But it was certainly why Holden hated us. He’d been the closest allies to the West pack—and he believed Sin should have been his.
He was behind this—I knew it, as thick iron bars finally came into my vision.
We were in a cage.
Like most structures in Anarchy, the bars were made of Vycron steel. Alpha-proof metal. Unbendable, even with the power of the strongest alpha aura. They’d stood the test of time—years of vicious fights banging against them, rutting alphas trying to rip them apart and get at the crowd.
It was fucking impossible to get out of.
But I tried. And when Vandle woke, he tried too.
We both kept the pack bond locked down tight, which meant we couldn’t feel anything from Crescent—didn’t know if she was fucking okay at all. But it was that, or terrify her and Sin. Force her to feel the bubbling rage and feral instincts threatening to break free of us both.
“Fuck!” Vandle’s latest attempt to pull the bars apart ended in his blistered hands slipping from the rough metal.
We were on display in the middle of a large circular room. This cage was four times as big as the one Sin and Crescent had done their show in—theirs was meant for fucking, but this one wasn’t. This was for fights to the death, and the flakes of blood on the edges of the cage floor proved it.
The rut cages were ruled by the Marshall pack. Our ex-allies, the Wakefield pack,shouldn’thave the keys, but the Marshalls liked a little chaos. It wouldn’t be out of character for them to give up a cage key for the night if they were promised fresh bodies in the morning.
At this rate, the bodies would be us.
I slammed my forearm against the steel bars, teeth grinding when pain echoed up to my shoulder.
My frustration was cut short by a door slamming open, hitting the opposing wall.
Karma. Bloodied and beaten, his lip split, but still thrashing against the two members of Holden’s pack like he was fresh out of the gate. Holden entered behind them, and my hackles rose at the sight of him.
Where were Sin and Crescent?
I heard Karma’s vicious snarls as soon as the echo of the door faded, and for a beat I worried he’d gone feral again. Not that our appeal was our greatest worry right now, but we’d never pass if he’d lost himself this close.
I reached out in the bond; there was a void where Karma usually was, but I couldn’t tell if he'd locked the bond down, or if he was vacant from it.
A couple of the Wakefields trailed in behind and came to the rut cage door, keys jingling. Vandle shifted forward, ready to shove his way out and escape this cursed metal.
With a laugh, Holden strode in before he could get a chance, knife in his hand, pointing it at my packmate. “Fucking try it.”
Karma snarled and lunged, but his attempt to get the weapon only resulted in a fresh cut on his cheek, deep enough it might scar. It only made Vandle more keen to test Holden, his grip rattling the bars of the door.
He ended up cut next, the knife slicing across his hand—and if I hadn’t pulled him back, he might have lost a fucking finger.
Of course, he didn’t thank me. He whirled on me and I shoved him away, but they used the distraction to haul open the door, shove Karma inside, and slam it shut again.
The key clicked in the lock.
We were so screwed.
The Wakefield tossed the key to Holden, who shoved it into his pocket.
“Head back out and find those fucking omegas.” Everyone scattered to obey Holden’s barked order. My firestorm of hatred grew to a thunderous smite, my blood burning at the reminder of what he’d orchestrated this whole thing for: Crescent and Sin.
Out there alone while we were stuck in here.
I threw myself against the bars, shook them, screamed curses, but Holden taunted us from safety before leaving us to breathe our fury into the damp underground air, alone.
45
SIN