Chains around her wrists weighed nothing compared to the weight of what was about to happen.
With her muscles hurting from the night before, Elara sat in the middle of a darkly lighted dungeon. Her men from Dante had hauled her here and dumped her into an animal-like cold, wet cell.
She was not, however, only a prisoner.
No, Dante intended her for something else.
And whatever they were, she knew one thing: she was not giving up without struggle.
The door creaked open, and she had no need to glance up to identify who it was.
The room smelled Dante—smoke and steel, mixed with that arrogant self-satisfaction that made her fists tingle.
Arm crossed, he walked toward her, his silver eyes shining with laughter.
"You slept well, I guess?" he said.
Elara gave him a sharp look. "Right up until you came in."
Dante laughingly nodded. Still sharp-tongued, I saw.
She bent her head. "Still a manipulative bastard, I see."
His smirk widened. "You wound me."
Elara resisted the urge to lunge for his throat.
Instead, she leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms despite the silver cuffs burning her skin. "What do you want?"
Dante exhaled dramatically, pacing in front of her. "I'll be honest with you, Elara. I didn't capture you just to throw you in a cell."
"No?" she said dryly. "Could've fooled me."
Dante stopped, crouching so they were eye level. "I want you to fight."
She stilled. "What?"
Dante's smirk was razor-sharp. "A test. A challenge. A trial." He stood, his countenance unreadable. "You were once part of Blood fang. And now? You're nothing but a rogue. A wolf with no home."
His silver eyes flashed.
"But you don't have to be."
Elara's stomach twisted.
"Win the trial," Dante said. And you qualify for my pack.
She laughed and barked out loud. "You honestly believe I would want that?"
Dante bent his head. Would you prefer rot in here?
Quietness.
Elara gripped her jaw tightly.
Dante started to smile once more. "I shall see you at sundown."
He left then, the door slamming closed behind him.
Elara sat there heart pounding and clenched fists.
She had options to decide upon.
Campaign for her life.
Alternatively die a prisoner.
And Elara never settled for death.
The arena was a pit carved from stone, surrounded by torches that cast long, flickering shadows against the walls. The scent of blood and dirt hung in the air, thick and heavy.
Elara stood in the center, her wrists finally free of chains. Her body ached, but her instincts were sharper than ever.
Above, a crowd gathered along the stone ledges—Dante's pack.
They came for a show.
Dante himself leaned against the highest balcony, watching with unwavering amusement.
"You have one chance, Elara," he called out. "Survive this, and you may just prove yourself."
Elara rolled her shoulders, sizing up the three wolves who stepped into the arena with her.
They were big. Strong. Brutal.
And their orders were clear.
Kill her.
She smirked.
Let them try.
The first wolf lunged.
Elara moved like a blade through air, dodging just as his claws slashed where she had been standing.
Before he could recover, she struck—fast, precise, lethal.
A sharp kick to his knee, a twist of her body, and she slammed her elbow into his jaw.
CRACK.
He dropped, groaning, but the second wolf was already on her.
She spun just in time to block the next attack, their claws meeting midair in a shower of sparks.
He was stronger. But she was faster.
She ducked under his swing, sliding low before sweeping his legs out from under him.
The crowd roared.
She didn't stop.
Didn't hesitate.
She drove her heel into his ribcage, squeezing the air from his lungs.
The third wolf hesitated now.
Good.
Fear made them slower.
She turned to him, tilting her head. "What's wrong?" she taunted. "Not used to seeing a rogue hold her own?"
The wolf growled. "You're dead."
Elara shot a smile.
"Verify it."
He charged.
Elara waited.
She kept count of his steps. watched his motions. Timed it exactly.
Then—she struck first.
Her dagger flashed in the firelight, slicing across his side. He screamed, staggered back, and it was then she completed it.
A terrible uppercut to his throat, then a quick arm twist.
He collapsed to his knees, panting for breath.
The audience stopped speaking.
Elara breathed, rising tall as she studied the slain wolves surrounding her.
She had won.
And Dante knew it.
Dante clapped slowly from his balcony. "Impressive."
Elara didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Dante leaned forward, his smirk intensifying. "It's a shame, really."
Her muscles tensed.
Dante's silver eyes glittered. "You didn't actually think I'd let you go, did you?"
The doors to the arena opened again.
Elara turned, exactly as another person set foot on the field.
Her stomach sank.
It was not simply another fighter.
It was him.
Kieran.
Perched at the pit's entry, his golden gaze fixed on hers.
Fury. Relief; treachery.
All that was there.
Dante laughingly. Oh, the well-known Alpha shows up.
Elara's pulse roared in her ears.
Kieran moved slowly forward, his eye blazing into hers.
Then the arena echoed Dante's voice.
"We have a new test," he said. "Elara, if you want your freedom...."
He sneers.
You will have to kill him.
Will Elara and Kieran fight—or will they discover another path?
Dante's actual plan is what?
Is something worse or a trap here?
She emerged from her first fight triumphant.
Still, the actual war had only just started.