Chapter 2: The Bloody Game
Pandora
That night, they left me with my bag in a hallway. It was past midnight, and I was falling asleep when a tall, bald man approached.
“What are you doing here? Who are you?"
"I’m Pandora, the victim of Broken Claws." The man looked at me with contempt.
“You can’t be here. You’re scaring people,” and he dragged me into the kitchen, where several Omegas were working tirelessly. One of them took pity on me and gave me something to eat. I was afraid to see Drogba. I began to hope that he had forgotten about me. Maybe I could stay in the kitchen and help the Omegas.
"Come on," said the bald man, and went ahead, and I followed him. We walked through offices and rooms. We stopped in front of a large, polished wooden door that was guarded by two men.
The door opened to reveal a large room with a table where several men were playing cards. Drogba was sitting at the head of the table.
"Ronald?"
"The offering, boss." The air smelled of cigar smoke and whiskey.
"Is that your new whore?" a red-haired man asked. Another man, tall and dark-skinned, sat nearby. Next to him was a man with a thick chestnut beard. They all stared at me as if undressing me with their eyes.
"Otis, she’s a gift from the Broken Claws. The daughter of their alpha," Drogba answered.
"She looks like an omega,".
"All those cave women are. What a pathetic, loser pack," the bearded one laughed, puffing on a thick cigar.
“What are you going to do with her?” asked Otis, who seemed to be Drogba’s beta.
"We'll see. Come here," Drogba said. "What have you got for me, broken girl?"
"Certainly not curves or beauty," someone mocked. They all burst out laughing again.
"I...I was trained to please you, Master. I’ve learned about you. It would be my honor to serve you," I whispered, my eyes downcast.
"Please me? Do you grant wishes?" he asked. Without warning, he ripped off my dress. I clutched the torn fabric to my chest. The room erupted in laughter when they saw the stains on my skin.
"What a gift!"
"Disgusting!"
"She stinks!"
"Now I understand why they always cover them up. They’re hideous!"
Otis stood up, grabbed my arms, and lifted them above my head. My undergarments were exposed, and he stared at me lustfully. I trembled, holding back tears.
“I don’t know how you’re going to fuck… that,” he said disdainfully. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked. "She’s ugly and stained with hair like a wild animal."
"I’m not touching her," Drogba answered, and the man released me. I covered myself as best I could. Drogba looked serious. "I’ve got an idea," he said. Ronald reappeared.
"Yes, boss?"
“Find her some clothes. Get her ready for tonight."
"For the Champions’ Gathering?"
"Yes, Ronald. She’ll be of good use," Drogba said maliciously. As I followed Ronald out, the others burst into laughter again. He led me to a small room, and minutes later, he handed me a bag.
“You’ve got one hour to get ready," he said.
I checked the clothes. They were awful, a thong that barely covered anything made of sheer fabric. There was no bra. The dress was one piece with many cutouts: a tight top that squeezed my breasts and left my abdomen bare, and a snug skirt held to the top by two gold chains. The skirt was so short. If I bent over, my whole ass would surely be on display. I tugged the dress down as much as I could. The outfit came with high heels.
The dress highlighted all my marks and did nothing to flatter me. It was vulgar. I wanted to cry, but I had been trained to be nothing and have nothing. I wished I had a wolf to guide me and give me strength. I felt dirty, alone, and utterly helpless.
Ronald took me elsewhere. There were warriors, armed guards, and security. We entered a grand covered terrace. I could feel the energy of the alphas and betas gathered there. The place was elegant, luxurious, and opulent. Several men and women were lounging on sofas, and a master of ceremonies was standing in the center. Just as I arrived, a heated argument broke out.
"This is unacceptable! My beta has trained for years, and now you’re telling me he must step aside?" a furious voice demanded. The voice was deep, commanding, and terrifying. I watched from the shadows.
“Alpha Tristan, let me remind you that Alpha Drogba is the reigning champion. Not only did he win territories and control of the moon's stones mafia and spell trade, but he was also granted a single supreme wish, as long as it does not involve death,” the master of ceremonies stated. A wolf’s growl filled the air. “Calm your wolf, alpha Tristan.”
Tristan...the rogue. The cursed alpha. They said he was a bastard and a violent conqueror. Entire families had disappeared because of him.
"Believe me, killing you would be my first wish," Drogba added. Laughter rippled through the crowd.
"Alpha Drogba has decided that your partner should change for the Shadow Bet."
The game. Many packs were fans of the brutal, bloody game. Held every five years, it had become the most anticipated event. These must be the players, Drogba and Tristan among them.
"This is to weaken me! You know teamwork is everything in this game! Piero earned his place!" the rogue protested.
"I’m sorry, Alpha. Those are the rules," the master of ceremonies replied. He was a short man dressed in a tuxedo with a cane and gray hair.
"Then who the hell is going to be my partner?" Tristan growled.
Ronald shoved me forward. I stepped from the shadows, and suddenly, all eyes were on me, on my skin, my exposed breasts, and my revealing dress. I felt like I was in a circus, a freak on display.
"What the hell is this?" snarled a giant alpha male with an ugly face.
"Poor thing!" a woman gasped.
"What happened to her?" another man asked.
But I couldn’t look away from the rogue alpha. He was huge and tall with long, shiny black hair. He wore black leather and silver jewelry, including rings, chains, and a large pendant in the shape of a broken moon. What struck me most, besides his dangerous beauty, were his eyes: one green and the other light brown, like honey. He didn’t look away from me. His jaw clenched, and his lips trembled. At his side stood a jet-black wolf with glowing green eyes. It growled, baring its teeth. I’d never even heard of a man with a wild wolf as his pet.
“She can’t be… no… no way,” he whispered. His gaze was full of disappointment.
“She will be your partner in the Shadow Bet. What do you think?" Drogba asked, playing with the chains of my dress. "She’s mine. But I’m lending her to you for the occasion. You can enjoy her, too...if she survives the game, of course. To the victor, the land. To the rest, the grave."