Page 17 of Feral Alphas

The camera angle swings to show our gateway, where the shadows stir. Scar doesn’t step forward but judging by the other alpha’s wild behavior, he’s definitely there. An announcer struts across one side of the caged ring, no doubt calling the match up, but the volume’s so low on the tablet I can’t hear anything over the noise in here.

The light over the cage switches to amber, and then red and both chutes open.

The fighters blur as they charge toward each other, any reticence from the wiry bleached-haired alpha forgotten as he lunges at his opponent. I twitch as they crash together, knees and elbows flying. Then Scar crouches low and does some kind of sweep that knocks the other alpha off his feet. The crowd behind the cage jumps up, screaming.

I watch in horror as Scar lands with both feet onto the alpha’s neck and the opponent’s head flops at an unnatural angle. The feral man digs one knee into the prone man’s back and waits until the light overhead pulses. The camera zooms in and I can’t tear my gazeaway as his lips curve back in a snarl directed not at the body beneath him, but at the audience.

My heart pounds in my ears as I drag myself back to the bed and crawl under the blanket, trying to block out the world. Scar was the last fighter, so their work is done, and apparently so is mine. I can’t watch as the men get the feral alpha back in his cell, but it takes a while and there’s plenty of swearing.

I know when it’s done because a particular scent of charred cloves fills the room, and strangely, a part of me that’s been tensed relaxes a little.

Voices filter through my haze as the kennel masters crow over their clean sweep. My cheeks are damp with tears as I huddle around my stomachache, the fights replaying over and over in my head. It’s not the alphas’ fault. They’re trapped here as much as I am.

I flinch at the sound of the boss’s voice close to my cell. “So, who’s in the leaderboard for the title match?”

“They haven’t announced it, but my calculations say Blue Crab Kennels.”

“Well, that decides it. We’re sending Scar to the finals. Let them lose their primary dog and weep.”

Petrov grunts. “Their dog’s known for maiming.”

Steps approach and I peek out, meeting the boss’s flinty gaze as he smiles. “And our dog’s known for killing, and for some reason he’s more ruthless than ever.”

Petrov laughs in reply.

The boss knocks his knuckles against my cage. “We’re going to Darinian State, little omega. There we’ll win the alpha championships.” He leans both hands on the bars, leering at me. “And I’ll fuck you through your heat!”

“Never!” I spit back, crawling away on the bed, repulsed by the idea.

He laughs, the harsh sound making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “You say that now, but just wait, you’ll be begging for my knot.” His hand drops to his crotch, outlining his erection through his pants.

There are so many words I want to throw in his face, but the reality is, I’m scared. The building heat inside already threatens to tear me apart, and my pussy weeps fluid like a tap someone forgot to turn off. Between the heat and the horrendous pressure in my abdomen, I can see myself begging for anything if it gets worse.

Mutely I wrap myself back in the blanket and turn to face the wall, hoping that some miracle might come to save me from the damning void of my new life. Save me and the feral alphas.

Chapter seven

Rose

There’s nothing to do in my new home except stare at the alphas and think about the fact my whole life was a lie. My preheat burned itself out a few hours after fight night, leaving me dehydrated and weak, but alive. I’m grateful to be alive, but I’ve been robbed of so much, I feel numb. At least back at the omega clinic, or whatever illegal organization it was, I had things to do. Here, I just have insane men who pace their tiny cells and growl.

In a few more weeks, I might be doing the same thing.

Feeding hours are the only measure of time, so I lose track of how long I’ve been here after a few days. The imprisoned alphas and I get two meals a day, although describing it as amealwould be generous.

“Don’t give me that look,” Petrov scolds as he hands me a bowl of porridge that’s bright green thanks to the added nutritional supplements. “It might look like something the Hulk fell into, but it has all the goodies a body needs.”

I arch my brows. “So this is what you ate for breakfast?”

He laughs. “Nope. You got me there.” Petrov hauls the door to my cell open. “Come stretch your legs, but don’t cross the danger lines.” He points to the faded yellow paint on the floor in front of the alphas’ cells. “They’ll strangle you if they catch you.”

I set my bowl on my bed for later—won’t make any difference to the taste if it’s hot or cold—and stand up. My foot brushes against the bag containing the few bits of clothing and toiletries the kennel manager got for me, and I kick it further under the bed, out of the way. Petrov and his sidekick driver, whose name is Owen, bring paper bowls from the tiny kitchenette on the far side of the concrete bunker and set them down on the floor beside the bars.

It’s hard to watch the crazed alphas snatch up the plates and drink down the gluggy liquid like it’s delicious. Makes a girl wonder how often they’ve been starved to be so desperate. Then again, everything about their lives runs on desperation.

“Here, pass this out,” Petrov says, handing me a bowl and I cradle the paper dish in both hands so it doesn’t spill. “Consider yourself lucky to get plastic plates.” He swipes his thumb across the bendy lip of the bowl he carries. “The edge would be enough for them to cut someone’s throat if they had anything harder than paper.”

I shudder and walk to the end of the row, closest to my own cell. Mufasa stares at me while leaning against his bars like he always does as I carefully set the porridge where he can reach it, snatching my hands away quickly. I stay there, hunkered down for a moment and he slides down to my level.

---