The Alpha’s Fated Choice (Alpha's Fated Encounter Trilogy)

Sophia Hope Getting punched in the face is never a fun experience. I can feel the sharp pain in my left cheekbone as my head swivels back from the force of the blow. Had I been human, the punch would have shattered the bone entirely. But being a wolf shifter has its perks. I can take a beating without sustaining long-lasting injuries. The sound of the spectators’ frenzied cheers as they lust after the violence taking place in the cage spurs me on. I’m used to these howls and screams for more savagery, more blood. I watch my opponent circle me, trying to read my next move. Sweat is glistening on both our bodies, glaring bruises a testament to how viciously we have fought. My face feels hot under the mask, trails of perspiration dripping down my neck to stain the dark tank top I’m wearing. As inconvenient as the mask is, it is the only way to hide my identity from the world. My opponent darts toward me, and I step to the side, my movement fluid. He has left himself vulnerable; I wrap my arm around his elbow, ready to dislocate his shoulder and throw him to the ground, when my eyes land on the man standing at the back of the room, in the shadows. He shakes his head at me, and I sigh internally before loosening my grip. That’s all my opponent needs to kick me in the stomach and make me go reeling. My back slams against the steel cage, and my opponent—a nasty piece of work—roars in triumph as the crowd howls at his apparent victory. Idiot. Scoffing under my mask, I pretend to be dazed as the fool thumps his chest like a gorilla, letting the fanatic audience pump him up. I wish I could say arrogance is a human affliction, but I know firsthand that wolf shifters are no different. If I didn’t have to drag out this match, I would have knocked this annoying jerk out cold four minutes ago when we started. But I’m supposed to let him rough me up plenty, so that the crowd goes wild—and then, in a fit of rage, I can knock him out and win. The Wily Vixen is known for her sudden victories, the flares of wrath; that’s why she’s such a favorite in this illegal, underground cage fighting ring. Whenever I’m scheduled to be in the cage, there’s an uptick in ticket sales. And that’s why Mathew Rivers sets matches for me two to three times a week. My presence is like sweet honey to the gamblers who wander this way when I’m fighting. I’m almost always a sure bet. Except for the days when I’m told to lose a match. My eyes flick to the timer above us. Two more minutes. I have to drag this out for two more minutes. Who said match fixing was easy? Today’s opponent, a hulking beast whose nickname is Mountain Man, is not an easy opponent, mostly because he likes to bite. It’s a signature move of his. He packs a punch, but he has a tendency to bite his opponents. “Claim them,” as he so eloquently puts it. It’s like fighting with an oversized toddler. I’m half tempted to break his teeth in. While I pretend to use the cage to get to my feet, he turns to look at me, baring those brutish, yellow teeth. My resolve hardens. I’ll shatter them to bits. He runs toward me with a howl, like an oversized toddler. Another glance at the timer tells me I’ve got one minute left. It’s my turn now. I see him gnash his teeth, probably planning to bite me while I, the helpless female, struggle to stand. I wait until he gets close to me and can’t stop his own momentum. I spin away, and the crowd jeers and boos as he crashes into the steel cage. Unlike his mask, mine covers my entire face, so nobody sees the grin I’m wearing as I turn around. I look out over the crowd as I normally do to gauge their reaction. This time, though, a pair of cerulean blue eyes stand out to me. For a heartbeat, I find myself meeting the gaze of a tall man with his hair tied at the base of his neck. He’s all the way at the other end of the arena, but even with the distance between us, I can sense that there is something incredibly dangerous about him. My wolf prowls within the cage of my mind, anxious, intrigued. For a few seconds, I forget how to breathe. He’s staring straight at me. It feels like he’s not watching the fight; he’s watching me. Why is my heart beating so fast? Why can’t I tear my gaze away from him? I don’t detect the movement on my right till it’s too late. Mountain Man’s punch hits me in the stomach, making me groan as I stumble back. I can see him gearing up for a second punch, but I don’t give him time. I’ve been fighting in these cages for five years now; I may have gotten distracted, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let this bully of a man land another blow. Ten seconds left. One of us must go down. I move quickly, darting aside and sweeping my leg with such force that my opponent falls flat on his face. As he tries to get up, I jump on his back and slam my foot on the back of his head, pinning it against the concrete. Years of practice have taught me just how much pressure I can apply to make sure he’s knocked out and not dead. He goes limp. A hush falls over the crowd at this sudden turn of events. Mathew, a round man with a long mustache that can only be described as villainous, enters the cage, grabs my hand, and holds it up in the air. “The Wily Vixen has done it again!” The underground arena bursts into loud cheers while those who bet against me make frustrated sounds. Mathew meets my gaze, greed and pride glittering in his expression. I look away from him to the spot where the man with the blue eyes was standing. He’s gone. I don’t know why I feel so disappointed. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline pumping through my blood. Of course that man was staring at me. I was in the middle of a fight. Where else was he supposed to look? The ceiling? Shaking my head at my temporary lack of functioning brain cells, I say to Mathew, my voice low, “No second round then?” He’s smiling, but his voice is hard. “I told you not to knock him out. We could have gone three more rounds.” “He would have bitten me, and I would’ve gotten exposed,” I mutter. “You know shifters aren’t allowed to take part in these things.” He does not reply to that, and as I exit the cage, he begins introducing the next two fighters. The cage has multiple exits: one for each opponent, and one that leads into the back of the massive basement. There are two corridors, both of which are restricted to everyone but employees. The only other way into the back is through the door that opens directly from the audience area; the only ones with the key to it are Mathew and me. I make my way to my dressing room and lock the door behind me. Leaning against it, I rip off the red fox mask.