Almost half an hour later, the door opened again, and both Tyler and Dennis walked in. They both looked tired, miserable, and like they’d taken a day long beating.
Dennis’ shirt collar was soaked in blood; his nose had probably been broken during the fight and had already healed. His knuckles were bruised and bloody, but healing, and as he walked back to his cot, I noticed that he was limping.
Tyler’s nose was gushing, and he’d been given a small, dirty rag to stop the flow of blood. His right eyebrow was split, as was his lip. A cut on his scalp bled, and so did his left ear. His wrist was in a brace and his knuckles were as torn as Dennis’ were.
Tyler’s eyes lifted to mine for a second, and I couldn’t help but notice the faraway haunted look in them. He shook his head sadly, and collapsed onto his cot. Dennis followed suit, and they were both sound asleep in a matter of minutes. They must have both been exhausted.
Quinten sighed and he moved a little closer to my side. He took my hand in his, and squeezed it reassuringly.
“We’re up soon,” I whispered, wishing that I could save him from what was about to happen.
He nodded once. “Alanna, no matter what happens I just wanted you to know that I don’t regret the life I’ve had. Being your friend, your family, and your mate is more than I could have ever hoped for in life.”
I felt myself begin to tear up, and I kissed his hand. “I know.”
Quinten and I decided to get some shuteye before our upcoming match. We curled up together on his cot, and we were rudely awakened a little while later when the door opened again.
The two vampires entered, waving their large cattle prods threateningly.
“Newbies, you’re up.” One snarled, a twisted grin on his face.
“Yeah, let’s hope that you last longer than our last new recruits did. We’re getting kind of tired of having to break people in.”
The other laughed. “Actually, breaking isn’t so bad, is it?”
They both laughed again, and Quinten and I traded uncertain glances, before getting up and following them out of the small room we’d been locked in. I tried to study our surroundings as much as possible: the vampires led us through a series of narrow dimly lit hallways with tiled floor, no windows, and gray cement walling.
A set of stairs to my left caught my attention, and I wondered what was up on the second floor, aside from the bathrooms.
The floor began to slowly rise beneath our feet, and I noticed a bright light at the end of the hallway. I could hear people cheering and clapping, and my hands began to sweat. The vampires led us through a set of open double doors, and straight into our own personal hell.
Chapter Eleven
The arena was roughly the size of a football field, with high, smooth brick walls, and rows of stands beyond it. The ground was hard-packed dirt with straggly patches of grass here and there. The top was open and the sky was directly overhead. This place must have been massive. How did people not know about its existence?
The stands were filled with at least two-hundred people, not counting the dozen or so in a small well-furnished box in the direct center of the arena. There, a vampire stood, dressed completely in black. He was tall, well-muscled, with a long blonde ponytail. His eyes were an icy blue color.
Something about him seemed strangely familiar to me, but I couldn’t place it.
He smiled at the two of us as we came to a stop beneath him. He looked the two of us over with an interested eye. “Welcome my friends, to the Arena Wars!” His voice was deep and it carried easily through the stands. “Are you ready to face your destiny?!”
Neither of us answered, and he looked down at us, slightly disappointed. “Well, you’re no fun. But nevertheless, I wish you good luck, my young fighters.”
I turned, expecting to find a couple of muscled monsters waiting to completely annihilate us. Instead, to my horror, I found two young boys. Neither appeared old enough to drive. One was smaller than me, and he looked to be about twelve years old. The other was slightly taller and about fifteen years old.
I stared at them, confused. “They’re just children.”
“What?” Quinten whispered, frowning.
He was trying to listen for our opponent’s movements, rather than the sounds from the people in the stands. I realized that unless they stopped chanting and cheering, he would never be able to fight. Not in these conditions.
“One of the boys is only like twelve years old. He’s smaller than me.”
The Champion cleared his throat. “My friends, I’m afraid I must ask you to remain as quiet as possible.”
All around us, people in the stands began to boo loudly. Apparently part of their enjoyment came from chanting and applauding the winners, and booing those that died.
Vultures…I thought to myself.
“My friends, I know you want to cheer on your favorites, but you see, this young warrior-in-the-making, this brave young boy, is blind. Completely blind. He will need to be able to concentrate if you want this to be…interesting.”
The crowd fell silent, eagerly anticipating an interesting fight. They’d probably never seen anything like it before, and were hoping this fight would be much more entertaining than the others.
Quinten was blushing deeply, and he was frowning. “We’re seriously fighting children?” He asked nervously.
“I guess so.”
A loud horn blared, and the two boys rushed forward, much faster than I would have thought possible for such young children.
The older, larger boy went straight for Quinten, and I silently prayed to Chandranath and Kamalia–the first werewolves–to keep him safe. They were technically gods, or at least children of gods. I’d never prayed to them before, or anyone really, but now seemed like a good enough time to start.
The younger boy sized me up, looking for the best way to attack, while I fretted about my ability to strike an unarmed child. He lunged in quickly, catching me off guard.
I dodged to one side and spun to face him again, my hands going up in a defensive position. He jabbed at my face with his right hand, and I swatted it away, trying not to think about how small his hand was compared to mine. He jabbed a second time, and I countered it with an uppercut that knocked him to his back.
For a brief minute, as he sat there wheezing in the dirt, I was ashamed of myself for striking an unarmed child.
But he jumped to his feet and launched a series of rapid punches. Keeping my eyes on his hands, I ducked and dodged all but the last one, which hit me on the outside of my left cheek. I stumbled to the ground, and then stood, wiping the dust off of my hands.
The boy in front of me was anxious and clearly terrified that he would be the one to lose. Is this his first fight too?
For a second, I wondered if anyone had told him that I was a werewolf. If they had, he probably assumed that he was going to lose, and had maybe even given up hope of surviving another day.
He shook himself out and dove at me again. I crouched low and spun under his arm, coming up behind him. I kicked hard into the center of his back, and he fell forward face first into the dirt with an oomph.
He wheezed into the dirt again, and I hurried over to help Quinten, who was grappling with his opponent. I slammed my hand down on the side of his neck and swept his feet out from under him. He went down in the dirt and I knelt on his chest, forcing the air from his lungs, giving Quinten a chance to recover.
I brought my hand down on his face twice, before he managed to bring his leg up, and kick me over his head. I landed on my side, bending my arm at an unnatural angle. Thankfully it didn’t break, or this fight probably would have been finished.
As I got to my feet, he spun to face me, clearly marking me as the bigger threat. The boy tried a wild haymaker, swinging his arm up and around in a wide arc.
I ducked and rammed my elbow into his stomach. He coughed and staggered away, trying to catch his breath. I remembered the earliest advice Ray had ever given to me when teaching me t
o fight.
“If at all possible, always take away your opponents breath. It renders them unable to continue fighting and it gives you time to find an opening to take advantage of.”
A foot slammed into the spot between my shoulder blades and I fell forward into the dirt. A knee dug painfully into my spine, and the boy grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. He put his arm around my throat, choking me and cutting off my air supply.
Ray’s advice could work for me, but it could also work against me.
After a few seconds, I realized something. That was the easiest way to end a fight because you didn’t have to look someone in the eyes when you killed them. You’d never have to see those eyes, open wide in death, staring at you, accusing you of being a monster.
Choking, I frantically flailed about, trying to knock him from my back. I was stronger and faster than him, and older too, but he had the upper hand right now, and he obviously knew it.
I could practically feel his triumph.
Suddenly, another hand was there, pulling the boy off of me. Quinten tried to keep him busy long enough for me to get to my feet. I kneeled in the dirt, rubbing my sore throat, trying to force air back into my aching lungs.
Finally, I turned him away from Quinten, and slammed my foot into the boy’s face, wincing when I heard his nose shatter into pieces.
His eyes started to water and he backed away from me, trying to compose himself. I looked around, noticing that Quinten was in trouble again, and I ran over to help him.
The older boy turned to face me, ready to fight. When I was about a yard away from him I jumped and spun, kicking out with my left foot. It connected solidly with his chest and he shot back, landing with a dull thud on the hard-packed dirt.
I landed in a crouch, with my hands in the air, ready for another attack. The boy coughed up a mouthful of blood and moaned once. He rolled over to his side, and tried to kick Quinten with his foot. He moved out of the way, and grabbed the boy’s head, and slammed it down on the ground.
His eyes closed, and he lost consciousness. Quinten got up and ran by my side, and I turned to see the younger boy coming up quietly behind me.
I was so busy staring at his partner that I hadn’t even heard his recovery.
He knocked Quinten to the ground and kneeled on his chest. One hand wrapped around his throat. He was trying to crush Quinten’s lungs to keep him from fighting back.
I rushed forward and wrapped my arm around his throat as tight as I could. He choked once and began pulling frantically at my arm, trying to dislodge it from around his throat. I hauled him off of Quinten and dragged him back far enough to give Quinten room to get back on his feet.
Sweeping his feet out from behind him, I applied more pressure once he was on his knees. I tried to ignore his racing heartbeat and his crazed attempts to remove me. He was terrified; he was going to lose this fight and his life, and he knew it.
That was when I realized something.
Here I was, choking the life out of a young boy…a child. In another few seconds, he would be dead, and I would be a murderer. Could I ever forgive myself for what I was about to do?
The crowd of spectators began to chant over and over again. It took me a few seconds to understand what they were saying, and when I finally did, I could barely contain my anger. They were calling for the boy’s death. They wanted me to become a murderer.
With a cry of disgust, I released my grip on his neck, and he collapsed to the ground, too exhausted and out of breath to even move. The Champion frowned at me from his box above the Arena.
“Congratulations, you’ve almost won your first fight. I must admit, this has come as quite a surprise. But, the fight’s not over yet. You must finish him. Those are the rules of the wars.”
I shook my head, trying to stop my trembling hands. “His partner’s over there on the ground, unconscious. Quinten and I have won the fight. I’m not going to kill anybody.”
The Champion’s frown grew. “I’m afraid I can’t accept that. You will do as I command. Now, destroy that weakling.”
I shook my head again. “I said no. He’s just a child, a little boy. He should be in school right now, or at home with his parents, anywhere but here. I won’t kill him. I won’t have a child’s blood on my hands. I’m better than that. I’m better than you.”
The Champion pulled out a gun, black and sleek, and pointed it at us. “Kill him.”
“No,” I said, staring him down. This was disgusting, an absolute disgrace, and I refused to give in to his demands. He could threaten me all he wanted, nothing would change my answer.
“I don’t take kindly to defiance in my warriors. This is your last chance. Kill him.”
“I said no,” I said, glaring. I poured all of the hatred I possessed into that one look, hoping it would show him how serious I was.
He laughed and I grimaced. It was the laugh of a madman, a truly evil being, someone who didn’t care what others thought of him.
He leveled the gun and there was a loud crack, followed by a wail of pain. It was a wail of pain that hadn’t come from either Quinten or myself.
I looked down, and found the young boy splayed on the ground, bleeding from a wound in his left thigh. “Kill him,” The Champion ordered.
I shook my head. “No.”
He pulled the trigger twice more, and the boy’s other thigh and his left hand began to bleed. The boy screamed in pain. “Please!” He begged.
Who was he begging to? Was he begging The Champion to spare him? Or was he begging me to end his suffering?
“Kill him.”
I wiped tears from my face and glared at the monster, The Champion, standing before me. “You’re a heartless bastard,” I sobbed.
He smiled, revealing his sharp fangs. He was getting off on this. “Kill him!” He nearly screamed, his eyes practically bulging from their sockets.
Sobbing, I crouched down to the ground and pulled the little boy closer to me. He was hyperventilating from the pain, and his eyes were wild and filled with tears. “Please,” he whispered so softly I almost didn’t hear him. “Please.”
I grabbed his head in my shaking hands and twisted sharply. There was a sickening crack that vibrated through my arms and shoulders, and he slumped lifelessly in my arms. I could hear Quinten silently crying just behind me, and I wanted to reach back and comfort him, but he was too far away.
I made the mistake of looking down at the boy in my lap. His eyes were wide and terrified, and he stared up at me, as if accusing me of being the one that had killed him.
Which I had.
I’d taken a life. I’d killed an innocent little boy who had done nothing wrong but be forced to participate in these sick fights. Was this what would happen to me or Quinten? Would I end up begging someone to end my life?
I had another disturbing thought. One that would surely stick with me for the rest of my life.
I was a murderer.
The crowd erupted into wild cheers and I forced myself to move away from the boy’s body. I could feel bile rising in my throat, and I fought to push it back. After a moment, I leaned away from the boy; I didn’t want to disgrace him anymore than I already had by winning the fight.
Did I really win though?
My body heaved violently, and everything I’d eaten so far that day came back up all over the field. Quinten crawled over to where I was kneeling. He rubbed my back gently, and he waited patiently for me to finish being sick. “Alanna?”
“I’m fine,” I said, wincing. That pathetic lie hadn’t even convinced me.
The two vampire guards dragged us back through the doors and up the nearby stairs that I’d noticed earlier, but not before I saw someone dragging the body of the little boy from the field, treating him like he was nothing but a piece of trash.
I looked around. The hall we were in was a dead-end. There was a door on either side of the hall. The vampire guards stopped us. “Get in there. Shower, brush your teeth, whatever you want. You�
�ve got twenty minutes before I drag you out…dressed or not,” he said, grinning.
My stomach heaved again, and I ran into the bathroom, heading straight for the toilet. I couldn’t fight the bile that kept rising. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the same thing. That poor boy’s eyes kept staring up at me, open wide and accusing in death, and I tried hard not to cry.
I thought about Quinten, who was stumbling around an unfamiliar room, and sighed. He probably wasn’t wasting any of his free time, and I shouldn’t either. This could be my only chance to wash off the kid’s blood…
I quickly stripped my dirty clothes off, and jumped into the shower, loving the hot water that scalded my body. I felt as if I could wash the death off of me if I only stayed under the water long enough.
I stared at the drain, watching the dirt, blood, and grime of the last few days wash away until the water ran clear again.
When I was done, I stole another minute I didn’t have to lean my head against the cool tiled wall, and I cried until there were no more tears left. I tried to keep my eyes open, but eventually I had to blink. And that one fraction of a second was all that horrid vision needed, and I’d see that broken and lifeless boy, staring at me.
The boy I’d killed.
Finally, I dragged myself from the shower and dressed, not wanting to be dragged naked through the building. On the bathroom sink counter, I found a packaged toothbrush, opened it, and washed the taste of the Arena out of my mouth.
After I was done taking care of myself I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a little bit. I couldn’t believe it; I was actually horrified by what I saw.
My normally bright blue eyes were slightly glassy, and there were large, dark purple circles under them, testimony to the fact that I hadn’t had a decent night of sleep in days. There was a large dark purple bruise around my throat, and another on the left side of my cheek.
My knuckles were bruised and stiff, but they’d be fully functional by our next fight.
Our next fight.
I couldn’t go through that again. What if we lost? What if I was forced to kill another child?
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