Betrayed by an alpha claimed by a lycan king

Chapter 113

SAGE

I hadn't slept at all last night. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind spiraled into worst-case scenarios. I couldn't stop worrying about Holt-about what would happen when the sun nally rose and the duel began.

The sky was still cloaked in darkness, but the entire pack seemed to be alive with tension. Everyone was restless, their anticipation thick in the air as they waited for the fight to begin. It felt like the world itself was holding its breath.

As I made my way to the main hall, my stomach churned with uncase. My steps felt heavy, like each one carried the weight of what was to come. I turned a corner and almost bumped straight into Elara.

"Sage," she said, concern etched into her face. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay," I replied automatically, forcing a smile. But the truth was far from that, and I could tell she saw through me.

Elara studied me for a moment, her expression softening. "I don't know how you're doing this," she said quietly. "I don't know what I'd do if I were in your shoes. Two men you care about, fighting to the death..." Her words trailed off, and her eyes were full of sympathy. I let out a long, shaky sigh, my shoulders slumping. "They're both so stubborn," I muttered. "Neither one of them will back

down."

Elara placed a comforting hand on my arm. "There's nothing you can do now, Sage," she said gently. "This is out of your hands. All we can do is hope-and pray-that it doesn't end the way we fear."

Her words settled heavily on me, but I nodded. She was right, as much as I hated to admit it. I couldn't control what was about to happen.

Still, the thought of standing by, helpless, while they fought... It tore me apart.

Elara gave my arm a reassuring squeeze. "Come on," she said softly. "Let's hope for the best."

What am I expecting from this? One of them has to die, and no matter who it is, there's no good that will come out of it. The thought tightened my chest, but I forced my feet to move forward.

We walked together to the main arena, where the fight was set to take place. The closer we got, the louder the murmurs of the gathered crowd became. The tension was palpable, buzzing in the air like an unseen storm.

The arena was a large, circular space, surrounded by tiered seating that rose like a coliseum. The seats were already filled with pack members, their eyes fixed on the open ring in the center. Some looked excited, eager for the spectacle, while others had expressions of unease, as if they too felt the weight of what was about to happen.

In the middle of the arena was a dirt-covered ground, simple yet brutal in its purpose. No fancy decorations, no illusions- just a space meant for one thing: combat. Torches lined the perimeter, their flames casting flickering shadows that made the place feel even more ominous.

I spotted Titus and Holt in opposite corners of the ring, each preparing in silence. Titus stood tall, his face a mask of determination, his posture radiating strength and control. His sword hung by his side, glinting in the low light.

Holt, on the other hand, was pacing slightly, his hands clenched into fists as if he were trying to focus his energy. He looked calm, but I knew him well enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw. They didn't look at each other. Neither of them even glanced toward the crowd. They were both lost in their own thoughts, preparing themselves for what was to come.

The sight of them on opposite sides of the arena, knowing what was about to happen, sent a pang through my chest. This

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Chapter 113

it. There was no turning

me as I took a seat near the edge of the ring. "It's

throat felt tight. My hands gripped the edge of the wooden bench beneath me as I kept my gaze locked on Titus and Holt. I couldn't bring

the arena, silencing the murmurs of the crowd. The Alpha of the Silver River Pack stepped forward, standing just outside the ring. His

$5

enter this ring. Only one will leave victorious. May the Moon Gods honor the winner and grant peace to the

cheers, their voices filling the air, but I barely heard them. My heart pounded as Titus and Holt finally stepped into the center of the

was about to

the atmosphere shifted. The murmurs of the crowd fell into a tense hush, replaced by an eerie stillness that settled over the coliseum-like arena. The only sound was the steady crackle of the torches, their flames

the flicker of the torches. His movements were deliberate and precise, as though every action was part of a carefully choreographed dance. His gaze never

less rigid. He rolled his shoulders back, his stance loose yet poised. He didn't draw a weapon, instead opting to rely on his agility and strength. His eyes, usually warm and approachable, were now cold and calculating as they locked with

silence. "The terms of this duel are clear," he declared, his voice carrying through the arena. "This fight will

words settled in. My hands trembled slightly, and

gaze flickering toward the stands. For a brief second, his eyes met mine. He smiled at me as if he's assuring me that he's fine. Before I could

I turned to Titus, his eyes were locked onto

dropped, and with

with deadly precision. Holt sidestepped, moving quickly to dodge the strike, his reflexes sharp and calculated. The blade missed him by inches, but he didn't falter. Instead, he used the momentum to get behind Titus, landing a solid blow to his side with

in cheers and gasps, their voices filling the arena. My heart raced, each thud echoing

his sword in a wide arc. Holt ducked, narrowly avoiding the blade, but this time Titus

air leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp. But even

their movements deliberate, their eyes locked. This wasn't

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Chapter 113

of who would break

reverberated through my chest. I wanted to

39%

in pain as Titus's blade grazed his arm, leaving a shallow cut. Blood seeped from the wound, staining his sleeve, but he

in a brutal punch that sent

excitement feeding

blood, the pain, the sheer determination in both their

no matter who won, this fight would leave scars far deeper than any

proof of how brutal their fight had been. Both of them were wounded, their breathing ragged, but Titus still stood tall, his sword raised high, ready to strike the

on the ground, his chest heaving as he looked up at Titus. There wasn't a