INICIAR SESIÓNNote: Dark omegaverse with male pregnancy. “You belong to me, omega. I will fight to the death and claim you as mine.” Those were the words Damon Moretti swore to himself as he stepped into the Black Crown Arena. In a world where male omegas are rare and coveted, alphas must fight to the death for the right to claim a mate. And Damon, the bastard son of the powerful Moretti family, has returned from exile with blood on his hands and revenge burning in his heart. He has only one goal: to claim an omega and make his enemies regret ever casting him out. That omega is Tristan Ash. Small, delicate, and desperate to escape the cruel man who owns his debt, Tristan enters the arena hoping to secure his freedom. Instead, he finds himself claimed by the very alpha whose name strikes fear into the hearts of others. Damon Moretti is ruthless, possessive, and far from a good man. He has destroyed everything that stood in his way, and Tristan has no reason to believe he will be treated any differently. But as dangerous secrets emerge and the past threatens to destroy everything Damon has fought for, one question remains: Will Tristan become the one person Damon would burn the world to protect, or will he be the next thing the ruthless alpha destroys?
Ver másThe audience erupted. Some spectators cheered. Others exchanged uneasy glances. A man seated near the window leaned towards his companion.“He's actually here.”“I thought the Morettis would never allow him to return.”“They didn't. That's the point.”Tristan turned towards the arena.“He's a madman,” another spectator muttered. “I wouldn't want to be the man fighting him tonight, or the omega being claimed by him.”Tristan grew weaker. The moderator was announcing the alphas who were going to fight for him.The announcer raised his hand.“Make way for Damon Moretti!”The doors at the far end of the arena opened. Damon walked out.He wore black trousers and a fitted black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his expression was so cold that it seemed untouched by the noise surrounding him. He wasn't the largest man Tristan had seen that evening, but something about him made the others look less imposing.Perhaps it was the way he walked. H
THE NEXT DAYBy the time Tristan reached the Black Crown Arena, he had almost convinced himself to turn back. He had made a decision to take a risk. He wanted to run away from Declan by all means. He couldn't continue living his life serving Declan to pay off a debt without receiving any payment in return.The building stood behind a row of private entertainment clubs, its black exterior illuminated by white paint lines. Luxury cars lined the entrance, and men in expensive suits passed through the guarded doors as though they were attending an exclusive party rather than a competition where losing meant death.Tristan stood across the street, staring at the entrance. He had spent most of the night thinking about his options. He could return to Declan's club and endure whatever the man demanded, or he could take his chances with an alpha he had never met.Neither choice promised freedom but at least the arena offered a possibility. He touched the sore spot beneath his ribs and winced.
His open palm struck Tristan's cheek with a loud sound. Tristan's head snapped to the side. His ear rang. His whole face burned, and the taste of blood flooded his mouth.Before he could breathe, Luke's fingers clamped around his jaw. His nails dug into the skin, deep, and Tristan felt them break through. Luke leaned close. There was nothing sweet left in his eyes.He spat in Tristan's face. It landed warm and wet on Tristan's cheek and began to slide down toward the corner of his mouth, slow and thick. Tristan couldn't move. He felt every inch of its path of what Luke spat on his face. It was worse than the slap. It was worse than Declan's fists. It told him exactly what he was worth to this man…nothing.Luke let go and flung him away. Tristan slammed into the wall and crumpled to the floor. Pain ripped through his ribs. The spit dripped from his chin onto his black shirt, and he wanted to scrub his face, to wipe it away, but his arms wouldn't obey him.Luke's polished shoe came down
Declan lowered the baton. A man stood outside the room, dressed in a dark suit. He glanced at Tristan's crumpled body, then at the blood on the floor.“The clients are arriving,” he said and adjusted his suit jacket. “You wanted the omega ready before nine.”Declan clicked his tongue.“Then he should have thought of that before stealing from me.”The man didn't argue. He simply looked away. Tristan wanted to scream at him, to demand that he do something. Anything. But the man turned and walked out. Of course he did. Nobody at the club intervened when Declan became violent. The staff had learned that protecting Tristan was a good way to become the next target.Declan tossed the baton onto the table.“Clean yourself up.”Tristan remained on the floor, breathing through clenched teeth.Declan nudged his thigh with the toe of his shoe.“Did you hear me?”“Yes.”“Then move.”Tristan planted his palms on the concrete and forced himself onto his knees. The movement sent pain through his ribs


















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