The Rejected Luna's Battle

The debt collector slapped the paper on my sewing table. Two million dollars. "Your mother's debt, Elena Grey. You have 24 hours, or you go to the Alpha Battle." I stared at my hands. 19 years old. A maid. My only skill was sewing, the needle shaking between my fingers. I count my breaths when I'm scared. 18 per minute. That's all I could hear. In, out. In, out. My mother sold me before she died. She owed the Blackwood pack two million. Now Damien Blackwood wanted payment. Damien Blackwood. 29. CEO. Alpha of Alphas. The man who rejected me as his Luna three months ago in front of the entire pack. "Elena Grey is weak. She is not Luna material. She is... ordinary," he had said, his voice cold. I remembered every word. I remembered how the other girls laughed. How I ran, still wearing my cheap maid dress, clutching my sewing kit. Now his Beta stood in my tiny room. "The Battle Royale starts tonight. Seven Alphas. One Luna crown. Every unmated girl with debt must enter. It's law." My heart was beating too fast. 20 breaths per minute now. 21. "I can't," I whispered. "I will die." "You will die if you don't pay anyway." He dropped a black dress on my bed. Revealing. Forced. For the Alphas to look at. "Be at the mansion at 8 PM. Don't be late, little maid." The door slammed. The paper for two million dollars fluttered to the floor. I picked up my needle. My exceptional skill was the only thing I had. I could sew anything. I could bake - my other secret skill - but sewing was survival. I started sewing the black dress. If I had to die, I would not die in rags. 8 PM. Blackwood Mansion. Seven Alphas sat on thrones. All powerful. All cruel. All looking at us like we were meat. Ten girls stood in a line, all in black dresses, all shaking. I was the youngest. 19. Innocent. Virgin. The others were 22, 24, trained for this. And in the center, Damien Blackwood. Cold eyes. Perfect suit. He didn't even look at me. Like I was nothing. "The rules are simple," his voice boomed. "You have 18 minutes to impress us. To survive. One of you will be chosen as Luna. The rest... will pay their debt in other ways." 18 minutes. My breath count. 18 breaths per minute. 18 minutes to live. A girl next to me started crying. An Alpha growled, "Silence." Damien finally looked at me. Our eyes met. His eyes widened for half a second. Recognition. Then disgust. "Elena Grey," he said, reading from a list. "Debt: $2M. Skill: sewing. Status: Ordinary. Virgin." The other Alphas laughed. "Virgin?" one Alpha with a scar sneered. "What can a virgin do?" Damien's jaw tightened. "Begin." The first girl walked forward, trying to dance. The Alphas watched, bored. My hands were sweating. I held my needle so tight it cut my palm. Blood. A drop. I counted. In. Out. 18. It was my turn. The seventh girl. The last. I stepped forward. My cheap shoes clicking. My dress - the one I had sewn - hugged me. I had sewn hidden pockets into it. With my tools. "Skill?" Damien asked, not looking. I didn't answer with words. I pulled out my needle and thread. And I started sewing. Right there. In front of seven Alphas. I sewed a torn piece of the Alpha flag that hung behind them. It had been ripped for years. No one fixed it. I had noticed it the second I walked in. My hands moved. Fast. Precise. Exceptional. The skill my mother taught me. Needle in, out, in, out. Like breathing. The room went silent. 18 breaths. 18 stitches. I cut the thread with my teeth and stepped back. The flag was whole. The Blackwood wolf emblem - mended. One Alpha stood up. "She... she fixed the pack flag." Damien stared at the flag. Then at me. For the first time, his cold face cracked. "Where did you learn that?" he asked, voice low. "My mother," I said. My voice was small but it didn't shake. "Before you took everything." His eyes darkened. He stood up from his throne and walked down to me. Every step made the other girls flinch. He stopped one inch from me. I could smell him - cedar and winter. I could see the muscle in his jaw. "You are still ordinary, Elena," he whispered, so only I could hear. "But you have 18 minutes left. And I am not done with you." He grabbed my wrist - the one with blood from my needle. And the entire mansion lights went out. A voice screamed, "ATTACK! ROGUES!" The Battle Royale had just turned into a real battle. And I was trapped, in the dark, with seven Alphas and a bleeding hand, holding only a sewing needle. My breath count spiked. 25. 26. I held my needle like a weapon.