Chapter 3: First Blood
368 Words
Gideon lunged.
He was fast for his size, a blur of muscle and forward momentum. He threw a heavy, sweeping right hook meant to take Lyra's head clean off. If it connected, she would be unconscious before she hit the dirt.
But Lyra didn't try to block it. She knew her limits; blocking a Beta’s brute force would break her forearm. Instead, she waited until the absolute last millisecond. As the fist whistled through the air, she dropped low, dipping beneath his guard.
Gideon’s momentum carried him forward. Lyra drove her palm sharply upward, striking the soft tissue beneath his jaw.
Thwack.
Gideon’s head snapped back, his teeth clicking together. A collective gasp echoed from the bleachers. The mute outcast had just drawn first blood; a thin trickle of red leaked from Gideon's lip.
"You little b***h," Gideon roared, his eyes flashing a volatile, angry amber. The embarrassment of being struck by an omega-level outcast shattered his restraint.
He spun, delivering a brutal kick to her ribs. Lyra managed to twist away, but the heel of his boot caught her side. The impact sent her flying across the dirt. She slid, coughing violently, the wind completely knocked out of her. The dirt tasted like copper and dust.
"Get up!" Gideon screamed, advancing on her like a rabid animal. "Get up and face me!"
From the observation deck, a low, rumbling growl vibrated through the air. It was so faint that the shouting students missed it, but the pressure in the arena spiked dangerously. Aidan had stood up from his chair, his hands gripping the stone railing so tightly that hairline fractures began to spiderweb through the rock. His inner wolf was suddenly pacing, agitated by a strange, fiercely protective instinct he couldn't comprehend.
Lyra struggled to her knees, clutching her ribs. Pain flared in white-hot sheets across her chest. Gideon was coming at her again, completely blinded by rage, abandoning all form for raw, destructive power.
She looked at his stance. He was leading heavily on his left leg, putting all his weight into a final, crushing stomp.
He’s off balance, her mind clicked. One shot.
- Writer
