

  "Good evening, everyone, and what a fine evening it is!"

  My eyes bulge at the enthusiasm and charisma he oozes in front of the pack, so unlike before, but the pack rejoices. They release howls and whoops, their clapping hands akin to boisterous thunder on a summer's eve. The brute turns to me and passes me a nasty smile. My throat bobs as a wave of unease gathers inside of me.

  "Tonight, Trammel House will host several fights, some to restore fallen honor, and others to resolve quarrel and rank. But first, we have a special treat in store for you. A disciplinary hearing!" the brute shouts.

  I flinch back into the wooden post at my rear from the pack's instantaneous response of fevered excitement. The brute does a quick circle of the boxing ring’s perimeter, stirring the crowd into a deeper frenzy before he stands in the middle of it. "Are you ready to see the alpha herself, reign down punishment upon the undeserving?"

  What I assume to be a rhetorical question is not. The crowd eagerly answers back a resounding, "Yes."

  The brute’s hand rises again, and his captivated audience goes still. The air hums with their anticipation. "Then give it up for the baddest bitch the Wselfwulf pack has ever seen, the one, the only—Carrie Wselfwulf!"

  The door at the far end of the room bounces violently off the wall as Carrie waltzes inside. Everyone goes wild. Trammel House vibrates with the ferocious welcome to its alpha she-wolf. I've never heard anything like it in my life. More frightening is witnessing the crowd part for her as she struts to the back of the building where the boxing ring is located. The people cheer for blood. My blood.

  I quake in my corner. Each piece of advice that I managed to retain crumbles away with Carrie's advance. She hops up into the ring, staring me down all the while. I worry I may wet myself from fright.

  I can't do this.

  I'm not Keenan or Jax, I don't have their tenacity or resilience. My eyes squeeze shut for a brief moment. I'm not strong enough.

  I open my eyes. Carrie’s stare promises violence. Perhaps I won't wet myself, I think absentmindedly, maybe I'll vomit first.

  The brute addresses the crowd. "Tonight, the fairy receives discipline for words spoken against our great pack," he calls across the room. Amongst the boos and hisses that reply, he goes on, his voice only growing a touch louder. "What shall the slanderer receive?"

  "Justice!" The pack answers back to my shock.

  "What shall the disbeliever receive?" the brute asks.

  "A reckoning!"

  "And what, my friends and family—my pack—shall we do to the weak?"

  "Eradicate! Eradicate!"

  My stomach gives a violent turn. Carrie smiles, her vibrantly white teeth on full display for the crowd as she chants along with the last measure. The brute turns back to us and offers us a fraction of a bow. "Enjoy, ladies," he says, his voice barely heard among the swell of the spectators.

  Block with hands.

  Move and duck.

  Take a couple of hits.

  Fall down. Stay down.

  A bell clangs from behind me, its sharp cry piercing the air. I startle forward, spooked. The urge to check behind my shoulder and find the offensive object renders obsolete as I catch Carrie charging ahead. With a yelp, I shoot down the length of the rope to another corner. The crowds' laughter reaches my ears, but it does not register in the way that Carrie's malevolence does.

  Ill intention lies in every facet of her face. Her narrowed eyes. Her bared teeth and arched lip. The very tilt of her head speaks of aggression.

  I prop both fists up weakly as she corners me. Carrie chuckles gleefully and smacks away my hands.

  The back of her hand connects with the side of my face. I careen to the side, throwing my hands out to catch the ring’s rope guard as I slide down its length. A ringing, unlike the first, penetrates my ears. Carrie's voice issues behind me, but I am far too engrossed in the fiery sting radiating across my cheek. I brush my fingertips against the offending area only to be dragged away from the simple touch—literally.

  Fingers scratch my scalp as they gather up my hair and yank me back. I stumble with a cry into the middle of the ring, Carrie's savage golden eyes keen to my every move.

  Block.

  Move.

  Take the hits.

  Fall—

  She uses her lycan ability to attack next. I shut my eyes, cringing away even as the blows strike my midsection and then again at my face. Every last bit of air in my lungs surges out of me as my body folds over on itself. The world pivots. I open my watering eyes and shuffle around in an attempt to flee, but cruel hands latch on to my wings and yank me back.

  Immediately my eyes widen and a hiss of outrage grates past my lips. My spine shouts a protest. Before I realize what I am doing, I slam my elbow back and up sharply to connect with Carrie’s too close face.

  The crowd gasps as I am released. Undaunted by the flaring sting across my body, my hands seek out my useless wings and pet them down in a soothing manner. Carrie stares at me in disgust, blood trickling from her mouth. Time slows.

  “It’s very rude to grab a fairies’ wings,” I whisper hotly, eyes still wide at the cowardly act. The roar of the crowd builds around us. I’m unsure if Carrie heard my words, but then the she-wolf lunges forward. For a split-second, I am transported back to last summer when the hellspawn ravaged my body without mercy. Carrie wears their same greedy expression.

  In the next instant, I flatten myself to the ground, simultaneously ducking Carrie's next blow and tripping her with my balled-up body.

  Take the hits.

  Fall down.

  Stay down.

  Nowhere in their directions had they said to strike back. I whimper in terror as I spy Carrie's feet coming my way through cracked eyelids. I tense as she stops.

  I manage to shake my head.

  "Get up!" Carrie commands, panting heavily. "I said, get up!" A kick punctuates her reiterated command.

  I gasp but say nothing. I do nothing.

  Stay down.

  The zealous cheers die down, but the air carries a different vibration to its tenuous hold: apprehension. It settles over me as well, every bruise and point of contact throbbing underneath its weight. I try to keep panic from overcoming me, but I'm far too aware of my predicament and this she-wolf's penchant for—

  "Ferris!" Carrie shrieks.

  "Yes, Madame?" A silky voice replies in the calm of the storm. I peek through the triangular hole my caged arms make and search for the individual who replied. A man glides forth from the audience and to the side of the boxing ring. He is heavyset with an eccentric beard. "Shall I initiate the choker?"

  "No," Carrie snaps. "I want you to take control of her. Make her stand and fight. She will take her punishment."

  Though the room swells with raucous spirit and activity, my muscles contract in apprehension at Carrie's command. Make her stand and fight.

  "The function of the bimetallic choker is limited—"

  "It worked well enough on the other fairies. Do it to her. Now."

  The moment which passes is akin to an age. There is nothing but rattling apprehension and then—

  I choke on the gasp that climbs up the back of my throat. The collar ignites and emits a painful, inescapable blaze that simultaneously calls for my cry and engulfs it without mercy. My hands rush to the savage metal but stop short as foreign magic permeates my body. This isn't right. This isn't natural.

  Possessed, my limbs obey another and pull me to my feet. The action is disorienting, but it stirs to life a fury inside of me that I've called upon but a few times in my life. Carrie's sneer is the final straw. I latch on to the blistering ire and use it to combat the strange magic ruling my every move.

  My eyes clash with the sorcerer’s, and a battle of wills ensues. Perspiration beads at my hairline. The sorcerer frowns, his dark eyebrows knitting together as my hands refuse to curl into fists.

  "I said, take her!" Carrie yells.

  The shrill screech breaks the sorcerer's concentration momentarily. The spell wanes, and I propel myself backward.

  "I won't fight you," I pant, even as I am seized once more.

  My throat constricts, but I am braced to meet the sorcerer's blasphemous magic this time. With all my might and will, with my dearest friends in my mind cheering me on, I resist and collapse to a knee.

  “You will. You will not ruin this for me.”

  Carrie's displeasure is palpable. My concentration splits between the spell and her mighty glare. She mutters something else, then strides forward ready to engage—whether I'm ready to or not. I flounder, like a fish out of water. My forced compliance to the sorcerer's will comes in tandem with the righteous holler of some bystander in the crowd. It draws Carrie up short and turns every head in the room. It also immobilizes the sorcerer's influence.

  I suck in several grateful gulps of air, my body deflating.

  "Who dares—" Carrie growls, only to stop when she lays eyes on the figure shoving his way through the tight knit gathering. Adrian. A ripple of relief washes over me as my other knee drops to the ground.

  "The fairy is under my protection. If you desire a match, then it will be with me. Always."

  He shoves the sorcerer, Ferris, to the side, knocking the bulbous man to the ground. Carrie snarls as Adrian enters the ring. Undaunted by his rage, she looks to her fallen sorcerer.

  "Ferris!"

  The man stands, an ugly sneer on his face. "With pleasure, Madame."

  The subjugation collar—or bimetallic choker—about Adrian's neck flares to life, but he does not tumble to the ground as he did before. Jaw clenching, he takes a pronounced step forward and bumps into Carrie.

  The lycans make known their astonishment. Rumblings and gasps sounding through Trammel House. Adrian's obsidian eyes are filled with agony but also determination. A trembling growl bursts past his lips as he takes another step forward. His advancement leaves Carrie shell-shocked and mouth agape.

  Adrian's face turns red, and finally, after his third stilted step, he crumbles to the ground. I turn my eyes to Carrie's favored magician, still mad with intent over Adrian's minor slight, then over to Carrie who watches Adrian wither on the ground with satisfaction.

  "Stop it," I say, though the words are but a husky rasp. I crawl the remaining distance to Adrian, fingers brushing gingerly over his constricted form and the fine, black tendrils eek out past the choker's boundary. "Stop!" I say with more conviction.

  Carrie looks at me and summons a crooked grin. "He wished to take your penance. He shall have it."

  Adrian's eyes roll back in his head as he convulses on the ground. Somewhere in the audience, dark laughter rumbles its way around the room, picking up steam. I pay it no—

  "Ah!" Carrie snatches my hair and pulls me away. I claw at her hold, like some kind of rabid animal.

  "No touching," she whispers hoarsely in my ear.

  For whatever reason, it is this comment that cuts through my panic. I snap my head back enough to glare at Carrie—she wears her cruelty proudly—and spit.

  A dull thump draws my attention away from her livid expression, it is Adrian, his body now limp on the ground. Carrie's grip tightens.

  "You—"

  "Enough!”

  The single word is omnipotent. Heads bow subversively in the crowd, and though I try to turn my head again, Carrie's malicious grip does not allow it. I cannot see Noah's approach from behind, but I do witness the vibrant red glow diminish from Adrian's collar.

  "What the hell do you think you’re doing? Release her."

  Carrie snarls but does not do as she is commanded. "This is my fight. My rules."

  "Then consider it over. Release the fairy and stand down. Now."

 

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