Page 132 of Psycho Beasts

The doors opened, and shirtless alphas streamed in.

The tension ratcheted up as too many alpha scents swirled together to form one massive warning: predators were near.

A large alpha climbed into the ring across from me.

He scoffed as he took in my much smaller size, cracked his neck, and made a face at the alphas waiting around the ring.

They all laughed.

I glanced over at Cobra, who was glaring at the laughing men. He arched his eyebrow at me.

I winked at Cobra.

He smirked.

“Fighting Begins NOW!” Z’s voice boomed.

For the first time in this realm, I flipped the lovely little switch in my brain that had helped me survive nightmares.

The numb clicked on.

Sidestep right.

I cracked my neck back and forth as I easily stepped away from the punch my opponent had sloppily thrown.

The neon-red lights dimmed.

The world lost shades of color.

My attention focused on the task at hand as all emotions drained from my body. The world was an inhospitable place.

Duck. Punch his solar plexus. Drop low, kick out his Achilles.

I was heartless.

With smooth precision, I followed the numb’s instructions, my limbs gliding through the air like butter.

My opponent was not a battle-hardened gladiator fighting desperately in front of a million fae and an evil queen.

He was cocky.

Weak.

His flesh slapped against the mat with a satisfying crunch

With disinterest, I stood completely still and watched as he gasped on the mat and grabbed the backs of his ankles.

He moaned in pain.

I conserved energy.

For the next nine minutes and fifty seconds, he writhed on the mat and wasn’t able to get to his feet.

My kick had severed both his Achilles.

The alphas outside the ring who had laughed with him looked sick as they watched their compatriot imitate a slug.

A bell rang, signaling that the ten minutes were up.

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