Claws And Truths

Reya's POV

The crowd roared like a beast thirsting for blood.? 

Symbols of the major packs were raised above the arena like mockery, including Riverdale's blood-red insignia. My heart erupted in my chest, not due to fear, but because of fury, concentration, and something more primitive. 

Tristan was watching. 

As I stood in the middle of the competition ring, his gaze flickered like a brand on my hair, the stone floor beneath me was soft and warm. I couldn't understand the Lycan King's words as he sat to my left. The person in question was a steady and thoughtful presence. I was at risk of being pulled under by the predator on my right side, Alpha Tristan Price. 

In Riverdale's viewing box, he lounged like a hero above kings, with arms crossed and frozen eyes in his grasp. There was no need for me to have a physical encounter with him. His attention never wavered. 

I would give him something to look at today. 

With his voice echoing off the marble pillars, the herald declared, "Fighter Reya of Mooncrest versus Garon of Riverdale."

Garon. 

I remembered him. With his big, vicious and unyielding personality, he was one of the most effective enforcers in Tristan's arsenal. An acrobat who had previously pulled me along by my hair while Tristan was instructing me. 

Upon entering the arena, he cracked his neck and smiled. 

He growled and yelled, "You're welcome, slave," in a manner that could be heard by the crowd.

“Don’t worry me, I’m fine.

I didn't mind applause when a little amusement rang out among the crowd. I cared for clarity. Purpose. 

This struggle spanned more than just the pursuit of survival. 

It was retribution. 

Upon hearing the horn, it was Garon who took off first. Predictable. Heavy. Confident. 

Ducked me in the middle and I knocked my elbow into his. He stumbled, but quickly made a comeback and delivered swung with he left hook that bit my ribs. I was able to tolerate the pain it caused, but not me. 

I swung my body, got up, and hit his jaw. The crunch was satisfying. 

His mouth spilt blood and he loudly exclaimed, "You little—"

I Hissed, "You better get on."

Garon moved around in a part-time position, his claws growing longer and his fur spreading. ". The throngs howled, as if to anticipate more fierce combat. I stayed human. My wolf was already out of my reach. 

This time he lunged faster. I let him come. 

By following Xander's training, I was capable of moving my body. I shifted his back, grasped his arm during the spin, and spun. The scream of the crowd drowned out the sickening pop of his dislocating shoulder. 

He shouted in a furious tone, his entire body now. 

And I followed. 

During the shift, my bones disintegrated and reconstructed. White tanned skin, intense fur, and fiery exuberance. Then and now. 

Two wolves, one with a past of violence and treachery, collided. 

We were thrown together in a frenzy of aggression and teeth.' Garon was stronger. I was faster. Trying to crush me while his weight was reduced to stone. I raked his underbelly, then feinted left before diving in for the jugular.

I drew blood. 

But he did not shout in surrender.?

The crowd leaned in. 

I heard someone yell my name. I didn't look up.

I didn't need distractions. 

This was my reckoning. 

Garon jumped and caught sight of me once more. My thigh muscles were severed and a fire in my stomach occurred. 

I dropped. 

He stalked forward, growling. Saliva dripped from his maw. 

Someone from Riverdale yelled out, "Get her done!"

But I rose. 

Through the pain, I was transformed back into human form, with blood on my side. It was a blur. 

He sneered, looking halfway down, "Are you dead?"

The difference lies in the way I spat blood. " I survive.”

And then I struck. 

After punching my fist in the throat, I twisted and hit him with my knee. 

He staggered. 

I grasped his arm, lifted his knee, and turned him upside down. 

He hit the ground hard. Dazed. 

I didn't wait. 

His throat was pinched by my foot. How cool is that? 

He choked, gasping. 

The arena fell silent. 

I said, "It's okay," with a low, uncontrolled voice.

He looked towards Riverdale's box. 

Tristan still hadn't moved. But he was now on his feet again. 

Watching. 

Garon's lips curled back. “Never.”

I pressed harder. “Then die.”

The horn blared—twice. Match won. 

I stepped back. Let him breathe. 

Garon had been shattered on the stone. 

Cheers erupted. Mooncrest howled my name. 

I was left without any knowledge of it.' 

The sole noise I heard was my heartbeat and the delicate footsteps that gently came down the stairs. 

Tristan. 

Before he could get to me, I turned around. 

It's not something I would do for him. 

He called me name, but I didn't. "Reya." was the right word for him. 

I froze. 

His voice wasn't commanding. 

It was... something else. 

Looking at my shoulder, I replied, "Nope."

He scrutinized my eyes. "You were amazing."

I laughed—sharp, bitter. “Funny. The day you sold me, you didn't say that. 

The hue faded from his face. "I didn't—". 

“You did. 

Your praise is unnecessary to me. Or your eyes on me.”

I turned once more, heading towards Mooncrest's camp.

Give him the torch with my picture on fire. 

Let him smother by the truth."

But inside, I was trembling. Not from the fight. 

From him. 

Due to my memory not being completely erased. Still wanted. That was the most hazardous thing. Moreover, 

When I got to the entrance of camp, Lydia looked at me with a grimace on her face. 

I was led inside by her, who said "there's more."

I whispered, "What's the next step?"

Despite my hesitation, she gave me something.

A ring. 

Tristan's. 

The one he gave me years back. 

I gazed at it, the past crashing into me like a freight train.'

“I discovered it in your bunk room.”

“It was planted by someone,” she whispered. “They want you to be rattled before your next match.”

I didn't answer. 

There was a sensation of weightlessness in the ring. 

It was in my palm like a curse, its once polished surface now dull, the emblem of ties that had long since broken away. Tristan's ring -- the final remnant of something deep within me that I desperately wanted to erase. 

The ring in my palm was like a curse, its once polished surface now dull, symbolizing shattered bonds. Tristan's relic -- the final remnant of lingering memories. 

With the moon shining brightly over my surroundings, I was alone in the clearing.... There was the stench of pine and the distant howl of wolves. But tonight, the wilderness was quiet, as if holding its own. 

I grasped the ring more tightly, its edges protruding into my fingers. 

Then I threw the ring in fire."

The metal was engulfed in flames that danced in orange and blue.' The heat caused my skin to become scorched, but I didn't react. Instead, I observed the ring melt as it formed and slowly transformed into a molten gold mass. 

The ring is ignited by the fire alone during that night. Smoke rises with old memories. In these flashbacks, I recall nights spent in pain, chains, and cold hands that supposedly once held affection. I am no longer a puppet in terms of power. 

"You were mine, Reya. 

Always."

I could hear his voice in my mind, a haunting echo of promises that had been broken and love that has turned to potency. 

I burst into tears, unbridled. 

Not for him. 

For me. 

The girl I was previously.. 

Let them try. 

I wasn't that girl anymore. 

No more weakness. No more lies. 

Let the next war come. 

Am ready. 

Flashback. 

Tristan sneered, his grip tightening around my wrist, and he replied: "You are nothing without me."

I grimaced, attempting to flee, but his grip was unyielding. 

"I made you, Reya. 

Do not forget that."

Looking into his eyes, I was looking for that one man I once loved and. My eyes were filled with an unknown individual, consumed by power and jealousy. 

"I won't rely on you," I whispered. 

He gave me a quick and powerful slap, causing me to fall off. 

"Ungrateful bitch."

My body remained unresponsive, with the sting on my cheek being inconspicuous when compared to the pain in my heart. 

The memory wore thin but the marks on his skin were still there. 

The phantom pain was still present when I touched my cheek. 

"Never again, " I vowed. 

At the camp, Xander came up to me with fear. 

"Are you okay? 

"I nodded and put on a smile, knowing that I needed closure." What followed: 

He looked at the fire and squirmed his eyes. 

"Closure can be dangerous."

I caught sight of his gaze. "Not as perilous as holding."

I was gazed at by him, then he gave a nod. "Very good."

I sat alone with the silence of the stars over a silent audience later that night. 

My mind was consumed by the battles ahead, the foes lurking in the background.'

The most significant thing was the strength that I could feel within me. 

The girl I had once befriended and watched over by Tristan was not me.

I was a warrior. 

A survivor.

I would never be weak again.