chapter 1: The Outcast

16 Years Later

-ZOYA-

Blood drips from the side of my knuckles, sending a tingling sensation up my arm. I straighten up but immediately wish I hadn't. My vision blurs and I stumble back.

"47… 48, 49…" Scarface counts. I have less than 20 seconds left on the clock.

Today's challenge was surviving. And so far, I was killing it.

I twist to the side, sending a kick flying in the air. My muscles strain with the effort, but I grit my teeth, watching with little relief as my opponent lands on the floor with a dull thud.

Fighting—it was part of my life now.

As an insignificant wolf without a background, there was only one choice: to cower in fear and let people step over you.

Not me, though. In the shadow rings, I made a name for myself where no one had to know my background.

"Naive girl. Sooner or later, your lies will catch up with you and the Alpha will see how well you've bewitched him!" The man on the ground spat, rolling to the side, coughing out blood.

"So what if the Alpha chose me to be his mate?" My voice go cold. I send another kick to his ribs, the satisfying crunch of bones filling the air.

"Time up," Scarface announces.

I glare at the lump on the ground that represents the masked man I'm fighting. He shifts but doesn't get off the floor, groaning in pain.

A samurai tattoo with two coiled snakes peeks from his armor just below his arm. I recognize him as a member of the Blackthorn family, one of the top families of pure breeds in the Shadow pack, raising potential alphas and women vying to be the alpha's bride even after he chose me.

My eyes harden, even as I crouch down to his level. To think they would send one of their underdogs to challenge the future Luna to a fight. I bend down and lift him by his shoulders, making my face level with his.

"Send my regards, and tell the Blackthorn family that their attempts are simply pathetic," I spit.

"Oh, and you still have a couple of days to suck up to me before I become Luna. I highly recommend it because, trust me, I won't overlook any of this."

I let him go, resisting the urge to grab the dagger from my belt and plunge it between his shoulder blades.

As I step out of the ring, Scarface hands me a water bottle.

"Thanks," I mutter.

The circular arena was nothing more than concrete surrounded by makeshift bleachers that were empty by this time of the night. I grab my bag from the ground, pulling out my phone and scrolling through it for any message from Alpha Xander.

"You did great." Scar pulls out a first aid box and pats the seat next to him.

A message pops up on the screen. I stiffen, staring at the unknown number: "Your secret is no longer a secret, omega."

I read the text over and over again, my face going pale. It wasn't the first. For two weeks, I had been receiving messages like this. With my mating ceremony coming closer, I was getting really nervous.

What if someone found out? Everything was going so smoothly. I couldn't afford a slip.

The word omega haunt me. Nobody in the Shadow pack knew my status. Not even Scar.

"Are you alright? You look like you saw a ghost." Scar's voice cut through my thoughts.

I force a smile, slipping the phone into my jacket. Scar looks at me, a worried frown on his face as he takes out a bandage from the box.

"I'll do it myself," I say hastily. I never liked people getting too close to me.

It might have been my survival instincts and trust issues, but I'm used to people being cruel. With both my parents gone, years of surviving as a lone wolf taught me to expect only the worst in humans. Kindness isn't something I see every day.

Scar watches me as I wrap up the cuts around my hand with a white cloth.

As his name says, he has quite a glaring scar that runs from his left eye to the side of his jaw. His bare chest shows numerous tattoos and battle marks. A leather belt hangs on his waist, securing a pair of cargo pants.

He looks simple, but not to be underestimated.

Scar ran shadow rings and taught me everything I knew about fighting. Not the pretty girl life I always dreamt of, but I got used to it.

I pull my hoodie over my short dark hair and stand up.

"I'm heading out, Scar," I say, making my way out of the building.

Someone has already pulled out the Blackthorn underdog from the ring. The dry patches of blood on the sand are the only hint that a fight has occurred, but even that will be cleared out, too.

I rub my bandaged knuckles, wishing I punched harder.

The night is cool and silent, with the faint howling of wolves coming from a distance. Everything is calm. I should be able to make it back to my apartment without a challenge, and yet I smell danger. It wouldn't be the first time rogues ganged up on me. I try to peer through the thick shadows, my instincts pricking up.

I'm about to step out of the building but instinctively stop dead in my tracks, feeling a strong presence.

Thud, thud.

Heavy boots echo, sounding closer.

In a matter of seconds, it's like the night dropped a hundred degrees. A shadow comes into view, followed by a frame, and then a man is towering over me, just a few steps away.

He's way taller than me. There's not much light, but I can see his long silver hair and tattoos peeking out of his fur jacket. He holds a scythe casually in one hand. I take a step back, catching my breath.

There's something ethereal… no, otherworldly about him. I pull my hoodie tighter, feeling a chill run down my spine.

"We're closed for the day, no more fights," I say, trying to sound strong. No stranger should be allowed into shadow rings by this time of the night.

He looks like a killer—the fucking grim reaper! Who else casually walks around with a scythe?

He doesn't say anything but instead takes a step forward. There's a powerful force around him and it takes all my willpower not to let out a whimper.

He must have sensed the terrible power imbalance because he takes another step, invading my personal space now, stopping right beside me, our shoulders brushing, but only figuratively because he's like a foot taller.

He leans down and sniffs me.

Years of survival taught me when to run. Now is a perfect example. I'm about to flee when he whispers,

"Are you still alive, omega?"