Chapter Four: A Test of Strength  

The iron bars groaned as someone yanked it open. 

The person's rough hands grabbed my arms, pushing me forward before I could react. My feet barely touched the ground before I was pushed through the camp. The men who came for me did not speak. They did not need to. There was an excitement in the air, the sound of voices, the way eyes followed my every move—it was telling enough for me. 

Something was about to happen. 

Something bad. 

I struggled, as I twisted against the grip on my arms, but the soldiers dragging me was insanely strong. His fingers dug into my skin, hurting, warning. I held my tongue in my mouth to keep from making a sound. Showing pain would only make things worse. 

We passed rows of tents, their occupants stepping out to watch. I caught glimpses of sharp-toothed grins, flickers of glowing eyes in the darkness. The werewolves were eager for whatever spectacle was about to unfold. 

Then the camp opened up into a clearing. 

The arena. 

It was nothing more than a huge sand pit, surrounded by rough stones and torches lighting up the scarred ground. The smell of blood was all over the air. 

A place meant for death. 

A shiver ran down my spine. 

I was pushed forward, nearly landing on my knees. A wave of laughter went through the crowd as I stumbled but caught myself before I landed on the ground. 

"Look at her," someone jeered. "Skinny little thing. One bite, and she's done." 

"Should've just slit her throat and saved the trouble." 

I forced my hands into fists, willing my breathing to stay even. 

Fear was a weapon. If I let them see my fear, they will weaponize it. 

I raised my head, staring at the crowd. The faces blurred together—grinning wolves, smirking warriors—but one figure stood apart from the rest. 

Alpha Kale. 

He stood on a raised platform, arms crossed, his golden eyes locked on me. He didn't look amused. Or cruel. Just… watching. 

Judging. 

The shouts of the crowd was all around me like a living thing, coming in from all sides. It was the same kind of sound that was coming from the auction—hungry, cruel, filled with anticipation. But this time, I was not in chains. 

Just the distinct smell of blood in the air and the clear indication of certainty that I was about to die. 

I stood in the middle of the scary fighting pit—an arena pulled out from the earth, surrounded by rough rocks and wooden stakes. High above, lights flickered, creating long shadows over the spectators sitting on ledges and makeshift seating. Soldiers, werewolves, warriors. They all watched with the same excitement in their eyes. 

Amusement. 

Expectancy. 

Bloodlust. 

The ground under my feet was hard-packed sand, marred with deep claw marks and stains that I decided is non of my business. The smell of sweat and death clung to the air, thick enough to choke anyone. 

In front of me, my opponent paced the area of the arena, his golden eyes looking straight into mine. 

A wolf. 

Not just any wolf—a beast larger than anything I'd ever seen in my past life. It moved with a predator's grace, powerful muscles shifting beneath its thick, dark fur. Its snout curled back in a snarl, exposing gleaming fangs longer than my fingers. 

The crowd cheered. 

They thought this was entertainment. 

They believe I would be torn apart. 

I balled my hands into a fist, as I forced myself to breathe. My body was still unfamiliar, weak, slow. I had no weapons, no armor, no way out. 

Except to fight. 

I'd been a soldier once. A warrior. My past life had been stolen from me, but instinct didn't die so easily. 

Even if my muscles were weak, my mind wasn't. 

The wolf lunged. 

I barely moved in time. 

The wind from its move blew past me, its claws tearing through the air where I once stood . My body hit the ground, rolling, my shoulder slamming into the sand. Pain flowed through my arm, but I pushed past it, getting up to my feet. 

The crowd laughed. 

I ignored them. 

Mockery. 

I swallowed. 

I was supposed to fight this thing. 

With a dagger. 

A breath of laughter escaped my lips. Not because it was funny—because it was insane. 

I wasn't a fighter. I wasn't a soldier. I wasn't even a trained werewolf. 

I was human. 

Weak. 

Breakable. 

And yet… 

Something inside me refused to bow. 

The wolf whirled, its massive paws kicking up dust. Its golden eyes glowed with something far too intelligent. This wasn't just a beast. It was a warrior in its own right. 

It prowled forward, testing me. 

I kept my stance low, trying to recall every fight I'd ever survived. My body wasn't the same, but some things didn't change. The way a predator moved. The way fear twisted into something sharper. 

The way death felt close enough to taste. 

The wolf lunged again, but this time, I was ready. 

I dropped at the last second, twisting as it sailed past me. My fingers brushed against its fur—thick and coarse, brimming with heat. I hit the ground hard, but I was already moving, already scrambling back before it could turn. 

I couldn't win. Not like this. 

But I could outlast it. 

Maybe. 

The jeers from the audience grew louder. 

"Pathetic!" 

"Just let it kill her already!" 

"She's nothing but a weak human!" 

My blood burned. 

I pushed myself up, forcing my breathing to steady. The wolf circled me now, slower, more measured. It wasn't just attacking blindly anymore. It was watching. 

Waiting. 

I gritted my teeth. 

So was I. 

It lunged again, but this time, I saw it coming. The second its muscles bunched, I moved—not away, but forward. 

I threw myself toward the beast, dropping at the last second, twisting beneath its body as it leapt. My hands grazed the dirt, and for a split second, I was underneath it, close enough to feel the heat radiating from its belly. 

I struck. 

A desperate, reckless move—my elbow slamming into its ribs as hard as I could. 

It wasn't much. 

But it was enough. 

I glanced at Kale again, searching for something—pity, amusement, interest. But his expression remained unreadable. 

This was a test. 

Not for the wolf. 

For me. 

The wolf yelped, twisting midair, landing awkwardly on one paw. It wasn't hurt—barely even startled—but the crowd's laughter died for half a second. 

I scrambled back, breathing hard. 

The wolf turned, its snarl deeper now. 

Now I'd made it mad. 

Fine. 

Let it be mad. 

I had no strength, no claws, no fangs. But I had my mind. And right now, I need to use it. 

I changed how I was standing, moving my weight to the balls of my feet. Every muscle in my body hurt, my lungs burned, but I ignored it. 

The wolf studied me. 

And then—it pounced. 

I braced myself, ready to dodge— 

Pain. 

A sudden, piercing pain shot up my arm, white-hot and blinding. So painful.

I stumbled, gasping for breath, my knees nearly given way. 

Not from a hit. 

Not from a bite. 

From something else. 

Heat. 

A burning heat, spreading across my skin. 

I barely registered the wolf halting mid-leap, landing a few feet away instead of striking. It hesitated, its ears flattening, its growl dipping into something uncertain. 

Confused. 

The crowd's jeers stopped. 

Whispers spread through the arena. 

I lifted my arm, my breath catching in my throat. 

There, just beneath the torn fabric of my sleeve— 

A symbol. 

Glowing. 

A faint, ember-like light pulsed beneath my skin, tracing the delicate shape of a bird. 

A phoenix. 

I knew that shape. 

I didn't know how. 

I didn't know why. 

But as the golden light flickered, the pain in my limbs dulled. My exhaustion faded, replaced by something else. 

Something unfamiliar. 

Something powerful. 

I looked up, meeting the wolf's eyes. 

And for the first time… 

It looked afraid.