AYASHA'S POV
I couldn't sleep. The attack left me too wired, too aware of how thin the canvas walls of my tent really were. I sat with my back against the central post, dagger in hand, watching the shadows dance across the fabric.
My mind kept replaying what had happened. The Luna who'd attacked me wasn't just desperate—she was terrified. We all were. But something about her words nagged at me.
Eat shit and die. My people deserve to survive.
Not "I deserve to win" or "I deserve to be Luna." It was about survival. Pure, brutal survival.
The realization hit me like a splash of cold water. This wasn't a competition to find the most worthy Luna. This was Koduku. The ancient practice where beasts were placed in a closed space and forced to fight until only one remained.
Nahuel never intended for many of us to make it to his challenges. He expected us to kill each other first, thinning our own numbers in panic and desperation.
I gripped my dagger tighter. Outside, the night was too quiet. No guards patrolled between tents. No voices called out.
The silence screamed danger.
I crawled to the torn section of canvas and peered out. In the distance, near the edge of our encampment, something flickered. Orange light danced against the night sky.
Fire.
A scream tore through the stillness, followed by another. Then came sounds I recognized all too well from the battlefield—the clang of metal, the thud of bodies falling, the gurgle of final breaths.
They were killing each other. All around me, Lunas were slaughtering each other in the dark.
I had to move. My tent was compromised, and staying put made me an easy target. I slipped through the tear in the canvas, dagger ready, and pressed my back against the outside of my tent.
The encampment was chaos. Three tents burned in the distance, casting wild, dancing shadows across the grounds. Between them, dark figures lunged and fought. Blood glistened black in the firelight.
Where were the guards? Where were Nahuel's men? This slaughter couldn't be part of the official competition.
Unless it was.
I edged along the shadows, trying to keep away from the fires and fighting. I needed somewhere safe to think, to plan. The forest beyond the encampment looked promising—I could hide there until morning, when hopefully this bloodbath would end.
I made it halfway to the tree line when I heard footsteps behind me. Fast, purposeful footsteps.
I spun around, dagger raised, just in time to block a sword swing that would have taken my head. The force of it vibrated up my arm, nearly knocking the dagger from my grip.
My attacker was tall, with hair pulled back in a tight braid. She wore leather armor—not the fine dress of a Luna, but the practical gear of a warrior. Her sword gleamed red with fresh blood.
"Running away?" she sneered. "Coward."
I didn't waste breath answering. I slashed with my dagger, but she deflected it easily. Her next swing came so fast I barely dodged it.
She was trained. Not just trained, but skilled—a warrior born and bred. My few defensive moves wouldn't save me for long.
She pressed forward, forcing me back step by step. Her blade whistled through the air, each swing closer than the last. I felt the wind of it against my cheek, then my neck.
The next one would connect.
I tripped over something—a body, I realized with horror—and fell backward. My attacker smiled, raising her sword for the killing blow.
I couldn't match her skill. But I wasn't finished yet.
I grabbed a handful of sand and dirt and flung it at her face. She recoiled, crying out as grit hit her eyes. I scrambled to my feet and tackled her while she was blinded, sending us both crashing to the ground.
Her sword fell from her grip. We rolled, grappling in the dirt. She was stronger, but pain made her clumsy. I ended up on top, my dagger pressed to her throat.
Her eyes watered, blinking rapidly to clear the sand. Fear replaced the confidence I'd seen earlier.
"Do it," she hissed. "Finish it."
My hand trembled. I could do it. I should do it. She would have killed me without hesitation.
But I couldn't. Not like this. Not in cold blood.
"No," I whispered. "I'm not becoming what the beast that forced us here wants."
I pulled back my dagger and instead struck her temple with the hilt. Her eyes rolled back, and she went limp beneath me.
I stood up, breathing hard. All around me, tents burned and women fought and died. The night air reeked of blood and smoke.
I turned toward the forest again, determined to reach safety. I managed three steps before something slammed into my back, knocking me forward.
I hit the ground hard, the breath leaving my lungs. I rolled over to see my attacker—the same warrior I'd knocked unconscious, now very much awake. Blood trickled down her temple, but she held my own dagger in her hand. Her eyes burned with rage.
"Mercy is weakness," she spat, lunging down with the blade.
I raised my arms in desperate defense, knowing it wouldn't be enough.
The blow never landed.
A figure appeared from nowhere, grabbing the warrior's wrist mid-strike. In one fluid motion, he twisted her arm back, forcing her to drop the dagger. She howled with pain and fury, trying to break free.
The stranger's other hand shot out, striking her precisely at the base of her skull. Her eyes went blank, and she collapsed to the ground—truly unconscious this time.
I scrambled back, grabbing my fallen dagger. The stranger stood very still, looking down at the warrior he'd subdued.
"You should be more careful who you spare," he said, his voice low and rough.
The fires behind him cast his face in shadow, but I could make out broad shoulders and the glint of silver at his hip—a sword, undrawn.
"Who are you?" I demanded, keeping my dagger ready. "One of Nahuel's men?"
He turned toward me then, stepping into the light.
The world stopped.
He was tall, with features sharp enough to cut—high cheekbones, strong jaw dusted with stubble, eyes so dark they seemed to swallow the firelight. His hair was black, cropped short on the sides but longer on top.
But it wasn't his appearance that froze me in place. It was his scent.
It hit me like a physical force. He sceneted of the earth after rain, pine needles, something wild and untamed that made my heart race. Something that called to me on a level beyond thought.
His eyes widened as he looked at me, nostrils flaring slightly. He felt it too. I could see the recognition, the shock mirroring my own.
"Mate," I whispered, the word escaping before I could stop it.
He took a step toward me, then stopped, glancing around at the chaos. "We need to go. Now."
I hesitated. "The others—"
"Cannot be saved," he cut in. "Not tonight. The King wants bloodshed tonight, and he'll have it."
"The King or Your King?" I backed away slightly. "Who are you?"
Something like pain flashed across his face. "Someone who doesn't agree with this slaughter. Will you come with me, or die here?"
I looked around at the burning encampment. Women I'd been with just hours ago now lay dead on the ground. Guards were nowhere to be seen. This wasn't a competition, it was a culling.
"Why should I trust you?" I asked, even as everything in me yearned to follow him.
"Because I just saved your life," he said. "And because you know what I am to you."
Mate. The word hung unspoken between us.
A scream cut through the night, followed by a gurgling sound that turned my stomach. The killing continued.
"Fine," I said. "Lead the way."
He moved soundlessly toward the forest, and I followed, staying close. The scent of him wrapped around me, both comforting and unsettling. My body recognized him even if my mind didn't understand how or why.
"What's your name?" I asked as we reached the tree line.
He glanced back at me, his dark eyes unreadable. "Riven." he said after a long pause.
"I'm Ayasha."
"I know who you are, Whitewater princess." He pushed deeper into the forest. "Everyone knows who you are."
I wanted to ask what he meant, but more screams echoed from the encampment behind us. I shuddered, looking back at the orange glow of burning tents.
"How many will survive?" I asked.
"Few," Riven replied grimly. "That's the point. The Alpha doesn't want twenty Lunas competing. He wants five or six—the most ruthless, the most desperate."
"This is sick," I whispered. "He's making us do his dirty work."
"That's how he operates. He never dirties his own hands if he can help it."
We moved deeper into the forest, the sounds of fighting growing fainter. My mind raced with questions. Who was Riven? Why had he saved me? And what did it mean that my body recognized him as mate when I'd never seen him before?
"Where are you taking me?" I asked.
"Somewhere safe," he replied. "At least for tonight."
I should have been more cautious. I should have demanded more answers. But exhaustion weighed on me, and the pull I felt toward him was impossible to ignore.
"Why help me?" I managed to ask. "What do you want?"
Riven stopped, turning to face me fully. In the dim light filtering through the trees, his expression was solemn.
"I want what you want currently," he said quietly.
"And what is that?" I asked.
"I want you to stay alive."