Chapter 3 Zara

Hundreds of students filled the massive circular space, their voices echoing off the high stone walls. The air was thick with the smell of sand, sweat, excitement, and blood. Torches burned along the walls even though it was still daytime, casting flickering shadows across every face and every corner of the massive space.

I paused for a moment at the top of the wide stone aisle, taking it all in.

The hierarchy was obvious even in how they sat. The VIP section at the front had the best view and comfortable seats reserved for the most powerful Alphas and their factions. I spotted the Bloodmoon faction, which was the Nightshade twins' group, taking up a large portion of the prime seating. The Elite Circle, led by Isabelle's people, were somehow already here and sat close by, laughing and chatting like they owned the place. Lower ranks filled the middle and back sections, squeezed together on harder benches. Omegas and servants like me weren't even supposed to sit, they stood at the very back or served drinks to people who wouldn't even look at them.

Yet here I was, walking straight down the center aisle in nothing but a bloody, torn hospital gown, barefoot, with dried blood still on my arms and legs.

The moment the crowd noticed me, the laughter started.

"Look at her!"

"Is that Zara Thorne? She's supposed to be dead!"

"What is she wearing? Did she escape the infirmary?"

"Wolfless trash actually showed up!"

The whispers and mocking laughter grew louder as I kept walking. My bare feet touched the cold stone steps with every stride. The gown fluttered loosely around my thighs. I didn't speed up. I didn't look at anyone. I didn't flinch at a single word. I simply walked forward with my head high and my eyes straight ahead.

How pathetic.

This so-called combat trial was nothing more than entertainment for spoiled children. In my past life, I had fought in real battles where thousands died. Blood soaked the ground for miles. Men screamed as they were torn apart by wolves three times the size of anything in this arena. Here, these rich brats cheered because one weak girl was getting beaten by someone much stronger. They called this justice?

It was almost funny.

I reached the edge of the fighting ring. The sand was stained dark with fresh blood. Ivy lay crumpled in the middle of it, barely conscious. Her face was bruised and swollen. Blood trickled slowly from her nose and the corner of her mouth. She tried weakly to push herself up one more time, arms shaking violently, and collapsed again with a soft, broken sound that cut straight through the noise of the crowd.

My chest tightened with anger.

Marcus Silverthorne stood over her in human form, laughing as he played to the crowd. He was tall and heavily built, broad across the shoulders, clearly enjoying every second of this mismatch. He looked like a boy who had never once faced one challenge in his life.

"Come on, little Thorne!" he shouted, kicking a spray of sand toward Ivy's face. "Is that all you've got? Your worthless sister died this morning and you still think you can challenge me?"

The crowd laughed again. Someone threw a crumpled piece of paper into the ring.

In the VIP box directly above the ring, I spotted them.

The Nightshade twins.

Cassian and Dante sat side by side, both tall with black hair and striking ice-blue eyes. Cassian looked cold and completely uninterested, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set like stone. Dante leaned back lazily in his seat, a bored smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. They watched the fight below them like it was barely worth their attention. 

I noted them, filed them away. Then I looked back at the ring.

I didn't hesitate and stepped over the low rope, walking straight into the fighting ring. My bare feet sank into the warm, blood-stained sand.

The referee, a Beta wolf in academy uniform, immediately blew his whistle sharp and loud. "Hey! Get out of the ring! Now! Omegas are not allowed in combat trials!"

I ignored him completely and kept walking.

The entire arena shifted from loud cheering to confused murmuring in the space of a few seconds. Then the laughter started again, louder and more disbelieving than before.

I stopped a few meters away from Marcus and looked him dead in the eyes. I didn't cross my arms. I didn't hunch my shoulders. I stood straight and still, the way I had.

"Marcus Silverthorne," I said. My voice was clear, calm and carried across the sand with complete authority. "Get away from my sister. Now."

For a moment, there was stunned silence.

Then the entire arena exploded. Hundreds of voices roared at once, falling over each other in disbelief.

"Did the wolfless Omega just give orders?"

"She's completely delusional!"

"Someone drag her out before she embarrasses herself more!"

"This is the funniest thing I've ever seen!"

Marcus turned toward me slowly. His face moved through amusement, then disbelief, then settled on anger. His eyes dragged over the hospital gown, the bare feet, the dried blood on my skin. "You've got to be kidding me. The dead girl is walking and talking now?"

I stood completely still and said nothing.

He laughed again, loud and mocking, turning briefly to the crowd like he wanted to share the joke. Then he looked back at me and the laughter faded. "Fine. If you want to die so badly, I'll finish what I started this morning."

With a savage grin, he shifted.

Bones cracked and reshaped loudly enough to hear across the sand. Fur erupted across his body in a rippling wave. In seconds, a massive brown wolf stood where the boy had been, easily twice my size, muscles coiling and rolling beneath a thick coat, fangs bared and wet. The crowd screamed their approval.

The wolf lowered its massive head. Golden eyes locked onto me. Its haunches bunched.

Then it charged, straight and fast and absolutely certain of the outcome.

I didn't flinch or didn't step back. I didn't even blink.

"Time to show them who they're dealing with."