Page 68 of Forbidden Mischief
And then, just beyond the last crooked fence post, we see it.
The building is decrepit, skeletal beams poking through collapsed roofing. But there’s light flickering from inside, pale and orange, like firelight. We creep closer.
I narrow my eyes, heart pounding. "What is this place?" I whisper.
Alice answers on a broken sob, "The fight pit. It's where Billy sends wolves to fight to the death... or to just be beat on to teach them a lesson."
Something hot and sharp pierces through the bond—panic, pain, exhaustion. It punches the breath from my lungs. My knees almost buckle. I double over for a second, gripping the rotted fencepost beside me like it might hold me together.
Then I hear it—shouting. Not words, just rage. Frenzied, ugly. And somewhere underneath it, the brutal, sickening rhythm of fists on flesh.
Alice stumbles back, pressing both hands to her mouth. “Please no,” she cries, her voice cracking. “Anywhere but there.”
Dad pulls her against his side, holding her tight. “He’s gonna be okay, honey,” he murmurs. “We’re going to get him out.”
“Why couldn’t he just leave us alone?” she sobs. “Leave him alone? He was happy. He was thriving.”
“Shhhhhh, honey,” Dad soothes. “We’re going to fix it.”
Her cries mix with the chaos I feel pouring through the bond. But the fear—the fear that’s been clinging to me—it’s gone.
Now, I’m pissed.
My blood boils. My magic doesn’t simmer anymore. It’s a raging inferno clawing at my insides, demanding release. I’ve never felt power like this. It pools under my skin, hungry, furious,ready.
We slip in through a broken panel. The stench hits me first—sweat, blood, fear.
At the center is the arena. Crude ropes, dark with old stains, are strung between rusted posts, forming a ring. The dirt floor inside is splattered with blood, some fresh, some old and blackened. It’s not just a fight pit—it’s a fucking slaughterhouse.
Men circle it, jeering and barking like animals. Their eyes gleam with bloodlust. Every single one of them wears that same smug sneer, the kind of expression people wear when they believe no one will stop them.
And in the middle of it all—Asher.
He’s on his knees, swaying like he might collapse. A mess of bruises and blood covers his face, one eye swollen nearly shut, jaw hanging slack. His shirt hangs in tatters, soaked with sweat and crimson, clinging to the lines of a battered chest. Trembling fists stay clenched at his sides.
But he’s still alive.
Around him, six—no, seven—wolves in human form circle like jackals. They take turns lunging in, landing punches, kicks. One grabs him by the shoulder and slams him into the dirt. Another laughs and spits on him.
I clench my jaw so tight my teeth ache.
Beyond them, more bodies lie sprawled on the dirt floor. Eight? Nine? Unconscious or worse, already taken down by the same man they’re trying to break.
Asher’s still fighting.
My pulse roars. My vision narrows.
Something inside me uncoils.
How dare they touch my man…my fucking mate!
The fury doesn’t come in waves—it explodes. Heat tears through my chest. Magic lashes out before I even realize I’ve moved. The lights flicker. The air pops and crackles like a thunderstorm. My fingers twitch and the magic answers—rushing out in a surge so violent the floor trembles beneath us.
A pulse of force tears through the air, invisible but brutal. Two of the wolves go flying, their bodies slamming into the posts with bone-snapping impact.
The shockwave shatters, the invisibility cloaking me, ripping the magic apart.
“HEY!” someone shouts, but it’s too late.
