Page 26 of Feral Alphas

As if reading my thoughts, Groman clasps my wrist tightly and leads me out of the closed-in room. We twist and turn through tunnels lit by dying fluorescent tubes and then come to a guarded door where Groman waves a pass.

The door opens to a roar like the ocean surf contained in a fishbowl. I shrink back from that powerful thrum in the air, but Groman walks on, dragging me with him. He leans in close to speak into my ear. “We have ring-side seats to enjoy the show, Rose. Watch how our dogs perform.”

I shrink in on myself as amber lights flash overhead, the announcer already deep into a theatrical windup about the spectacular alpha championships and the dogs who will be showcased today. He makes it sound so sanitized, as if they aren’t trading in blood and misery and the lives of the alphas they’ve ruined.

Groman pushes me into a seat at the front and sits next to me, leaning across my body to shake hands with a beta on my other side. As he pulls back, the kennel boss snaps a handcuff on my wrist and then locks the other in place on his own.

He winks as I seethe in fury. “Just in case you were getting any ideas. I can’t lose our lucky charm.”

I grip the armrests as the lighting changes overhead and the crowd stills. Above the meshed ring hang giant screens that replay what the close-angle cameras record, and I watch as two alphas prowl to the end of the tunnels. When bell rings, the doors slide up and the fighters shoot out onto the arena floor.

Our fighter, Zazu, streaks straight toward his opponent, but the other alpha pauses and lifts his nose in the air, hesitating long enough for Zazu to pummel into him, knocking him back against the chains with a straight jab to the jaw.

Icy shock jars through me as I comprehend what Groman meant by taking a risk. My scent is so strong it’s even affecting the opponents—but the Grom Kennel alphas are used to it. I cover my mouth with numb fingers, but the hateful man beside me tugs on the handcuffs and lifts my hand to his lips for a kiss while he winks.

Zazu adds a kick to the ribs that sends his opponent stumbling, and he closes in with a grapple. A moment later he locks his hands around his opponent’s throat and the crowd surges to their feet, shouting.

I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see how it ends. I took the heat stimulants to save lives, but someone still dies—just from a different team. Either way, I’m responsible for the lives snuffed out. I choke on a thick sob.

Groman laughs and accepts congratulations from the people around us, and then his hand drops to my bare thigh. He massages the skin and I cringe away, but I can’t go anywhere.

He leans in to whisper in my ear. “I chose these shorts for you because they’ll hold all that slick in place until I’m ready.” Warning lights flash as men empty the arena and mop up blood, mirroring the warnings going off in my brain as Groman’s hand tightens on my leg.

I bite down on my lip and fix my gaze on the arena as another one of our alphas reaches the end of the chute. He stares at his opponent, lips drawn back in a snarl, coiled like a striking snake as he waits for the gates to snap open.

The feral alphas don’t fight like boxers. Besides kicks and punches, they use teeth and nails, they pull hair, and go for the throat. Groman slurps from a beer can and grows steadily more elated as most of our fighters win their matches, only one falling. I shrink back in my seat as his opponent pummels his limp body before racing over to our side of the cage to sniff the air and snarl.

Looking for me.

The audience slowly descends into chaos. Even the shield in my nose can’t block out the stench of other omegas and I watch from the side of my eye as the people in the shadowed higher levels of seating grow less inhibited. Bare breasts appear, followed soon after by cocks. They bay after the blood splattering across the arena as they indulge in pleasure, satisfying their lusts in more than one way.

Groman kisses my cheek and trails a hand down my sensitive neck. “Petrov chose well,” he slurs, breath foul and hot against my shoulder. “I thought he’d call you Nala, but Rose suits you better.”

Iflinch as Mufasa charges up to the closed gateway for his fight, but Groman seems to have lost interest in the matches. He licks my shoulder and I feel a familiar heat hit my veins.

No. I can’t. Not like this.

“You smell so fucking delicious, it’s intoxicating!” Groman murmurs, his hand sliding up my thigh. I try to push him away, but he’s heavy as lead.

The lights change and the gates open. Mufasa leaps into the arena but instead of charging the other alpha, he circles warily. His opponent comes in with a punch aimed at my alpha’s throat and I tense, trying to keep Groman and my heat at bay while watching the Grom Kennels second-best fighter. Well, he’s not exactlymyalpha, right? Guess my brain is addled by all the scents.

Mufasa seems more methodical than any other alpha I’ve seen in the ring. He dodges more, as if he’s learned some martial arts moves. The crowd shrieks as the match draws out longer and longer without a finale. Blood trickles down our fighter’s ribs and his opponent froths at the mouth and limps.

Groman’s fingers slide up my thigh until he’s touching the material hugging my pussy and I whine softly, because my body says it feels good even though my brain doesn’t.

“Get off me!” I snap.

He laughs and digs in deeper, pressing against the small balloon formed where my juices catch, just as he said. He swivels in the seat to give me his full attention. Over his shoulder I watch spellbound as Mufasa swings in a deadly kick to the liver that drops his opponent, and then he bounds up the mesh, digging his toes into the chain links until he reaches the top where the roofing joins the arena’s sides.

People scream as the feral alpha rips through a join in the chain link and drops down the outside—into the crowd. I blink and the light blocks out as Mufasa jumps up onto the armrests, covering me with his body. The handcuff jerks against my wrist and then Groman screams in my ear. Hot blood spatters across my almost-bare chest. The kennel boss shouts curses at his feral fighter and the cuff chaining me to him slips off his bloodied hand.

Petrov said if the feral alphas got to me, they’d either rip my throat out or fuck me to pieces. Mufasa doesn’t do either. He protects me, and although his rigid dick hovers above my belly, he makes no attempt at finding his way in.

A thick, heady scent I can’t place washes over me and all my anxiety fades away as I place my hand on his heaving chest. He leans in close and that familiar low rumble sounds in my ears as he licks my forehead.

A relieved sob breaks through my throat. I’ve never felt safer than with this wild cage fighter kneeling over me.

The crowd shouts, and Mufasa writhes over me as he lashes out, fending everyone off. Fire roars through my skin, flushing everywhere and I scream. White-hot lightning shoots through me, jerking my body and blinding my vision. For a moment I think it’s the force of a full heat, but Mufasa falters, his leg skidding off the armrest until he sprawls across my knees, and I catch sight of a man with one of the electricity jolt sticks behind him.

---