AYASHA'S POV
"Win?" I echoed, my mind racing to understand.
"A competition," Nahuel explained, his eyes gleaming with malice. "A series of challenges to determine which of you is worthy to become the Luna of the Lamia pack."
Murmurs broke out among the women. Some looked terrified, others determined.
"This is barbaric," I spat, anger overriding my fear. "I will not fight other women for the right to marry your son. I am leaving."
"You are free to go," Nahuel said, waving a dismissive hand. "But know this: if you leave, my army will return to Whitewater. This time, there will be no mercy. No survivors."
The threat hung in the air, heavy and real. I thought of my people, of my parents. I thought of the bodies already strewn across our land. I couldn't let more blood be spilled.
"You're a monster," I said, my voice shaking with rage.
"I am a king," Nahuel corrected. "A king who takes what he wants and gives nothing in return."
I looked around at the other women. They were not my enemies. They were victims, just like me. Each of them stood here because they loved their people enough to sacrifice themselves.
"What kind of challenges?" another Luna asked, her voice surprisingly steady.
"Tests of strength, cunning, and will," Nahuel explained. "The one who survives, who proves herself worthy, will become my son's bride."
Survives. The word echoed in my head. This wasn't just a competition. It was a death sentence for many of us.
"I can't do this," a young woman beside me whispered, her voice breaking. "I can't fight others like me."
I said nothing. My mind was too busy racing through possibilities, scenarios, outcomes. If I refused, my people would die. If I competed and lost, my sacrifice would mean nothing. But if I won...
If I won, I would become Koda's bride. I would be close to Nahuel. Close enough to pay the debt of blood he owed for my brother's life.
"The competition begins tomorrow at dawn," Nahuel announced. "You will be housed in tents outside the hall. Rest well, Lunas. You will need your strength."
I was led to a tent, simple and sparse compared to the opulence of the hall. Inside, there was a cot, a basin of water, and a small table. No comforts, no luxuries. Just the basics needed for survival.
I sat on the cot, my hands trembling with rage and grief. This was not what I had agreed to. This was not what would save my people.
Tariq's face floated in my mind, his eyes kind, his smile warm. "What would you do, brother?" I whispered to the empty tent. "What would you have me do?"
The answer came not in words but in feelings. The fierce love I had for my brother, the duty I felt toward my people, the hatred that burned in my heart for Nahuel.
I had come here to marry Koda, to secure peace for my people. But now, the game had changed. I needed to win this sick competition first.
Could I do it? Could I fight against other women who were just trying to save their own people? The thought made me sick.
But then I remembered the sound of steel clashing on the battlefield. I remembered my brother's body, still and cold. I remembered my mother's wails and my father's silent grief.
Yes, I could do it. I would do whatever it took to avenge my brother and save my people.
Night fell, and the sounds of the Lamia fortress grew quieter. I lay on my cot, staring at the canvas above me, my mind racing with plans and possibilities.
I needed to win. Not just for my people, but for myself. For the chance to make Nahuel pay for what he had done.
And if winning meant I had to become as ruthless as him, then so be it. I would descend into madness if that's what it took to bring justice to my brother and freedom to my people.
Then I heard something. The rustling came soft at first, like wind brushing through grass… but there was no wind.
I sat up, heart thundering. The basin of water beside my cot reflected nothing but shadows. I reached instinctively for the dagger tucked into my boot.
A moment later, the canvas wall behind me split open with a violent tear. Someone dove through, her breath ragged, her blade raised high.
"Eat shit and die!" she screamed, lunging forward. "My people deserve to survive!"
The blade gleamed under the moonlight spilling in through the flap, and I barely rolled aside before it struck the cot where my chest had been. Straw and fabric ripped apart.
I kicked out blindly, catching her in the thigh. She stumbled back with a grunt, and I scrambled to my feet, the dagger now firm in my grip. My pulse roared in my ears.
"Stop!" I shouted. "This isn't the way!"
But she came at me again, faster this time, fury distorting her face. Her dark hair whipped around her shoulders, and her fine dress—marked with gold embroidery from whatever kingdom she belonged to—was stained with sweat and dirt.
"You think you're better than us?" she spat. "Whitewater princess. High and mighty. You think you're the only one with something to lose?"
She slashed at me, and I blocked with the dagger, metal screeching against metal.
"I'm not your enemy!" I hissed.
But she wasn't listening. She wasn't even thinking. Her blade danced like she'd trained with it all her life, and mine barely kept pace. This wasn't a contest. It was a war of life and death. The game had started early, with no rules, no honor, and no warnings.
"You want to survive so badly you're willing to kill in the night?" I snarled, parrying another strike. "What happens when the next one comes while you sleep?"
She faltered then—just a breath. It was enough.
I swept low, kicking her feet from under her. She crashed to the ground with a cry, and I pounced, pinning her arm with my knee, disarming her.
Her blade clattered against the ground, and I pressed the tip of my dagger to her throat. Her chest heaved beneath me. Her eyes, wide and glassy, shimmered with unshed tears.
"Do it," she said, her voice cracking. "Go on. Kill me. Because I'll try again if you don't."
I didn't move. My breath was hot and uneven, my muscles tense with the instinct to end it.
But I couldn't.
I stood, stepping back. "You're not my enemy. Nahuel is. He's the one making us tear each other apart."
She blinked, confused. Her fingers twitched, reaching for her fallen weapon.
I kicked it farther away. "Get out," I said coldly. "Because next time, I won't hesitate."
She pushed herself up slowly, rage now mingled with shame on her face. "You should have killed me."
"Maybe," I said. "But if you want your people to survive, try keeping your honor. You'll need it when this is over."
She vanished through the torn canvas without another word, disappearing into the shadows like a ghost.
My hands trembled. I wiped the dagger clean on my tunic and sat back on the ruined cot. The ripped canvas let in a chill breeze, and I suddenly felt every bruise, every ache. My ribs throbbed where she'd landed a blow, and blood trickled from a shallow cut along my forearm.
I could still hear her voice in my head. Eat shit and die. A desperate scream from a woman who had nothing left to lose.
That would be the first of many. Nahuel had turned us all into wolves in a cage, sharpening our claws on one another. I suspected that was the idea from the very beginning.