Page 31 of Evan and the Alpha

He scowls at me. I pat his head a couple more times, part of me wishing I could drive him into the ground and part of me enjoying how antagonized he looks.

I straighten up. “I must fight.”

He grabs my hand. “What happens if you win?”

I smile. “Then the gods have clearly smiled upon our union, and we are free to go.”

I try to pull away, but he holds me fast. “And if you lose?” he asks when I look into his eyes again.

“Then you go with Nojak,” I answer.

He still doesn’t let go. “I don’t want to,” he whispers.

“Then I hope to win,” I say.

He closes his eyes tight; I now know that means he’s trying to keep some emotion at bay. I sigh. “Some omegas would be delighted to have two alphas scrap over them,” I murmur.

He squeezes my hand tight, like he doesn’t want to let go. “I don’t want to lose you,” he says, his eyes springing open. Hurt and fear dance in those green depths, and I have to tear myself away.

I don’t bother to mention that if I lose, I die. He seems to have intuited that anyway.

A small crowd has gathered around us now; the people are always hungry for blood sport, but it is rare for alphas to scrap over an omega these days. Most merely compete in the ring, where there are rules and no death matches.

The rules about the sale of an omega stand firm though. I have attempted to cuckold Nojak. There is almost nothing more shameful an alpha can do, aside from hurting an omega.

For Evan, I would do it again.

The crowd follows us to the pit, about three blocks over. We gather more spectators along the way. Evan drifts along beside me. He seems paler somehow. He keeps looking at me.

His fear rattles my confidence in my ability to win. If the sun spirit—child of the divine—does not believe in me, if he is not so confident our union is right, then what hope have I?

A carnival-like atmosphere runs through the streets. People flock from their houses. Food vendors follow us. A few betas flying makeshift flags arrive, marching alongside us.

I recognize Ge-Ro in the crowd. “We heard,” he rumbles when he’s close enough to me. I can’t judge his tone; I’m not sure if he supports me or if he disapproves of what I’ve done. Perhaps he’s reserving judgment until the gods pass theirs.

I have to shake Evan off me at the edge of the ring. He doesn’t want to let go. Fear haunts his face, giving him an even stranger kind of beauty.

I shake my head to clear it. Someone hands me a spear. Nojak already has his. He’s banging the butt of it against the ground. The crowd chants in unison, calling for blood. Somewhere, drums begin, pounding in time to my heart.

Louder and louder, faster and faster, the drums bang and the crowd chants. Some whoop and dance. Nojak roars, tossing his head back, beating on his bare chest. It’s theater—he’s been wronged.

When it’s my turn, I must play the villain. The crowd jeers me. Then I switch, playing the lovesick alpha. Nojak becomes the villain.

We mime out our story, the ritual. The only solution is to fight. The crowd grows wilder, more restless. More drums join the fray, almost drowning out the crowd. Their cries—supplications to the gods to judge our fight—rise to the heavens.

Nojak lowers his spear, pointing it at me. I follow suit. We bounce on the balls of our feet, feeling the rhythm, letting it rush into our blood, fill our heads, our hearts, loosening everything else, prying away fear and self-preservation.

The drums stop.

We lunge.

Our spears glance off each other with a clatter. We both pivot, turning back to the center of the pit. We rush each other again. Nojak has the longer reach. I barely knock his spear away.

This is no good, I think. With a long-range weapon, he will always have the advantage, because he is taller than me. He can get closer to me than I can get to him. I will always be on the back foot.

As if to prove my point, he knocks my spear out of my hands. I scarcely dodge his thrust, the point of his spear grazing the underside of my arm. I am lucky he doesn’t sever muscle or nerve.

I dodge out of the way and grab my spear. He smashes his down, cleaving the shaft of mine in two.