Imani
Or not!
The pain never came. Instead, my eyes opened to blinding sunlight and the acrid smell of smoke and sweat.
My head pounded like I'd spent the night with a bottle of cheap vodka, and my mouth felt stuffed with cotton.
But I wasn't dead. And I definitely wasn't splattered on Fifth Avenue pavement.
"Where am I?" I tried to say it, but my voice sounded like a dry croak. When I attempted to rub my eyes, at least to clear my vision, I realized my arms were stretched out to either side, bound tightly with rough rope to wooden poles.
This wasn't Vanessa's revenge. I was sure of it. This wasn't even New York anymore.
I blinked rapidly, forcing my vision to focus. What I saw made no sense at all.
I stood on an elevated platform in what appeared to be a massive stone arena. It looked like something out of the 10th century with high walls and tiered seating filled with hundreds – no, thousands of people dressed in different colors but in some sort of uniform.
It felt like a scene from some historical movie, but this was not a film set. The stones beneath my feet were worn smooth from age and use. The iron smell of blood hung in the air, too real to be fake.
To my left and right, at least a dozen other women were similarly bound between pairs of poles, forming a line of what seemed to be terrified sacrifices. Most of them wore tattered clothes made from sack bags.
I looked down to find myself in the same tattered sack clothes. The fabric was so thin that I could see my skin through it. What had happened to my designer nightgown?
The women beside me sobbed uncontrollably, heads hanging, some praying in languages I didn't recognize.
"Hey," I whispered to the girl next to me, her face was streaked with tears. "What is this place? What's happening?"
She looked at me with such despair that my blood ran cold. "Judgment Day," she whispered back. "For failed Omegas with uncontrollable heat and no wolves. Don't act like you don't know," she added with a glare.
Before I could ask what the hell an 'Omega' was, a wave of desire – hot, pooling at my lower belly – surged through my body. It was so intense that I clamped my thighs and let out a satisfied moan.
A hush fell over the crowd. When I looked up, I saw they were watching me with disgust.
The desire was overwhelming now, clouding my thoughts. I could feel sweat beading on my forehead. What was this? I was all for pleasure and whatnot, but this? Why did I want to tear the pole apart and rush out to the men in the crowd? This was strange.
As I pondered it, a metal gate lifted at the far end of the arena, and from it emerged a tall figure clad in black armour, strolling towards the platform. His face was hidden beneath a helmet, but his movements were confident. He carried a curved sword that caught the sunlight every time he moved.
"People of the Northern Territories, beloved packs and worshippers of the Moon Goddess," A voice boomed from somewhere above. "Today, being the Luna Eclipse Rite, we cleanse our bloodlines of the weak and give back to the heavens and the goddess to bring prosperity to our lands." The voice paused.
I turned my head towards him, wondering who he was.
"Today, I stand on behalf of our dearest Alpha, Alpha Cassiel Damaris, ruler of the Northern Territories, protector of the people and the bearer of the Red Rings, who would have been here today but is caught up in the South fighting rogues. Nevertheless, these Omegas have failed to take care of their heat and have polluted the sacredness of this rite with their vile scents. Most of them have also failed to manifest their wolves. They are unworthy vessels, defects who do not deserve to live, draining our resources without contributing to our strength."
The crowd roared its approval, the sound bouncing off the stone walls and hammering against my eardrums.
"By the Goddess, by our laws and by our books, I will bring them judgement."
The man stretched his hand to the left, and a little boy ran and placed what seemed like a scroll in his hand.
"This is the verdict read by I, Beta Eamon Greystone, that all the Omegas are found guilty of directly going against our laws of not taking better care of themselves during their heat which could invariably cause harm to our young, unmated males who have just come off age and found in contempt of lying and passing off as normal pack members when they have neither manifested their wolves nor have a mate. By the Goddess, you're charged with death by the sword."
The crowd erupted with joy.
The man, Eamon Greystone, waited for the crowd to rejoice. He had that satisfied glow on his face that comes from doing the right thing.
Then he raised his hand and echoed, "For peace, prosperity, and clean scents to our land…" The crowd reechoed his words.
While the chants were still going on, the armored butcher approached the first woman in line. She was young, barely twenty, and her sobs turned to screams as he raised his sword.
"No, please! One more chance! My wolf might still…"
The sword flashed, cutting across her chest. Blood sprayed, and she sagged against the pole, lifeless.
"What the fuck!" I jerk against my restraints, biting my tongue to keep from screaming.
This isn't real. This can't be real. This had to be some hallucination, as my brain shut down after the fall. But the metallic smell of blood was too vivid, and the sun was too hot on my skin.
The armored man moved to the second woman, carving through her with his sword like she was nothing. Then continued methodically down the line. With each killing, the crowd cheered louder. Four women lay limp against their poles, with blood pools gathering underneath them.
Five. Six. He's coming closer.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I pulled frantically at my restraints, feeling the rope dig into my wrists until they bled. The rough rope was bruising my skin, but I kept twisting, hoping the tightness would loosen.
Nine women dead. Three more before me.
I glanced desperately around the arena, looking for anything that might help. The crowd was a sea of faces showing only bloodlust and contempt. They hated us. That was clear enough.
The sword slashed again, spraying blood everywhere. Two more before me.
If this is real, I'm not ready to die again. Not like this.
The restraints weren't budging. Think, Imani. Think.
The woman directly beside me began screaming, begging. "I felt my wolf! Yesterday! I swear it!" The sword cut her short before she could finish. Blood spattered across my face; it was warm and sticky.
The butcher stood before me now, his helmet revealing only cold eyes that seemed to be assessing me.
Were we supposed to have wolves as pets or something? If I claimed that I saw my pet – my wolf pet before I was tied up, would he let me go? How did I not take care of myself during my heat? What does that even mean?
Unlike the others, the butcher seemed to bid his time, maybe because after me, there were only two women left.
"If you let me go, I will fuck you so much that your legs will quake!" I whispered to him, giving him my legendary cat-eyes wink. It always worked like a charm.
Instead of growing a boner and falling before me with want, he cracked his helmet a notch higher, and the next thing, he spits on my face.
"Die, pheromonal bitch!" he hissed.