Katrina’s POV
He stepped closer, the dim torchlight casting long shadows across his face, though the mask still concealed everything but his gaze. That stare was unrelenting, cold and measuring. I didn’t know what he was looking for, but he hadn’t looked away since I opened my mouth.
“Show me proof,” he said, his voice flat. Not a challenge. Not a request. A command.
I opened my mouth, but the words stuck in my throat for a moment before they tumbled out, quiet and raw.
“I… I don’t have any proof.”
There was no point lying. I didn’t have documents, allies, or some grand show of power to present. All I had was the truth, and it felt fragile in the face of everything he was.
His silence dragged on, heavy and suffocating. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but the longer he said nothing, the more certain I was that I’d made a mistake coming here.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, he gestured to the guards flanking me.
“Release her.”
I blinked, caught off guard. My body tensed, expecting some cruel trick, but the guards moved. They hesitated only briefly, clearly surprised by the order, before unlocking the chains wrapped around my wrists and ankles.
The moment the iron restraints fell away, my knees buckled. I collapsed onto the stone floor with a hard thud, my legs too weak to hold me. The cold seeped into my skin, and I clenched my jaw to stifle the pained gasp that threatened to escape.
My limbs trembled, more from exhaustion than fear. The weight of the shackles had become so constant that without them, my body felt foreign and unbalanced.
I barely had time to catch my breath before his voice rang out again.
“Fight them.”
My head jerked up. “What?”
He didn’t repeat himself. He simply nodded toward the three masked warriors stepping forward, their expressions unreadable, their movements precise and practiced. They looked like they had been waiting for this moment.
“You want to prove yourself,” he said, voice low and calm. “Then shift and fight them.”
I turned to face the masked men now circling me. Their postures were relaxed, but I wasn’t fooled. They were trained. They were deadly. And I had just crawled up from the floor.
I should have been afraid.
And I was.
But something deep inside me stirred. A flicker. A pull from within. The same energy I had felt before when I shifted, when I stood before the Alpha, when the Lunar Flame pulsed beneath my skin.
An instinct.
A fire I couldn’t name.
The first warrior lunged, his fist slicing through the air toward my head. I dropped low, narrowly dodging the strike. The movement felt natural, almost automatic. Before I could think, I twisted and drove my elbow into his ribs. The impact made him grunt and stagger sideways.
But there was no time to celebrate.
The second warrior was already moving, aiming for my legs. The third went high, hands reaching for my shoulders. I spun between them, my body reacting on its own. The second’s leg swept past me as I pivoted and planted a hard kick to his knee. He cried out, falling with a crash.
Pain exploded in my back.
The third warrior had landed his elbow square between my shoulder blades, sending me to the ground with a gasp. My palms scraped against the stone, but I forced myself to roll before he could follow up.
I scrambled to my feet, every breath burning in my chest. I was bruised, bleeding, but I wasn’t done.
I turned fast, catching the third warrior off guard, and slammed my fist into his jaw. His head snapped back, and I followed with a sweep of my leg that sent him crashing down beside the others.
Silence swallowed the chamber.
I stood in the center, chest heaving, blood trickling from my lip, hands clenched at my sides. My body trembled from the exertion, but I was still upright. Still fighting.
And then, slow claps echoed off the stone walls.
The Rogue Alpha stepped forward, his presence somehow heavier than before. His eyes were locked on me, unblinking.
“Impressive,” he said. “But that was only the beginning.”
I stepped back instinctively, unsure what was coming next. My breath was still ragged. My limbs ached.
He tilted his head slightly. “Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “fight me.”
I froze.
“What?”
“You heard me.” His tone never changed. “Fight me. Win, and you walk free. Lose, and you die.”
A chill gripped my spine. My hands slowly raised, trembling but steadying. I had barely survived the last fight. This one? This was suicide.
But I didn’t have a choice.
My heart thundered in my chest as he approached, step by slow step, until he stood just a few feet away. Masked. Silent. A predator cloaked in control.
I swallowed hard, lifting my fists.
The fight for my life had only just begun.