Hold on, Alpha! Your Luna is on the Way!

LYRA

My boyfriend lunges at me. And in an instant, his face shifts from ally to executioner.

“Drake! Please, you don’t have to do this!” I have no time to be angry as I scramble away from him.

We’re the poor souls picked to fight in the arena today.

Before anyone alive now was born, wars and disaster had decimated our werewolf world. Vast, barren wastelands stretch across much of the globe now. Since then, every season, five low-ranking orphans like me have been forced into arena fights: win, earn supplies and a shot at warrior training; lose, and you die. 

Everyone wants out, but it’s tradition and the only way to survive.

Drake and I always thought we’d chase victory together. We were never supposed to be on opposite sides.

But just a second ago, the moment he realized we couldn’t win this time, he sided with the enemy.

Drake lands a blow to my side, and I wheeze, coughing up blood. My vision swims with black dots. The little strength I have is slipping away as rain soaks my skin.

I’m weak from the lack of food—all I’ve eaten in two days is some stale bread.

Something clatters to the ground, and the assault stops. 

Forcing my swollen eyes open, I glance up at Drake. What is he doing?

His focus, though, isn’t on me. Instead, his gaze is darting between Jack and his lackeys—our orphan bullies who always target me, now our opponents—and the large silver knife sitting between us.

“Do it, Drake!” Jack calls. “You can’t win. Kill her and we’ll let you go.” He’d tossed the knife to Drake, not at him.

The other two boys smile and nod. One makes a crude gesture toward me.

“Wait, stop!” From the stands, my best friend Leah screams.

Drake scoops up the knife and raises it with a murderous glint in his eye. He’s going to kill me.

“Drake…” my voice cracks. It feels like someone is ripping out my heart.

“It’s me, Drake. It’s your Lyra. Please, don’t do this. Please…”

Jack and his friends laugh at me.

“I’m sorry, Ly, but it’s me or you.” Regret flashes in Drake’s gaze before it hardens again.

There was no way to win. He knew it as well as I did.

Time seems to slow.

Flashes from last year’s race cross my mind.

I have always hated these traditions, people dying for sport. But every year we were forced to watch. Last year, I’d been so angry—and so scared—that I’d started shaking. Drake held my hand, comforting me the entire afternoon.

Afterward, Drake, Lyra, and I sat and talked for hours about what we’d do when we turned eighteen, finally got to shift, and finally got to leave this place.

Like all the others, we have been in this orphanage for as long as we can remember, cast aside because our dead parents were in the lower classes. Just because the rulers can force us here does not mean they can prevent us from dreaming about life outside.

I cannot reconcile the boy who held my hand with the one threatening my life now.

I stare up into the face of the boy I love—who I thought loved me back. I won’t die today. Not yet. Not like this. Not when I have less than a year before I can shift and leave this place. Behind for good.

There's only one way to end this.

Leah’s gripping the metal railing of the arena, tears rolling down her cheeks. She shakes her head, as if sensing what I’m about to do.

Drake's eyes widen. He must realize it too.

He moves to stab me, but I use the last of my strength to shove him away, screaming, “Surrender!”

The crowd above us gasps. For over two decades, no one has surrendered. Doing so would mean exile.

I crumple to the ground. But the betrayal is stronger than the physical pain. I had trusted Drake, and I trust so few people. I wipe away tears, so no one will see me weak.

Before I can stand, though, two guards storm in and grab my arms, dragging me out of the fighting area.

“Lyra!” Leah yells and rushes to me. A guard shoves her aside.

“No!” I twist toward her and try to get my arm away from the guards. Tears stream down my face now.

“Worry about yourself, Girlie,” one of the guards jeers, gripping my arm even harder.

They throw me into the back of a van and drive off. Unsecured, with nothing to hold onto, I bounce all over the back. Bracing myself as best I can, I grimace through the pain and force my mind to formulate a plan.

The border is not far. 

When the guards pull over, I pretend to be unconscious. One of them grabs me and pulls me out. Just as he lifts me over the edge of the trunk, I punch him, hoping to surprise him, run to the front, and drive off.

As the other guard grabs me and shoves me into the snow, I acknowledge the futility of the plan. I just had to try something.

The guard I hit kicks me in the head. 

The last thing I see before everything goes dark again is the bright red of my blood in the dirty white snow.