Strays

Chapter 12 *Edited*

My heart started to pound as tension mounted. 8's screams echoed throughout the large space but he continued to fight, raining blows on 3 with his booted feet until there was a loud, snapping sound and 3 collapsed on the ground. I peered over the platform and winced when I saw the state of his broken neck.

"8 WINS!"

8 was helped out of the pit by members of the crowd while someone retrieved his lost arm and disappeared after them. There was a break as the next round of bets were collected, and I waited with bated breath for my own number to be called.

It was almost worse than the building anticipation before the first fight. Then, I'd been in as close to perfect physical condition as I could possibly be, but now I was injured. Injured and pissed. Sebastien had drilled into my head how important it was to keep your head, to know your limits physically and emotionally — and right now, I wasn't sure what my limits were.

I had to be bloodthirsty to win, I had to walk that fine line between the urge to hunt and the urge to phase, but if the thirst overpowered everything else...

I'd phase in the first three seconds and get my neck snapped like a twig.

Three more fights unfolded in the pit before the emcee finally called my number. I was shaking as hands shoved me forward and I jumped down onto the tracks, one fist clenched and my heart beating hard against my ribcage.

My injured arm was starting to sting fiercely and instead of ignoring it, I used it to ground me. If I concentrated hard on the itch of blood and sinew, the urge to phase faded into the background.

My opponent — number 27 — was pushed in after me. I recognised her as the girl who'd been ahead of me in the line when I was signing up, the one with the neck tattoo. She was covered in blood now, but whether it was hers or her previous opponent's, I couldn't tell.

She bared her teeth as I stared at her, shifting into a crouch.

I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was clinging to her human form as desperately as I was. The adrenaline, the blood, the atmosphere — it was almost too much.

Keep your head, Juliet. Keep your head...

The whistle rang out and she leapt.

I expected her to phase mid-air and I tensed, ready to catch her, but she didn't. She crashed into me, teeth and nails bared, and I felt her legs wrap around mine as she tried to trip me up. I felt the string of her nails digging into my arms and white-hot pain blurred my vision, shooting through me like knives.

I tried to think through the pain, to use the momentum of her jump to swing her around, and when I felt the impact her back hitting the wall of the pit, a tiny surge of victory rushed through me. But then she was right in my face, her teeth scoring my throat, and for a second I almost wished she would rip my throat out — anything to distract from the pain of her nails driving straight to the bone of my injured arm.

"He's going to get you killed!"

His voice was like a bucket of ice water thrown at my face. It was like a taunt — goading me, almost — and a red haze coloured my vision. No matter how many times I told myself I had nothing to prove, I couldn't help it — I had to prove that I could do this. Survive.

I'm not broken, I thought stubbornly. I'm strong.

I rammed my knee up and the sound of cracking bones rang out as I hit the juncture between her legs. She stopped gnawing on my neck to scream and I used her temporary distraction to reach up and grab her head, slamming her back against the wall.