Page 9

We come to a stop in front of a large, sophisticated bar. Glimmers of vibrant light dance in the reflections on the polished surface of the building, hints of the extravagance within. I’ve never really ventured to this side of the city; I was always one to keep to the darkened corners of Manhattan, the places where shadows hold secrets and whispers carry the weight of unspoken pasts.

Looking down at my dress, the black lace seems to wrap around me like a spell. I smooth any wrinkles out of the fabric, suddenly feeling insecure about my appearance. I can’t shake the thought that I might as well have “poor” stamped across my face. I feel utterly out of place among the vibrant elegance of the city’s elite. And then there’s Wilder.

Wilder leans back casually in the car seat, his dark hair perfectly tousled, his wealthy aura wrapping around him like an expensive cologne. It’s enough to make my stomach churn. He jumps from the car, tossing his keys to the valet as though they possess no worth to him, before coming over to my side of the car and opening the door.

“Come on, Starlight. I want to show you off,” he purrs into my ear, and my heart skips, an erratic beat I try to harness as I grasp his hand. The heat pooling within me is only partially embarrassment, it’s more than the fact that his touch holds power. He pulls me close, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body. But another heat lingers, a reminder of the wild night we had only moments ago.

My body betrays me as I realize just how much I’m being affected, feeling the remnants of our intimacy shift uncomfortably between my thighs. My cheeks flame with heat, and I press my legs closer together in a futile attempt to maintain some semblance of decorum while navigating the precarious high heels he insisted I wear. His grip on my hand tightens as he leads me toward the double glass doors that loom ahead.

“Welcome, Mr. Black,” the doorman intones, bowing his head and pulling the handle back with an elegant flourish. Wilder smiles, the corners of his lips curling up, but it feels predatory, as if he knows more than he lets on. I steal a glance at him, confusion swirling in my mind. I barely know this man and he’s supposed to be my mate but I can’t help feeling inferior.

Before I can dwell, the room opens up into a lavish spectacle of luxury the likes of which I’ve only seen in movies—the bright gleam of crystal chandeliers, dimmed shades of wine-red velvet, and the soft hum of hushed conversations blend seamlessly with the gentle clinking of glasses.

Standing on the brink of this new world, I suddenly feel small and delicate, like a flower straining against the winds of uncertainty. With this kind of opulence at his fingertips, why did he wander into my bar? Alley Katz is a shithole by comparison.

“Would you like a drink?” he whispers, leaning closer as he guides me to a plush booth on the side of the room. The velvet of the seating envelops me luxuriously, but as I sit back, unease settles into my stomach. It dawns on me that I’ll probably leave behind a mess from our earlier escapade. Just when I think I might shrink into my seat, he turns his full attention on me.

“Um ... sure,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper. I bite my lip, trying desperately to avoid his intense yellow eyes, so fiery yet so unreadable.

Wilder flicks his wrist in an elegant motion, and in an instant, there is a server before us, appearing almost as if he had materialized from thin air.

“Good evening.” The man bows deeply. “The usual, Mr. Black?” Wilder merely nods, his attention still riveted on me.

“And for you, Miss?” he asks as his eyes rake over my exposed flesh. Before I can respond, before I can think, Wilder’s arm snaps out, grabbing the server by the throat, hoisting him effortlessly from the ground. My heart plummets into my stomach, horror spilling into every corner of my being.

“Don’t. You. Dare. Look. At. Her,” he hisses, enunciating each word with a cold precision that leaves me shocked. The server’s face pales, panic clear in his expression. A squeak escapes him, followed by a whisper of a “yes, sir,” before Wilder unceremoniously drops him back onto the floor.

Wilder’s eyes are wild, feral in their intensity as they meet mine. Instinctively I lean back, curling inward, feeling the fear coursing through me like ice water. He straightens his suit, smoothing down the fabric as if he hadn’t just threatened the life of a mere waiter. Then he slips back into the booth, all too casual, as if the tempest he’d just unleashed was beneath him.

An alternate gentleman, somewhat frazzled, scurries over, sidestepping the quivering server lying on the floor.

“I apologize, Mr. Black. I will get your order right away. Macallan, neat, and...” He doesn’t dare look at me, his eyes remain on Wilder’s.

“The Club Gin Fizz,” he orders without even asking what I prefer. Wilder’s order hangs in the air, and anger bristles in my stomach at being treated like a child unable to make her own decisions.

“I could have ordered for myself!” I exclaim, flaring my nostrils as my heart pounds in righteous offense. Wilder chuckles smoothly, tilting his head slightly, giving me that devilish grin that both irritates and mystifies me.

“Let me treat you to something new.”

“But you don’t even know what I like!” I counter, but it’s half-hearted, as the flames from the previous intense scene make me feel flustered.

“Perhaps one sip of this Club Gin Fizz, and I will learn forever what you adore,” he declares, though there’s that dangerous glint in his eyes again, a promise of fervor coated in mystery. I’m caught, suddenly fascinated, yet in a whirlwind of emotion—dread, fear, and budding intrigue entwining themselves around my heart.

Before long, the server returns, eyes still averted, placing our drinks delicately on the table between us. As the world spins and sways in the intoxicating atmosphere of The Gin Room, I can’t shake the feeling that tonight, my life is about to spiral into a darkness that makes my past look like a mere shadow.

Wilder clinks his glass against mine, a spark of excitement dancing in his eyes as he tips back his drink. I watch him, unable to ignore the sense of anticipation laced with dread that coils in my gut.

After a few drinks, Wilder checks his watch, the glint of the crystal catching my eye like some unspoken omen. “It’s time,” he announces, finishing the remnants of his expensive whiskey in one swift motion. Confusion swirls through my mind. I thought this was the surprise he was talking about.

“What—” I start, but I’m interrupted.

“There’s my boy.” A tall, muscular man strides in, his presence commanding and vibrant. His grin spreads like wildfire as he locks eyes with Wilder. He jumps from his seat, buttoning his jacket before he slaps the man on the back. Clearly these two are close and a pang of jealousy washes over me. I wish I had a friend. I guess Kit is the closest thing I had to a friend, and who knows if I’ll ever see her again.

“Kody, this is Arwen,” Wilder introduces, grabbing my hand and pulling me from the booth with a force that almost sends me sprawling. My body wobbles on the unforgiving stiletto heels. I instinctively reach my hand toward Kody for a formal greeting, but it’s abruptly seized and tucked against my side, like I’m some delicate artifact rather than a person. Kody laughs, the sound rich and velvety, but it only ignites the flame of my irritation.

“It’s nice to meet you, Arwen,” he replies with an exaggerated little bow, as if I’m the Queen of England herself. “So, are you ready?” Kody’s glance drifts toward Wilder, his question amplifying my confusion, sparking a litany of questions that race through my mind. Catching Wilder’s eye, I shoot him a questioning glance. There’s an undercurrent to this moment I’m not privy to. What does he mean by ‘ready’?

Wilder, oblivious to my mounting unease, replies casually, “We were just about to head down there.” A note of excitement echoes in his voice.

“Down where?” I find my voice, but none of them acknowledge me as Wilder pulls me closer to his side. Instead of leading me out of the bar, we veer down a long, dim corridor that is lined with shadows that seem to breathe. An eerie feeling settles over me, each step amplifying the disquieting atmosphere, my heart racing faster with uncertainty.

“So, is this part of your surprise?” I ask, forcing a light tone. My voice sounds hollow against the nighttime stillness that envelops us. Wilder turns his face toward me, and beneath the edges of the harsh lighting, I see an eagerness that masks something darker, something ominous.

As we reach a door at the end of the dimly lit corridor, Kody pauses, pulling it open with a drama that would rival the grandest theatrical performance. The air inside is thick with the stench of sweat, adrenaline, and a metallic tang of iron—like the taste of blood that lingers at the back of my throat. Wilder stands beside me, seemingly oblivious to my distress, as if this subterranean world is a casual Saturday night affair for him. His smile is unnervingly bright, each tooth gleaming under the flickering, antiquated lamps, while I feel a suffocating panic creeping into my bones, threatening to paralyze me.

“Welcome to the Shifter Fight Club,” Wilder leans down to shout over the roar of the crowd.

A fight club?

That’s what he wanted to bring me to?

What in the world possessed him to think I would be interested in something like this?

He knows what I’ve been through, saw it firsthand, and now he’s thrusting me into a world filled with men likely even more aggressive than my ex.

My heart pounds against my rib cage as I take in the sight before me: muscular shifters, dripping with sweat, circling each other like predators, their claws and faces smeared with blood and grime. The crowd’s cheers and jeers blend into a deafening cacophony that vibrates through the concrete walls. The atmosphere is charged with a primal energy that makes my skin crawl. I can feel my pulse hammering in my ears, each beat a reminder of my escalating fear.

A mix of fear, anger, and betrayal courses through my body. I am ready to bolt back up the stairs, get as far away from this nightmare as possible. My breathing becomes shallow, my hands trembling as I clutch my bag to my chest. I feel the walls closing in, the air too thick to breathe, my vision narrowing to a tunnel as the panic sets in.

And through it all, Wilder’s smile never falters, as if this is exactly where he belongs, while I am left to wonder how I will ever escape this hellish place. Are we truly meant to be together?

“Is this your idea of a good time?” I ask, my tone an unfamiliar mix of incredulity and fright. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, so loud it drowns out the chaos around us.

“It’s amazing!” he shouts, squeezing my shoulder as if trying to share his enthusiasm through sheer physical presence. “You’ll love it!”

But love is the last thing I feel. I scan the crowd, taking in the rough faces contorted with intensity. Their shouts of encouragement and displeasure blend into a singular roar that echoes off the brick walls. In the center of the room, two figures are locked in combat, muscles rippling, claws and tails swinging. These are not just spry men, but shifters—creatures who embody the spirit of beasts. Muscles ripple like waves beneath their skin, and when their bodies make contact, the force reverberates through the floor like the crash of thunder.

My heart hammers in my chest, my breathing shallow and rapid. The stench of sweat, blood, and adrenaline fills the air, and I can taste the metallic tang of iron at the back of my throat. Panic grips me, tightening my chest and making my vision blur around the edges. I feel as if I am being crushed by the weight of the oppressive atmosphere, the crowd’s energy suffocating me.

“Wilder,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the din. “I can’t be here. I need to leave.”

He looks at me, his eyes gleaming with excitement and a hint of mischief. “Trust me,” he says, plopping a kiss on top of my head. “You’ll get used to it.” When he sees the look of panic in my eyes, I think he’s about to tell me we can leave.

Wilder leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You’ll see. It’s liberating!” His eyes sparkle with a fervor I have never seen before, drawing me into a vortex of confusion.

“Come on, man. We need to get you signed in,” Kody chimes in beside us. Wait? What the actual fuck? Realization dawns, crashing through my stupor—a planetary alignment of horror unrolls in slow motion before me.

“Y-you’re fighting?” The words slip from my mouth in disbelief. Surely I misheard him, this has to be some elaborate prank. Wilder, the vibrant and charming face of my sanity, is about to stand in that very ring.

His features light up at my question, the spark in his eyes captivating yet infuriating. “Of course! And you’ll get to see me shift.” He winks.

“Wilder, this is reckless! You’re going to get hurt!” The words tumble frantically from my lips without consideration for decorum, emotions shattering like glass with each syllable.

“He’s undefeated,” Kody booms as people turn to look at us. Suddenly, Wilder is swallowed up in a sea of people, all chanting his name.

“Black! Black!”

Panic surges through me as I watch Wilder disappear into the throng. My heart races, and my breaths come in shallow gasps. The crowd’s energy is overwhelming, their excitement a stark contrast to my mounting fear. I feel a crushing weight on my chest, the oppressive atmosphere closing in around me.

The roar of the crowd grows louder, their chants echoing off the brick walls. I can barely hear my own thoughts over the deafening noise. The sight of Wilder, my anchor in this chaotic world, being swept away fills me with a sense of helplessness. I want to reach out, to pull him back, but my feet feel rooted to the spot.

Where am I?

How have I stumbled into this mad vortex?

A cold dread washes over me, my stomach twisting into knots. Watching Wilder shift and fight in that pit of chaos fills me with a sense of impending doom. The thought of seeing my mate transform into a beast and engage in violent combat is too much to bear. Memories of past traumas flood my mind, each one a sharp reminder of the pain and fear I’ve endured. My heart races, my breaths coming in shallow, rapid gasps.

I’m seated with Kody as my mandatory guardian, as Wilder put it, while he gets into the ring. He forbade me to leave his side like I’m a petulant child. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at his audacity to stick me with a babysitter. I’ve been on my own most of my life, I’m not as fragile like glass.

Just then, Wilder emerges from the dressing room, his athletic physique a charming shock of sinew and strength beneath the blaring spotlight. The crowd erupts into a roar, drowning out my thoughts. My attention zeroes in on him as if he were the sun, and I a mere moth drawn to his glow.

But I’m not the only one drawn to Wilder’s brilliant flame. A striking woman, with hair cascading like a waterfall of shimmering obsidian, approaches him, her smile syrupy sweet. My stomach twists, a furious tempest gathering as she trails her finger across his arm, the very act laced with a familiarity that ignites a spark of rage in me.

Wilder’s head snaps my way, his piercing yellow eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sends shivers racing down my spine. Somewhere, deep within the unyielding steel of his gaze, his expression turns inscrutable, but I’m certain he felt my anger. I want to run to him, to scream at him to remember who I am.

A laugh erupts from the crowd, pulling me out of my brooding thoughts, and I close my eyes tightly against the noise, willing myself to drown in silence. I attempt to hum softly, but all I can hear is chaos—the pounding of feet, the shouts of the spectators, the bass of the announcer’s booming voice amplifying the turmoil inside me.

“Wilder Black is back for another round!” the announcer bellows through the speakers. A deafening roar erupts from the crowd, vibrating through me, causing my heart to race. With a pang of reluctance, I crack open my eyes to the spectacle before me. Wilder stands at one corner of the ring, muscles taut and ready, a fierce glare etched onto his face.

First impressions could shatter illusions, and in this case, this man was all foreboding menace. His form radiates raw energy—a shadow that swallows the light around him, his golden hair a stark contrast that shimmers like spun gold against the darkness of the venue. However, it is his eyes—amber, encircled in an unholy red—that sends a chilling shiver weaving through my very bones. Staring into those depths feels akin to gazing into the abyss, where darkness thrives.

The announcer’s voice echoes again, full of raw excitement, letting loose the story behind this deadly showdown. “Jasper Quinton placed a bet with Wilder that he couldn’t ignore, which brings us here tonight!” He moves the microphone away briefly to exchange some inaudible words with the two men. Judging by Wilder’s grimace, I can only imagine it’s a taunt, one that is stoking the fire, igniting the fight.

“This is another fight to the death. The only way out of this ring is if either opponent is dead,” he yells, hyping the audience into a fevered frenzy. The crowd rises in unison, a wild storm of bodies, their anticipation crackling in the air like a thunderstorm on the verge of breaking. I’m pushed and shoved as people try to get a better view of the arena. Kody pulls me back just in time before I faceplant into the row below us.

“And now, without further ado ... shift!” The announcer’s hand slams down on the bell, piercing the charged atmosphere. I watch, breathless, as Wilder begins his transformation. It is beautifully horrific, a chaotic ballet of sinew and bone. I feel sick as the sounds of bones cracking and reshaping echo in my ears. I grew up amongst humans, had only read about shifters in whispered tales, and now witnessing it unfurl is both majestic and terrifying. With a final snap and twist, Wilder’s form morphs into a black puma. His fur glistens, absorbing the light and giving way to the darkness. The shifter leaps into the air with a lithe elegance, his landing a resonant thud that sends tremors through the ground, urging the spectators into a hysteria of chanting his name. “Wilder! Wilder!”

A flurry of movement catches my attention—a blur in my peripheral vision. I turn just in time to catch a glimpse of Jasper, who is shifting as well. Wings flash, enormous and feathered, a resplendent display of power. My breath hitching in my throat, I realize that Jasper is morphing into some kind of beast, a creature not of this world.

“What is he?” I gasp to Kody.

“He’s a griffin, a rare mystical breed. Capable of aerial and ground assaults,” he mutters, his expression grave.

The two beasts circle one another, the puma’s grace a sharp contrast to the griffin’s raw might. I can feel the air quake with their unrelenting intent. Wilder prowls forward, a fluid shadow, muscles coiling as he positions himself for a strike.

And then, all at once, the battlefield explodes into mayhem. The puma lunges, vaulting with astonishing agility, narrowly escaping the crushing grasp of the griffin.

Kody leans into me to whisper, “Jasper called this fight for revenge against his fallen friend, Draken. Wilder will never say no to a challenge.” The words send a quiver down my spine, as dread pools in my gut like lead. I can feel the sick, intoxicating hunger for blood pulsating from Wilder, and it claws at my insides. Our mated bond ignites, forcing his emotions into my very being—darkness, rage, bloodlust. I don’t want to witness this. I have seen enough violence to last a lifetime.

With a flash of pure instinct, Wilder lashes out, claws aimed for the area exposed as Jasper flaps his wings. The arena echoes with primal roars and tortured cries as neither will relent. The clock is ticking, and though onlookers writhe in cruel anticipation, I know this isn’t merely a fight, it is a battle of wills, a clash of destiny and power, with everything at stake.

A voice nearby yells, “He can harness the power of the winds—it’s a deadly combination when you’re allowed to soar. Wilder needs to stay grounded!” My feet feel glued to the earth, paralyzed by the horror unfolding before me, but every instinct in my body screams for me to escape.

I have to run.

Without a second thought, I bolt, weaving through throngs of spectators each eager for blood, despair coursing through me. I shove my way through the nightmare of bodies, driven by an intrinsic need to escape. To be anywhere but here, a world of chaos and pain. Each shove and push only deepens the urgency in my heart as I hear a sickening clash behind me, a collision of bodies. Crack! Bones breaking, bodies tearing. I stumble, tears streaming down my cheeks, blurring my vision, but the instinct to get away propels me forward.

As I near the exit, pushing past the jostling crowd, my heart shatters with each anguished cry that echoes behind me, a reminder of the blood-soaked reality that my mate is fighting for his life in a ring of savage violence.

“No! I can’t do this!” I cry, my breaths ragged, as I burst free into the cool night air. With every ounce of will, I flee the desolate arena, desperate to leave behind the slaughter. Though I know as a shifter’s mate, I’ll never fully escape the darkness that comes with our bond, entwined with the violence of their world.

The fresh air hits me like a wave, but it does little to calm the storm raging inside. My legs give out, and I collapse onto the ground, my body trembling uncontrollably. The world around me blurs as my vision narrows, and I can feel the walls of panic closing in. My breaths come in short, shallow gasps, each one a struggle against the suffocating weight pressing down on my chest.

I clutch at the ground, my fingers digging into the concrete as if it could anchor me to reality. The sounds of the fight club still echo in my ears, a haunting reminder of the madness I’ve just escaped. My heart races, pounding against my rib cage like a trapped bird desperate to break free. Tears stream down my face, hot and unrelenting, as I fight to regain control.

But the panic is relentless, a tidal wave of fear and helplessness that threatens to drown me. I curl into myself, trying to make myself as small as possible, as if I could disappear from the world and the horrors it holds. My mind races, thoughts tumbling over each other in a jumbled frenzy. The image of Wilder, fighting and shifting, is burned into my mind, a constant source of terror.

I don’t know how long I laid there, lost in the grip of my panic attack. Minutes feel like hours, each second stretching into an eternity. Slowly, painfully, I force myself to take deeper breaths, to focus on the sensation of the cool air filling my lungs. Gradually, the tightness in my chest begins to ease, and the world starts to come back into focus.

I look left and right, wondering where to go. I’m basically homeless unless I call Wilder’s place my home, and right now, I’m not sure that I do. I throw my hand in the air, intending to flag down a passing taxi when pain suddenly radiates through my head. The next thing I know, I’m falling into the darkness that awaits me.