Page 138 of Psycho Beasts

Creative.

The gong sounded.

A massive hairy leg straddled the ropes and entered the ring.

The largest alpha I’d faced yet casually cracked his bald head back and forth. A cigarette hung from his lips.

It was the alpha that had blown smoke in my face when I first walked into the training center.

His dark eyes were flat, but his smile was pure joy.

This was going to hurt.

Before I could flinch, he leaped across the mat and slammed his mammoth fist into my nose.

Red, black, and white sparks burst across my vision, and blood gushed down my throat.

I would have bellowed if my voice still worked.

My cheekbones were shattered, and when I opened my eyes, all I saw was red.

I curled in on myself as fists and kicks shook my frame. Bones snapped like popcorn, and the overwhelming agony quickly faded as my consciousness slipped farther away.

Ten minutes was a lifetime.

Too long.

No shot I survived.

The pain grew further and further away, and I eagerly welcomed the darkness.

All I’d known was pain and violence, and I was too tired. There was no point in fighting against the inevitable.

I’d never known peace.

It was all I wanted.

Molly’s shouts were far away and swatted at my consciousness like an annoying gnat.

I easily ignored her.

A bone-deep cold chilled me as my lifeblood spilled around me in a warm blanket.

Somewhere far away, I was lying partially unconscious on a mat as an alpha stood above me, slamming his foot into my ribs.

The harsh cracks of a snapped sternum were a distant problem.

I floated in a haze of unconscious bliss as adrenaline protected me from an agonizing end.

Maybe, in another life, I would have fought harder against death.

In this life, it hurt too much.

The men had a pack, and in the end, it would be easier for them to find a female omega and bond if I was gone.

Aran and the girls would be sad, but they would have each other.

Everything would be all right.

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