Unmated by Fate

The cheers were deafening. There was a roar so loud that it could have been mistaken for a celebration. I also thought the one who cheered was celebrating. But anyone who lived here in the Outlands knew better. We have no birthdays, harvest to toast, or heroes to worship. We do have the pit, that’s where we do the shouting and the fighting. And at the pit, cheers meant pain and blood. I stood behind the metal bars as bodies pressed against mine. My heartbeat slammed my chest hard, and it was not from fear. No, I do not even know what fear means, but from the fact that I was broke. I could no longer ignore it. It's either I get the money or Marcus and I are going to starve for a very long time. I had promised Marcus I would win, but he laughed at the thought of it. “You are just a woman,” he said. “Are you saying you did not train me well like you claimed?” I asked, trying to mock him. The gate screeched open. It was my turn, my battle, my bet. And then I saw him. My opponent. A mountain of muscle and scars, a man who looked like he’d been carved from stone by violence itself. He had no neck, only piles of muscles connecting each other and a square jaw to shoulders like granite slabs. I shouted in smiles, “I wondered how you would look when transformed.” That was my purpose: to anger him into changing into a werewolf. To make him break the rule. One eye was clouded white, blind, but the other burned like a furnace that had seen too much war and not enough mercy. His fists were as large as my head. One of them clenched and cracked like thunder. The crowd screamed his name. I didn’t hear mine. Then the bell rang. For a second, just one, my body forgot to move. I stared up at him, at this very beast of a man with skin like the back of a tree and veins like ropes, and all I could think was: “This is what death looks like when it’s bored and looking for sport.” My breath seized, or should I say I stopped breathing for that moment. Not out of fear for my life, but for my bet. “We were going to starve," I shouted at Marcus. “I will be fine,” he shouted back. I wondered what that meant. They had all bet against me. And if I lost, I wouldn’t just lose the fight. I would have lost all our money. But I had made peace with pain a long time ago. And right now. Pain owed me money. He came charging down at me, and I swerved, “That was easy,” I shouted with a great smile. Then something hit me. It was not natural as my gaze began to wander, and for a moment, everywhere was quiet while all mouths were open. Before I could regain my balance and consciousness, the beast of a man came charging once again. Marcus taught me well. I was one of the best one-on-one combat warriors alive today. I knew I could fight best close to gravity until I regained my balance. I charged low and hit so hard at his balls. He did not see that coming, and that angered him, so he began to transform. “Cheating!” I shouted. “You cannot transform; no wolf form is allowed.” He smacked me with his left arm, and I could feel the strength of his form; he had already changed. “Get him down!” shouted the umpire, and the net was cast upon him. “That was luck right there,” Marcus said. “No, Marcus, that was me helping us for at least six more full moons,” I replied, gathering my money and putting it in my sack. I told Marcus I would be back. Just a quick trip to get bread, stew, or meat. I just felt that I should get whatever the coins from the pit win could fetch us, maybe for a couple of months. My bruises ached with every step, but I was still high off the rush. Victory had a certain flavour. It tasted like blood and stubborn pride. The food vendor barely looked up as I reached for the pouch at my side, ready to pay. Suddenly, I heard a scuffle. I looked straight in the direction from which I had heard some screams. It was him. The Giant. The same bastard from the pit. Still bitter. Still bleeding. This time, he wasn’t alone. And this time, he had a dagger pressed against the side of a man dressed far too finely for the Outlands. Gold trim. Velvet coat. Definitely, not one of us, of course. I stepped forward before my brain could catch up. “Try robbing someone your own size,” I said, my voice low but sharp enough to draw blood. The brute’s head jerked toward me. “You again?” he growled, spitting into the dirt. “Didn’t beat me enough in the pit?” I shrugged. “Apparently not.” He lunged. I met him halfway. Fists flew. People scattered. I felt every bruise from earlier scream anew. There were more of them, four, maybe five, but I didn’t stop. Not until I realised they were starting to box us in. I spun toward the royal. “Run with me. You had better, now!” He hesitated for a second too long, but then we bolted, dodging carts, shoving through alleyways until I spotted a storage house. Unlocked. Barely. I pushed the door open and pulled him inside. The footsteps thundered behind us, getting closer. We had seconds. There was a narrow closet, and without thinking, I shoved the door open and yanked him in. It was pitch black. Dusty. Cramped. We didn’t speak. We couldn’t. I could feel his breath on my neck. My legs tangled with his. My hand pressed against his chest to keep my balance, and by gods above, his heart was racing like mine. We didn’t move. We hardly breathe. He hands were directly on my boobs, which were hardly covered due to the fights. But that did not catch my attention, it was his perfectly structured body. He smiled and looked at me sternly. Enjoying whatever was going on as I admired his body and what was becoming hard between my thighs. I swallowed hard. “Don’t flatter yourself.” In that very small, dark closet, every breath felt like a busy wind in my ears. His body was pressed beneath mine, warm and firm. My hand, still resting against his chest, rose and fell with the rhythm of his breath, controlled, but barely, like mine. His hands were on my boobs, which were barely covered due to the ruffles of the fights. I could feel a certain sensation that warmed my body. I was almost getting wet. I shouldn’t have looked. But I did. His shirt was clean and with a Lionhead pin at the collar, soaked in sweat and dust from the chase, but underneath, there was strength carved into every line of him. Hardened muscle. The kind of body that knows both power and war. The tension shifted, and I felt it between us, how close my lips were to his neck, how my thigh pressed tightly against his. He looked up at me, his gaze searching, daring, and a little breathless. I should’ve pulled away. I should’ve remembered who I was. But instead, my fingers moved, just slightly, tracing the edge of his chest. Exploring without giving an option. “Are you from the Lion Pack?” I asked without needing any confirmation. “Shhh”, he hushed me. I wanted him. Right there, hidden away from the chaos outside. Right now, when everything in me screamed for something real, something warm, something alive, something hard inside me. He swallowed hard beneath me. “Hey...” he whispered, like he was catching fire in his throat. And for a moment, vengeance, war, even the pit itself, all of it vanished. There was only him, and neither of us could stop what was about to happen. His touch was unexpected, gentle, searching, and dangerously slow. It sent sparks through my spine, igniting something I hadn’t felt in years. His hands had my boobs. Oh, I meant one of them hands found its way to my back while the other tickled one of my n*****s. My breath hitched as his hands found their way beneath the edge of my tunic, brushing against skin that had long forgotten tenderness. Our lips met, and it was hesitant at first, tasting the unknown. Then hunger took over. My fingers gripped his shoulders, his hand pressed against my lower back, pulling me closer. It was passionate yet quiet. We were in danger yet attached. For a moment, I forgot who I was. Then, footsteps. Not just one but dozens. Heavy boots pounding the dirt floor above us. I froze against him. He looked up, his eyes darkening, not with lust now, but fear. “They’ve found us,” I whispered. He didn’t answer, but we both heard it, the low grumble of a familiar voice. The giant. And he wasn’t alone. I reached slowly for the dagger at my thigh, and he did the same. We were trapped in a corner and outnumbered. Our stolen moment of heat quickly turned to ice. “I hope you fight like you kiss?” I whispered. “You aren’t saving me again,” he replied with a smile. “If we go out,” I muttered, steadying my breath, “we go out fighting.” He met my gaze, calm and deadly. “Then let’s make them bleed.” The door in front of us creaked, and the darkness broke.