Chapter 11: Bloodshed
1621 Words
Felipe entered the stadium with Margie at his side, the two of them drawing attention as they walked toward the participant's area. His presence alone was enough to make heads turn, but it was the woman beside him who held their curiosity.
Before they could settle, Paris appeared, weaving through the crowd with a radiant smile plastered on her face.
“Felipe!” she called, her voice carrying just enough to draw attention.
Margie’s jaw tightened as Paris approached and wrapped her arms around Felipe, pulling him into a tight hug.
“All the best,” Paris said, her tone sweet and affectionate, before leaning up to press a quick peck on his lips.
Margie stiffened, her wolf growling faintly in her mind, but she kept her composure. Felipe, seemingly caught off guard, glanced at Margie briefly, his expression unreadable.
Paris, however, paid her no mind. “You got this, babe,” she added, her voice dripping with confidence.
“Thanks,” Felipe replied, offering her a small smile as he subtly sniffed her scent to calm his wolf.
Paris finally stepped back, casting a smug glance in Margie’s direction before disappearing into the crowd.
Margie clenched her fists, her wolf simmering with jealousy. But she kept her chin high, refusing to let Paris see any cracks in her facade.
“You okay?” Felipe asked, his voice low.
“I’m fine,” Margie replied, her tone clipped. She wasn’t about to let him know how much the interaction bothered her.
The battlefield stadium buzzed with anticipation, a restless energy coursing through the sea of nearly 100,000 wolves seated in the massive amphitheater. The chatter of voices and the occasional howl filled the air as the pack gathered to witness one of their most important and brutal traditions.
At the very center, high above the action, sat Xavier. His commanding presence was impossible to ignore, even as he reclined beside Hazel. She rested a hand on her growing belly, her calm demeanor masking the storm brewing within her mate. Xavier scanned the crowd, his sharp eyes taking in the faces of those gathered. This wasn’t just a test of strength—it was a reminder of what it meant to be part of his pack.
Hazel leaned closer to him, her voice low. “You seem tense.”
“I don't get tense, ” Xavier muttered, his gaze flicking to the arena below. But when his eyes landed on a particular figure entering the stadium, his breath hitched for a brief moment.
It was Margie.
There was something about her—something that tugged at a part of him he didn’t understand. She was nervous, that much was clear, but she carried herself with a quiet resolve that intrigued him. Xavier shook his head, brushing off the thought as Hazel’s hand rested on his arm, grounding him.
Meanwhile one by one, the wolves bowed their heads to Felipe, acknowledging his position and authority. Margie’s nerves bubbled beneath the surface, but she didn’t let them show.
Xavier stood then, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the entire stadium. The silence deepened until it was so profound that the sound of a pin dropping would have echoed.
“Welcome,” Xavier began, his voice booming across the stadium. His tone was steady, authoritative, and carried the weight of someone who demanded respect.
Hazel watched him carefully, noting the slight tension in his jaw as his eyes flicked back to Margie for a fleeting moment. She squeezed his hand, silently offering him support.
“This is a day of reckoning,” Xavier continued. “A day where strength, determination, and loyalty will be tested. Today, we welcome those who wish to fight for their place in this pack—those who aspire to join the pack army.”
The crowd erupted into cheers, the energy palpable as Xavier raised a hand to quiet them.
“There are 200 wolves who have stepped forward,” Xavier announced, his piercing gaze sweeping the arena. “But only 100 will earn their place. There are no rules. You may kill your opponent, force their submission, or render them unfit to continue.”
The crowd roared again, the bloodthirsty excitement rising. Margie swallowed hard, her wolf stirring uneasily.
“The first group will enter the arena shortly,” Xavier declared, his voice a final note of authority before he sat down.
Margie’s Growing Anxiety
The first group of wolves was called, and Margie felt her pulse quicken. This was it—the moment they had all been waiting for. She glanced at Felipe, who gave her a reassuring nod, but it did little to calm the storm inside her.
“You’ve got this,” Felipe whispered, his hand brushing hers briefly before he turned his attention to the arena.
Margie squared her shoulders, forcing herself to breathe deeply. She couldn’t let her nerves get the best of her—not now.
From above, Xavier watched her closely, a strange feeling settling in his chest. He didn’t know why he kept noticing her, but something about Margie drew his attention. Still, he brushed it off, focusing instead on Hazel, who smiled up at him with quiet reassurance.
“Let’s see what she’s made of,” Xavier muttered under his breath as the first fight began.
The first group entered the battlefield, and chaos erupted almost immediately. Growls, snarls, and the sound of claws tearing through flesh filled the air, blending with the cheers and jeers of the crowd. The scent of blood quickly filled the arena, and the dirt turned crimson under the onslaught of violence.
Most of the wolves shifted into their forms, their hulking bodies tearing into one another with brutal efficiency. Teeth sank into fur and flesh, claws raked across sides, and the sound of bones snapping rang out like a grim symphony. There was no mercy—only survival and the unyielding desire to prove themselves.
Some wolves met their end in that blood-soaked arena, their lifeless forms dragged away to make room for the next fighters. Others submitted, their heads bowed in shame, but even those moments of defeat were fleeting; their lives were often spared only by the fleeting grace of their opponents.
The crowd roared, cheering for their favorites or jeering at those who faltered. Families of the fallen wailed in mourning, but the majority of the audience remained focused on the spectacle. This was their world—brutality was expected, and weakness was scorned.
Hazel’s Amusement, Xavier’s Disdain
From his seat at the center of the battlefield stadium, Xavier watched with a calculated gaze. His icy demeanor didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something—disappointment, irritation—each time a wolf submitted without a fight.
“Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath, his sharp eyes narrowing.
Hazel, on the other hand, was thoroughly entertained. She leaned forward in her seat, her eyes alight with amusement as she watched the c*****e unfold.
“This is refreshing,” she said, her voice light with a hint of mischief. “I haven’t seen this kind of bloodshed in a while. It’s almost nostalgic.”
Her laughter rang out as one wolf delivered a particularly brutal blow to their opponent, leaving the other wolf crumpled on the ground.
Xavier glanced at her, his expression softening slightly despite himself. She was carrying his child, and though her fiery spirit sometimes made him uneasy, he couldn’t deny the warmth that crept into his chest when he thought about the life they had created.
“Enjoying yourself a little too much, aren’t you?” he said dryly, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smirk.
Hazel smirked back, unbothered by his tone. “Don’t pretend you’re not. You thrive on this, Xavier. Admit it.”
He didn’t respond, turning his attention back to the blood-soaked arena below.
Margie’s Nerves and Felipe’s Support
Margie sat silently beside Felipe, her stomach twisting in knots as she watched the brutality unfold. The sight of wolves tearing into one another, the sound of pain and anger—it was overwhelming. She clenched her fists tightly, willing herself to remain calm.
Felipe noticed her tension and leaned closer, his voice low and reassuring. “Hey,” he said gently, his hand brushing against hers. “It’s going to be okay. Breathe, Margie.”
She glanced at him, her wide eyes betraying her nerves. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” she admitted softly, her voice nearly drowned out by the noise of the crowd.
“You are,” Felipe said with quiet conviction. “You’ve been training for this. You’re stronger than you think. And remember—I’m here. You’re not alone.”
Margie nodded slowly, his words grounding her. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus.
The battle continued below, the bloodshed relentless. By the time the first group finished, the arena was littered with broken bodies, some breathing, some not. Those who survived stood victorious, their faces smeared with blood and dirt, while the fallen were dragged off without ceremony.
The sight made Margie’s stomach churn, but she kept her gaze steady. She couldn’t afford to falter now.
Felipe leaned closer again, his voice steady. “This is only the beginning. Keep your head up, okay?”
“I will,” she replied, though her voice wavered slightly.
From his seat above, Xavier’s gaze flicked to Margie. There was something about her that drew his attention—her nervous determination, the fire hidden behind her unease. He watched her for a moment longer before turning away, his expression unreadable.
“Let’s see if she has what it takes,”
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