WHERE IT ALL STARTED.

Chapter: 1

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Liam's POV

A fist sliced through the air, aiming for my skull. I barely ducked in time. The crowd roared, the underground arena vibrating with bloodlust. Sweat dripped into my eye, but I didn't blink. I couldn't, not just one bit. One second of hesitation, and I'd be the one on the floor, gasping for breath.

"Watch out, Liam." I heard my name through the roaring crowd and instinctively dodged. The hefty man's fist cut through empty air. I stared at him again; this time, our eyes locked together, but his smirk was a dangerous one, one that sent shivers down my spine. A black snake tattoo coiled around his left bicep, its fanged mouth resting just above his elbow as if ready to strike.

"You can't win against me," he sneered, cracking his knuckles. "I can't believe they call you strong."

I smiled. A slow, dangerous smile.

"Bam!"

My fist connected with his jaw before he finished his sentence. His head snapped to the side, blood splattering on the mat. The crowd went wild.

He turned back to me, rage flickering in his dark eyes. Good. Angry men make mistakes. I knew people like him, and I have fought with them countless times. They just came here to boast about their power and how lowly they think of me, making them let their guards down, and that was it, the same pattern; I was able to penetrate their defenses and take them down.

I'm Liam Armstrong, from the greatest pack of the Crescent Moon Pack in Shroud Hollow city, I was termed the strongest when it comes to supernatural fight rings, and somehow, I have lived up to their expectations. I took a glance at the other side of the ring, where I could see people cheering me on, aside from the tense faces of the people on the opposing team.

"You better win that match, Liam. All my money can't go to waste." I heard that familiar voice; he had always said that whenever I was in the ring, fighting, but regardless, I still ended up winning.

As a poor orphan with no one to depend on, survival means fighting in illegal supernatural rings—where vampires and werewolves place their bets on us like we're nothing more than entertainment. And since I'm the best, they bet on me. That money? It's the only thing keeping me alive in this brutal world. But my manager takes 80% of my winnings, leaving me with scraps. It's cruel, but I don't have a choice.

The underground arena's vibration, mixed with the sound of stomping feet and deafening cheers, brought me back from my thoughts. The crowd—hungry for blood, hungry for a show—chants my name like a battle cry.

"Liam! Liam! Liam!"

I roll my shoulders, cracking my neck from side to side, eyes locked on the mountain of the hefty man across from me. He's massive—easily outweighs me by forty, maybe fifty pounds, his muscles stacked like bricks. A jagged scar runs down his cheek, and a black snake tattoo coils around his thick neck, its fangs bared as if it's ready to strike.

Fear? I've forgotten what that feels like. Here, in the ring, the only thing that matters is survival.

The bell rang again.

He charged. Fast for his size, but not fast enough. I sidestep, letting his punch slice through empty air. The crowd roared as I pivoted on my heel, launching a sharp jab straight into his ribs. He grunted lowly, barely flinching, and swung at me like a wrecking ball. I dodged it just in time as his fist whistled past my ear.

The heat in the room rose as the smell of sweat, blood, and cheap beer filled my lungs.

"Come on, Liam! Show him who owns this ring!" someone yells from the stands.

I smirk. Damn! He's right.

He lunged again, this time feinting left before throwing a devastating right hook. I didn't dodge. I absorb it. My jaw rattled from the impact, but I shook it off. I let him think he's got me, just to let him get cocky.

Then I saw my opening.

A split-second window. That's all I needed.

I twisted my hips, planted my feet, and swung—a brutal, pinpoint left hook straight to his liver.

His body reacted before his brain did.

He froze, eyes wide with shock before his knees gave out. His mouth opened like a gasping fish, but no sound escaped. He staggered back and collapsed, writhing in pain.

The entire arena went silent for half a second, just then, the crowd's roar crashed over me, shaking the arena as they chanted my name.

"Liam! Liam! Liam!"

I stood over him, chest heaving, sweat dripping. He was down. He wasn't getting up.

The ref barely had time to count before the announcer bellowed loudly, "And the winner, undefeated once again—LIAM!" From the excitement in his voice, I knew he was also happy that his money didn't go in vain.

I raised my fist to the sky, letting the energy of the crowd fuel me, own me. Because down here, in this underground ring, I'm more than just a fighter.

I'm a legend.

And legends, they say, never fail.

I majestically walked out from the ring, while the audience kept chanting my name. I had no energy for that; all I just wanted was to collect my money and have a good rest.

"You did well again today," I heard that deep baritone voice that made me stop in my tracks, his piercing glowing green eyes staring back at me, and instantly I shook in fear—he never wanted me here. Without saying a word, I walked as fast as my legs could carry toward the bathroom, but I could hear his footsteps making my heart thump more.

As soon as I got to the entrance of the bathroom door, I shoved the door open, finally escaping the suffocating chase. Relief barely settled in my chest before a shadow stretched over his leg making it hard for the door to close. As much as I tried to close it, I couldn't; his boot landed inside, and this made my pulse spike.

"Stop trying, Liam," he growled, pushing me against the wall; I knew I was never going to escape from this, not tonight.

"Beta Roman, what are you doing here?" My voice betrayed me with a slight tremor. Damn it.

His harsh, dangerous laughter echoed in the bathroom, one which sent shivers down my spine; I couldn't afford to look up to him, not at this very place. "Look up at me, Liam," his voice was low, commanding, unshakable, ignoring my questions, but I didn't move. I couldn't.

"You have no reason to be scared, unless, of course, you've done something you shouldn't have."

I swallowed. He was right. I hadn't done anything wrong. This was just survival. Just a way to get by and to get my life together. So, why am I placing so much pressure on myself? Why did it feel like my body was betraying me?

Slowly, I lifted my gaze. The moment our eyes met, the air in the bathroom changed… Heavier. Charged.

He took a step closer. Then another.

My breath hitched. Every fiber inside of me told me to move, to run, but I couldn't. He was too close, his heat pressing in, his scent of leather, and something purely him wrapping around me.

"Liam." The way he said my name, it wasn't a question. It wasn't a demand. It was something else entirely. As his fingers brushed against my jaw, light as a whisper. A test? A warning? I couldn't tell.

And then, before I could think of anything or even breathe, his lips crashed against mine.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle.

It was desperate.

Heat flared through me, my hands gripping his shirt before I even realized I had moved. He deepened the kiss, and for a second, just a second, I let myself sink into it. Into him.

Just then—

"What the hell?" A loud voice brought me back to reality. My heart thumped, as I desperately prayed that it wasn't who I thought it was, while at the same time, my head jerked to the side where the loud voice came from, confirming my worst fear.

It was her. What was she doing here? She wasn't supposed to be in a men's gent.

Alexis stood frozen at the entrance, her wide eyes darting between us. Shock. Anger. Betrayal. It was all there, written on her face like an open book.

"Alexis…" I started, but no words came.

She didn't wait. She turned on her heel and stormed out, her footsteps echoing in the hallway.

My chest tightened.

"Shit! What have I gotten myself into?"