Chapter 2

As one of the four oldest packs in the werewolf world, the Silver Moon Pack didn't rely solely on mate bonds or mind links to secure loyalty.

We still used blood oaths.

Right in front of Liam, I set fire to the contract stamped with his bloody handprint, and ordered his expensive clothes from his room to be thrown into the courtyard brazier.

This meant he was officially banished. He was no longer a member of the Silver Moon Pack.

The flames roared, reflecting on Liam's desperate and humiliated face.

"Throw him and his woman out of the Silver Moon territory like the trash they are."

I took a damp towel from a tray and slowly wiped my neck where his blade had touched.

The tiny scratch had already healed, but my anger hadn't.

To be honest, my inner wolf was roaring to rip his throat out, but I didn't want his dirty blood on my hands.

Keeping him alive was a far better punishment. Death would have been a mercy.

"Get out. Don't dirty my territory ever again."

After Liam was dragged out, the servants and guards held their breath, terrified to make a sound.

No one expected Liam—the man I had spoiled for ten years and the second-in-command of the pack—to be discarded so ruthlessly.

The butler swallowed hard and stepped forward. "Alpha Victoria, the Beta position is vacant now. Should we promote someone from the Delta warriors, or..."

"Get the car ready," I interrupted, tossing the towel back onto the tray. "We're going to the underground arena."

The butler gasped. "You're picking someone yourself?"

An Alpha of the Silver Moon Pack could never be without a personal guard.

But I hated secondhand things. My shadow warrior had to be a wolf I picked myself—someone whose loyalty belonged solely to me.

The Silver Creek underground arena was the most chaotic, dark, and lawless place in the city.

There was only one rule here: a fight to the death.

One of the fighters had to die. No ties, no surrenders, no mercy.

Only the one who walked out of the steel cage alive was entitled to one percent of the betting pool.

The stands were packed with frenzied gamblers, screaming, cursing, and cheering for their bets.

The air was thick with the copper stench of blood, cheap tobacco, and nauseating sweat.

When the arena owner heard of my arrival, he practically scrambled out to greet me, flatteringly offering me a roster of his "top-tier" fighters.

I watched the beasts tearing each other apart in the cage, flipping through the pages, but nothing caught my eye.

Too weak.

None of them were what I wanted.

Frustrated, I stood up to leave.

Just as I was about to step out of the VIP box, a sickening bone-crushing sound echoed from the octagonal cage below, followed by a collective gasp from the crowd.

I paused and looked down.

In the cage, two giant wolves were locked in a death match.

A pitch-black wolf had completely taken the upper hand.

He was a whole size smaller than his opponent, but his fighting style was wildly feral and completely suicidal. He had his jaws clamped tightly around the other wolf's throat.

The larger grey wolf thrashed violently, clawing deep gouges into the concrete floor, but the black wolf's jaw was like a vice, locked in place. Blood gushed from between his teeth.

The crowd's cheers nearly blew the roof off.

Within moments, the grey wolf’s struggles weakened until his limbs went stiff, completely breathless.

Only then did the black wolf let go, stepping onto his opponent's corpse and letting out a deafening roar.

It was a victor's declaration, and a death toll for any future challengers.

Then, amidst the roaring cheers, he shifted back into his human form.

He was covered in blood. His bare torso was covered in intricate, wild black thorn tattoos that crept all the way up his neck.

"Alpha Victoria, don't mind him," the owner stammered, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"He's an untamed rogue. No name, just goes by 'Kael'. He bites anyone he sees and refuses to submit. Just last week, he killed a..."

Before the owner could finish, I raised my hand to silence him.

I walked to the edge of the box, looking down at him.

Suddenly, the rogue, still high on adrenaline, seemed to sense my gaze.

Under the harsh spotlight, my eyes locked with a pair of dark, savage, and intensely obsessive eyes.

He saw me.

With just one second of eye contact, the wild rage in his eyes miraculously vanished.

To the absolute shock of the crowd, he crawled to the edge of the steel mesh and knelt humbly on the floor, right in front of where my heels stood above.