Blood wells up, staining the wood and the alpha’s orange pants. It’s not enough. I haul back and strike again, hacking with the sharp point.
Zero.
“Enough, Zack,” Al hisses. “You did good.”
“Not enough.” I slash at the limp alpha’s head, slicing right through his good ear.
Al grips my hand, forcing my fingers off the piece of wood and wrapping a bloodstained cloth strip where my hand was. He hauls me backward.
I stagger, trying to get my feet under me, blind to everything but the blood burning my fingers as he drags me between alphas and throws me on the ground. A moment later he falls over my legs, groaning from a guard’s stinging shot.
The rain muffles the guards’ shouts and the cries of fallen alphas. Droplets run down my arms, washing the blood clean. Pale pink puddles crisscross the yard as every prisoner drops flat on the ground.
“Fuck,” Al hisses beside me. “You really did it. I wasn’t certain you could, but that was a thing of beauty.” He swivels his head toward me, mud streaking his cheek. His brow furrows. “Why are you laughing?”
I grin, closing my eyes and enjoying the raindrops cleaning my cheeks. “It rains when my alpha cries. My pack worry for me.”
“What a crock of—” Al snaps his mouth shut and sighs. “You know what? You’re probably right. At this point, I’d believe you and your pack could do anything.”
“Silence, you maggots!” the closest guard roars.
I watch through the thickening rain as a guard finds Ray’s shattered body and dry heaves into his fist. He kneels and presses his finger to Ray’s neck before shouting, “Get the doctor.”
Al snickers, cutting off sharply when a guard kicks him.
I let my heavy lids slide shut as the rain soaks me, weights settling on my whole body. I used to be afraid of alphas ganging up on me. Once upon a time, it sent me scuttling into corners to protect my back or running for exits. But today I stood and gave the fight of my life. And I had others to protect my back. Not pack, but something close.
A commotion breaks loose over by the doorway, and the guard steps away.
“Al,” I slur out, feeling weaker than the day he broke my arm. “What you call me before? When you put stick in my hand?”
“Shh,” he hisses. “Never mention that again. You hear me?”
I nod, collecting a fresh layer of mud in my hair, but my question remains.
“I called you my psycho friend.”
Psychocarries the same sound as all his other insults. I ignore that one. “Friend. Is that people who aren’t pack?”
“Yes, but people you still want to spend time with.”
I chuckle. That’s the word. I have both pack and friends, plus one person who straddles the line between both.
“Stop smiling,” Al demands. “You look like you’ve fucking lost your mind.”
“No. Think I just found it.”
A guard hauls me to my feet, and I hiss as my injuries flare. I didn’t escape without pain, but somehow these bruises feel more welcome than any I received before. Because this is the first time I chose to fight on my own terms. I made a plan. I calculated.
The guard locks my hands in cuffs and shoves me into a line forming against the wall. We’re the alphas who can stand; the rest writhe on the ground while pouring blood. The grass will drink well today.
“What a fucking nightmare!” the guard growls, shoving me. My shoulder hits the wall hard, sending fresh shocks through my bones. “I wish you’d never come to our prison, feral.”
I catch his gaze and hold it. “Self-defense,” I tell him simply.
He snorts. “Sure, sure. That’s what they all say.” He turns to another guard. “Get these bastards inside!”
As I stumble after the alpha in front of me, I catch sight of Owen on the ground, curled around his leg. His ankle swells like someone shoved a ball inside, and the skin glows with a pretty sunset color. I catch his gaze and nod, and then, on an impulse, I throw my head back and howl like we did every time an alpha returned to the cells after a challenge. Bloodied and cracked,but still breathing. The alphas around me shout, and the guards holler in rage.
