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I sank into it, the isolation, the shame.
She didn’t want me because I wasn’t good enough.
And what I had here, it was made of more than dust and ash—than the trophies, now in pieces on my bedroom floor. It was a pain that maybe, if I let it, could turn me into something new.
So every win was proof: the playing field was even, unlike everything else in my life. When I got up, and another alpha fell, it was tangible. Evidence of something I could have spent my whole life searching for before now, and never found.
And just like her,thiswas real.
EBONY
Struggle.
That was, I realised, what I needed.
I couldn’t respect a person if I didn’t see their strength. And it was hard to gauge the strength of someone if you never saw them struggle. And never had I seen spoiled-brat-Harrison struggle a day in his life.
He had over-bearing parents that fucked his mind and expectations of himself up from a young age, and too much money to understand the value of anything. But as far as struggles went, it just wasn’t all that much.
Tonight, though, I witnessed something different. Which was actually rather uncomfortable, because I was discovering a certain amount of respect for his dedication.
For the dozenth time, Rook was spitting blood, broken and panting through what might be a cracked rib.
This arena wasn’t like underground fight pits. It was regulated, with a dozen cages active at all times, some with rutting alphas, some with professional fighters. Since Rook had already been half in a rut when we’d arrived, I’d co-signed all his waivers as his pack mate. And now this arena was full, and, I’d been told, the line went three blocks down.
He’d got the media’s attention, just like he’d planned, and that tattoo would be known across all of New Oxford by morning. A claim. A statement, one even his parents would have a hard time unseating.
Again, Rook got up. Shaking and trembling. And again. And again. Another fight. Another win.
His actor training, the small stints he’d done learning various martial arts, they were nothing compared to the other cage fighters. It didn’t matter though; he was outlasting them.
He justwouldn’t stay down.
More than that, he never actually lost himself beyond recognition, worthless, witty quips coming from his mouth to an alpha that was about to put him in the fucking ground.
It might have been pretty fucking hilarious, only, he didn’t stop. It wasn’t what I’d expected: for him to win fight after fight, until he’d taken the title. Until he was in more fights than any other alpha had been in a single cycle.
I didn’t notice my phone blowing up until I caught the oh so overbearing stench of vanilla fucking winter.
Fuck.
Love grabbed me by the shirt, shoving me back into the bars of the viewing cage we were in. “What thefuckhave you done?”
“His choice.” I sneered. “I’m just the chauffeur.”
“Get him out!”
“Can’t. He needs to be the one who—” I cut off as the scent shifted.
Blackcurrant wine and…fuck.
Fuck.
“What did you bring her for?” I glared between Love and her. My beautiful omega with worried golden eyes, anxious raspberry treacle filling the air in moments.
“He’s my mate!” She looked hurt.
I shoved Love out of my way and crossed toward her. “This is what he wanted. Let him finish. The rut has to be half out of his system by now.”
