Moulin Rouge Mcgregor Novels & Stories

I stand in the center of the arena, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my teeth. Across from me, another door opens. And my opponent enters. He's massive—easily six-five, maybe two-hundred-fifty pounds of muscle and violence. His face is scarred, one ear missing, and his eyes have the flat, dead look of someone who's killed so many times it doesn't even register anymore. A feral rogue. The crowd roars approval. "Ladies and gentlemen!" A voice booms over speakers—Hank, acting as announcer. "In the red corner, we have Viktor the Butcher! Twelve wins, zero losses, and a taste for omega blood!"

Probably the dungeon keepers. "Rouge, what brings you here on our land?" The man infront of her spoke with dominance. She looked back at the handsome guy with blankness. Her eyes intook his appearance. The man was quite tall compared to others who stood next to the door with their hands fisted by their sides. He had blond colored hair with a muscular body. An aura of dominance lingered around him. "Speak, Rouge." She gulped down the lump that formed within her throat.