Page 42 of The Omega Trials: Part One

My stomach drops and chills run down my arms, making my hair rise.

Fight to thedeath . . .

I’m going to get my alphas killed.

If I thought this was going to be anything like the MMA fights I’d seen on TV, I’m quickly proven wrong. A second horn, like the one that summoned us, blares. Three gates on different sides of the arena rise and dozens of men come pouring out from under the stadium seats.

There are seventeen alphas, and at least forty men come running with clubs and swords and axes raised above their heads. Weaponless, the nobles form a circle and get ready to defend themselves.

“Why don’t they have any weapons?” There’s a frantic tone to my voice. This is the perfect setup for a bloodbath. I wanted them to lose the Trial, notdie.

There’s an ear-splitting howl followed by exuberant cheers. My head whips toward the sound, my heart already pounding as I imagine the worst. That’s when my jaw drops and my lungs freeze.

Titus has a man face down in the dirt. The man’s arm is completely out of the socket and bent behind his back while Titus claws the axe from his hand. He drops the man’s arm—it falls like a wet noodle—and buries one foot between his shoulder blades.

Despite his injuries, he lifts the axe above his head and brings it down on the man’s neck with one arching swing.

He gives the body a shove with the foot planted on his back and vomit shoots up my throat. I clasp my hand to my mouth.

His neck is a bloody stump, his head completely severed.

I barely have time to process the sight before another man charges Titus, and he spins around and lodges the axe in his abdomen. As he collapses, Titus grabs the spiked club from his attacker and bashes him over the head with it.

He stands tall, his own blood seeping through his bandages on his back and his opponent’s blood splattering his front. Crimsondrips from the club and axe as they hang in his grip. He looks like a conjuring of the devil.

“That’s why they don’t need to start with weapons.” Seventeen’s voice makes me jump, having forgotten I’d even asked a question.

As if he felt my stare, Titus’s eyes find mine and I’m rocked like a ship in a storm. Black drips down his face from sweat and his gold eyes are brighter than the sun. He bares his teeth and lifts the axe.

And points it right at me.

1. Continue playing “Jagwar” by SHELLS

2. Stop playing “Jagwar” by SHELLS

The Victor’s Prize

Ecker

The scent of blood fills my nostrils. It only fuels this fire raging inside me. An aggression-triggered rut creates a bloodlust so potent, it makes me want to throw down the weapons I’ve won so I can tear these people apart with my bare hands.

Every splash of blood against my skin sends an energizing rush through my body. Even more so when it’s combined with the scent of my omega.

It’s hard to track where I am on the arena floor with constant attacks and retaliation. My immediate vision and context are narrowed to my current victim and the next threat. But I always know when I am near the omegas’ balcony. Her bright amberand neroli scent cuts through the thick, coppery tang of blood like a flare in the night.

Every time I scent her, a growl reverberates in my chest and my skin tingles. I slaughter whoever is unlucky enough to be near me. Because for the moment that she’s in my lungs, the alpha in me doesn’t see them as a threat to my life, but a threat between her and me.

And anything standing between my omega and me must be obliterated.

But once I’m across the arena again and her scent clears, the fury over what she did rekindles to a wildfire. She risked all of our lives with her petty tantrum.

If there’s one thing I can’t forgive, it’s putting my brothers in danger.

It’s probably been ten minutes since the games began and our opponents’ numbers have dwindled significantly. Not that they ever stood a chance. It’s a rigged system, and everyone knows it.

The games occur once or twice a decade, whenever there are Trials. In between that time, anyone that crosses the Echelon—and isn’t immediately killed—is imprisoned until the next game. So, not only are they weak and malnourished from being held captive, but most are undesignated. Even at their best, they wouldn’t stand a chance against a noble alpha.

It’s a bloodbath, but it brings in a shit ton of money—people can even pay to have their enemy kidnapped for the arena. The games serve as a chance for Trial alphas to prove their strength and courage, but they also loom as a constant threat to maintain the Echelon’s power and control.

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