Previously: Sera has transformed into "Luna"—a mysterious fighter with a new look and a new identity. With Aldric's guidance, she's heading to the Howling Pit, an underground fighting arena where wolves battle for money and glory. Tonight will be her first real test: can she control her ancient power in front of a crowd without revealing what she truly is?
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The Howling Pit didn't look like much from the outside.
We approached through narrow alleys that reeked of rotting garbage and stale beer, past warehouses that had seen better decades. The building itself was a converted factory, its windows blacked out, its exterior deliberately nondescript. The only indication of what lay inside was the line of wolves waiting at a rusted metal door, their excited energy crackling through the night air like static electricity.
"Remember," Aldric murmured as we joined the queue, "you're pack-less, nameless, and desperate for money. Don't volunteer information, don't make friends, and for the love of the Goddess, don't let your eyes flash silver."
I nodded, pulling my hood lower. Beneath the fabric, I could feel the silver light pulsing gently, responding to my nervousness. I breathed slowly, reinforcing the mental shields I'd practiced, wrapping my power signature in layers of concealment.
Just another Beta looking for work. Nothing special. Nothing dangerous.
The line moved forward. A massive bouncer stood at the door easily seven feet tall, with the kind of scars that spoke of surviving things that should have killed him. His eyes swept over each person, assessing threat levels with practiced ease.
When my turn came, those cold eyes locked onto mine. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought he could see through my disguise, could sense the ancient power coiled beneath my shields.
Then he jerked his head toward the door. "Twenty dollar cover. Fighters get in free if they register."
"I'm here to fight," I said, keeping my voice low and rough.
Something that might have been amusement flickered across his scarred face. "Sure you are, sweetheart. Registration is through the red door, down the stairs, second left. Try not to get yourself killed on your first night."
I resisted the urge to snarl at the condescension and pushed past him into the building.
The noise hit me first.
Inside, the factory had been gutted and rebuilt into something between a gladiatorial arena and a nightclub. The main floor was sunken, creating a fighting pit maybe forty feet across, surrounded by metal barriers that gleamed with old bloodstains. Tiered seating rose around it, packed with wolves in various states of excitement and intoxication. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, alcohol, blood, and the musk of too many predators crammed into one space.
Overhead lights bathed the pit in harsh white light while the spectator areas remained dim, full of shadows where deals were made and bets were placed. Electronic boards mounted on the walls displayed odds, fighter names, and upcoming matches.
The current fight was already underway two Beta-level wolves in human form, circling each other with knives. Their movements were quick and brutal, each strike meant to maim rather than simply score points. The crowd roared approval as one fighter landed a slash across his opponent's ribs, blood spraying across the concrete.
This wasn't sport. This was survival with an audience.
"Quite the operation," Aldric's voice said beside me. He'd somehow materialized at my elbow despite us entering separately. "I'll find a seat with a good view. You go register. And Seraphina." He caught my eyes. "Control is everything. Don't let them goad you into revealing more than you should."
Then he melted into the crowd, leaving me alone.
I found the red door and descended into a basement level that smelled of antiseptic and old violence. The registration office was a cramped room containing a battered desk, filing cabinets that looked older than me, and a thin man with wire-rim glasses who looked entirely too bookish to be running an illegal fighting operation.
He glanced up as I entered. "Fighter or bettor?"
"Fighter."
"Name?"
I hesitated for only a heartbeat. "Luna."
"Last name?"
"Just Luna."
His pen paused. "We require at least two names for our records."
"Luna Ghost," I said, the alias coming to me on instinct. "No pack affiliation."
Something shifted in his expression interest, maybe, or calculation. Pack-less wolves were either outcasts or drifters, often desperate enough to take risks that smart fighters avoided. Perfect fodder for the Pit's bloodier matches.
"Age?"
"Twenty-one." I lied without hesitation. Looking older than eighteen was easy when you'd spent the last month being beaten into shape.
"Classification?"
This was trickier. If I claimed Alpha, they'd pit me against other Alphas, and I'd have to hold back too much or risk exposure. But if I claimed Omega, no one would take me seriously.
"Beta," I said. "Upper tier."
He made a note. "Fight experience?"
"Enough."
"Uh-huh." He pulled out a standard contract, sliding it across the desk. "Pit rules are simple. Fights continue until one fighter submits, is knocked unconscious, or dies. Killing isn't encouraged but isn't forbidden. Medical care is available for a fee. Fighters get sixty percent of their winnings, house takes forty. You win, you get paid. You lose, you get nothing and probably get hurt. Any questions?"
"When do I fight?"
"Depends on tonight's card. We've got." He consulted a roster. "Six matches scheduled. If you're willing to take a walk-in slot, we might be able to fit you in as a warmup for the main event. Interested?"
A warmup fight. Probably against someone inexperienced or desperate enough to take a last-minute match. Not exactly a glorious debut, but it would get me started.
"I'm interested."
"Great." He stamped the contract with practiced efficiency. "You're up in forty minutes. Opponent will be randomly assigned from our available pool. Odds will be posted once matchmaking is complete. You can wait in the staging area through that door, down the hall, last room on the right. Someone will call you when it's time."
I signed the contract with my false name and headed for the staging area, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Forty minutes. I have forty minutes to prepare for my first real fight since transforming.
The staging area was exactly as grim as I'd expected a long room with benches bolted to the walls, a few punching bags hanging from the ceiling, and about a dozen fighters in various states of preparation. Some were warming up, others sat with eyes closed in meditation or prayer. All of them radiated the controlled violence of predators preparing for battle.
I found an empty section of bench and sat down, trying to look calm while my mind raced.
I'd fought Aldric hundreds of times over the past month. I'd defeated Garrick, a trained mercenary. But those had been controlled environments, without crowds, without the pressure of maintaining a false identity while wolves literally bet on whether I'd live or die.
You can do this, I told myself firmly. Just another test. Just another way to prove you're not the weak girl they all thought you were.
I closed my eyes and reached inward, checking my power levels. The silver light pulsed steadily, contained behind my mental shields but ready to be accessed. Beneath it, that red flicker of shadow power stirred, drawn by my nervousness and anticipation.
Not you, I told the shadow firmly. Not tonight. I don't need you.
The red flicker pulsed once amused, almost then subsided.
"First time?"
I opened my eyes to find a young woman settling onto the bench across from me. She couldn't have been older than twenty-five, with short blonde hair and a face that would have been pretty if not for the scar bisecting her left eyebrow.
"That obvious?" I asked.
"You've got that look. Wide eyes, controlled breathing, checking your power every thirty seconds." She grinned without hostility. "I'm Zara. This is my eighth fight."
"Luna." I studied her, trying to assess threat level. Beta, definitely, but well-trained. Confident. "You win the other seven?"
"Four wins, three losses. Enough to keep me fed and pay my rent." She leaned back against the wall. "Word of advice? Don't try to win pretty. The crowd doesn't care about technique or honor. They want blood and brutality. Give them a show, you'll get better odds next time."
"Good to know."
"Also" Her expression grew more serious. "If you get matched against Crusher or Fang, tap out early. They're both Delta-level wolves who fight dirty and don't know when to stop. Last month, Crusher put a Beta in the hospital for six weeks. Kid still hasn't recovered full mobility in his left arm."
The casual way she said it made my stomach turn. This wasn't training. This was real danger with real consequences.
"Thanks for the warning," I said.
"No problem. Us pack-less wolves have to look out for each other." She stood as someone called her name. "That's me. Wish me luck."
"Good luck."
I watched her leave, then returned to my meditation. The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. Around me, other fighters came and went. Some returned victorious, others were carried back on stretchers.
Finally, a voice called: "Luna Ghost! You're up!"
I stood, rolling my shoulders, settling into the combat mindset Aldric had drilled into me. My opponent was already in the pit when I emerged into the harsh lights a male wolf, maybe thirty years old, built like a brick wall with fists the size of my head.
The announcer's voice boomed through speakers: "Ladies and gentlemen, our next match! In the west corner, we have our newcomer Luna Ghost, pack-less Beta, fighting out of nowhere! And in the east corner, returning for his twelfth bout, the Boulder himself Granite!"
The crowd's reaction was mixed. Some cheered for Granite, clearly a known quantity. Others booed, wanting fresh blood. I caught glimpses of money changing hands as last-minute bets were placed.
The odds board updated: Granite 3:1 favorite.
Of course he was.
A referee stepped into the pit a grizzled old wolf missing half his right ear. "Standard rules apply. Fight until submission, knockout, or death. Intentional killing results in disqualification and criminal charges. Transformations are allowed. Use of weapons is forbidden. Understood?"
We both nodded.
"Touch gloves and back to your corners."
I moved forward, met Granite's fist with my own in the ritual tap. His grip was crushing, a deliberate attempt at intimidation. I kept my expression neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
As we backed to our corners, Granite grinned. "Try to last more than thirty seconds, sweetheart. Give them a good show before I put you down."
I didn't respond. Just centered myself, reinforced my mental shields, and prepared to access exactly as much power as I needed.
Not too much. Not too little. Just enough.
The referee raised his hand. "Fight!"
Granite charged immediately, closing the distance with surprising speed for someone his size. His first punch came at my head a haymaker designed to end the fight in one hit.
I slipped it, barely. The displacement of air ruffled my hair.
His second punch came faster. I blocked, and the impact sent shockwaves up my arm. He was strong stronger than Garrick had been, with better technique than I'd expected.
Beta level my ass, I thought, dodging his third strike. He's low-Delta at minimum.
The crowd roared as Granite pressed his advantage, driving me backward with a combination of punches and kicks that forced me purely on defense. Each blocked hit jarred my bones. Each dodged strike came closer to connecting.
I couldn't win with pure human strength. I needed to tap into my power.
Carefully. Precisely. Just a trickle.
I reached for the silver light and pulled not flooding my system like I had against the corrupted wolves, but channeling just enough to enhance my speed by maybe thirty percent. Enough to give me an edge without being obviously supernatural.
The world sharpened. Granite's movements became more readable. I could see the slight dip of his shoulder before he threw that right hook, could predict the pattern of his combination strikes.
I ducked his next punch and countered with a strike to his solar plexus. My enhanced strength made the impact solid Granite stumbled back, surprise flickering across his face.
"Lucky shot," he growled.
Then he transformed.
His body rippled and changed, bones cracking and reforming as his wolf burst forth. Where a man had stood, now there was a massive grey wolf easily weighing three hundred pounds, its teeth bared in a savage snarl.
The crowd went wild.
The referee shouted something about transformations being within the rules, but I barely heard it. Granite was already moving, his wolf form even faster than his human body had been.
I could transform too, I thought. Become my true form and crush him in seconds.
But that would reveal too much. A massive silver wolf would raise questions I couldn't answer.
So instead, I pulled on more power. Just a bit more. My speed increased, my strength grew, and when Granite's jaws snapped at my throat, I was already moving.
I ducked under his lunge and drove my fist into his ribs right where Aldric had taught me the sweet spot was. The impact drove the air from Granite's lungs with a pained yelp.
He spun, claws raking toward me. I jumped back, but not quite fast enough. His claws caught my shoulder, tearing through fabric and skin. Pain flared hot and immediate.
Blood ran down my arm, and the crowd's roar intensified. They could smell it literal blood in the water.
Granite pressed his advantage, driving me toward the barrier. His jaws snapped again and again, his claws searching for vital points. I blocked and dodged, my enhanced speed the only thing keeping me ahead of his attacks.
But I could feel my control slipping. The pain, the adrenaline, the primal need to survive all of it was pushing me to pull on more power, to stop holding back, to show this arrogant wolf what I really was.
No, I told myself firmly. Stay in control. Find the opening. End this smart.
I watched Granite's pattern. He was strong and fast, but he fought with emotion rather than strategy. Each attack was meant to overwhelm, to intimidate. He wasn't expecting real resistance.
There he overextended on that last lunge, his weight too far forward.
I moved.
My hand shot out, faster than any normal Beta could manage, and caught his throat mid-transformation. For one crystalline moment, Granite was caught between forms not quite wolf, not quite human, vulnerable.
I used his momentum against him, redirecting his weight and slamming him into the concrete floor with every ounce of enhanced strength I could safely channel.
The impact was brutal. The whole pit seemed to shake.
Granite shifted back to human form, gasping, the wind knocked completely out of him. I kept my position, my hand still at his throat, my other fist raised and ready to strike.
"Submit," I said quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.
For a moment, I thought he'd refuse. Thought his pride would make him keep fighting even though we both knew he was finished.
Then, reluctantly, he tapped the ground three times.
The referee's whistle blew. "Submission! Winner, Luna Ghost!"
The crowd's reaction was a wall of sound shock, excitement, the roar of wolves who'd just witnessed an upset. I released Granite and stepped back, forcing myself not to show how close I'd come to losing control.
My shoulder burned where his claws had torn it open, but already the wound was beginning to close. Enhanced healing working faster than it should for a normal Beta.
Damn it. I needed to be more careful. If someone noticed how quickly I recovered.
"Impressive work, newcomer," the referee said, raising my hand in victory. "Clean technique, smart finish. The crowd loves an underdog story."
I barely heard him. My eyes were searching the stands, finding Aldric's weathered face among the masses. He gave the tiniest nod of approval, then gestured with his chin toward the exit.
Get your winnings and get out. Don't stay to celebrate.
Smart advice.
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The bookish registrar looked significantly more interested when I returned to collect my payment.
"That was quite the debut," he said, counting out bills with practiced efficiency. "Granite's won nine of his last eleven fights. Beating him on your first night is... unusual."
"I got lucky."
"Mmm." He didn't believe me, but he didn't push. "Your cut comes to eight hundred dollars. Not bad for ten minutes of work." He slid the money across the desk. "You planning to fight again?"
"Maybe. If the money's good."
"The money gets better the more you win. And you can build a following regulars who bet on you, request specific matchups." He made a note in his ledger. "We run fights three nights a week. Wednesday, Friday, Saturday. You're welcome back anytime."
I pocketed the money, feeling the weight of it. Eight hundred dollars. More than I'd ever had at once in my entire life.
"I'll think about it," I said.
Outside the registration office, I found Zara waiting, her own fight apparently finished. She had a fresh bruise blooming on her jaw, but she was grinning.
"Heard you beat Granite," she said. "That's seriously impressive for a first-timer. Most newcomers don't even last five minutes against the regulars."
"I've had good training," I said carefully.
"Clearly." She fell into step beside me as I headed for the exit. "Look, some of us pack-less fighters grab food after fights. Nothing fancy, just a diner that doesn't ask questions. You interested?"
I should have said no. Should have taken my winnings and disappeared like Aldric wanted.
But something in her open expression the genuine offer of camaraderie from someone who understood what it meant to be pack-less and alone made me hesitate.
"Just food?" I asked.
"Just food and maybe some war stories. No pressure." She smiled. "Besides, you're bleeding through your shirt. Might want to get that cleaned up before you go wherever you're going."
I glanced down. She was right blood had soaked through the fabric covering my shoulder. The wound had mostly closed, but it still looked bad.
"One hour," I agreed. "Then I need to go."
"Perfect. Come on, the diner's two blocks over."
We pushed through the crowd toward the exit. I was so focused on following Zara, on keeping my power suppressed despite my exhaustion, that I almost didn't notice him.
Almost.
But some instincts run too deep to ignore.
I felt the familiar presence before I saw him pine and leather and the distinctive power signature of an Alpha. My blood turned to ice.
Standing near the betting windows, surrounded by other young wolves, was Marcus Blackthorn.
And his eyes were locked directly on me.
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💜 Thank you for reading Chapter 7!
⭐ VOTE if that fight scene got your heart racing!
💬 COMMENT: LUNA WON HER FIRST FIGHT! But oh no... Marcus is there! 😱 Do you think he'll recognize her? And what about that dinner with Zara—good idea or walking into danger? Drop your theories!
📚 ADD TO LIBRARY to see what happens when Luna and Marcus come face to face!
Next Chapter: "Ghosts and Shadows" - Luna tries to avoid Marcus while building her reputation in the Pit. But someone is asking dangerous questions about the mysterious newcomer with the unusual fighting style. Plus, Sera's winning streak attracts attention from people far more dangerous than her ex-fiancé...
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End of Chapter 7