In the Alpha’s Arms

From Bad to Worse

Chris lell her down here to fight like a dog. And she was going to kill him for it, Lita could feel her blood boiling, could feel that rage keeping her warm in the freezing water while sheets of rain splashed her from the sky. Men kept trying to make a victim out of her.

Was it because she hadn’t been ready when he reached his hand up? Had it been his goal from the start?

She was starting to get a sense for men like that. Men that wanted to hurt women. Men that maybe had a broken part of themselves that needed to hurt women. Men like that were cowards. Weak bastards. And she was sure once she actually challenged that strong façade, there was nothing underneath. The bravado was false.

It was why he tried to make her uncomfortable with sexual innuendos. Why he’d tried to degrade her by popping in on her in the shower. Why he’d been so mad when it hadn’t worked. And when she’d been too distracted to pull him out? He’d forced her in. Where he hoped the other fighters would do his dirty work for him, take your death look like an accident.

And she was determined to tell that spineless man to fuck right off right before she ripped out his throat.

arms, ignoring all the pain in her head and the bleeding on her temple. She was done with men that wanted to be gods, Werewolves or not, there was something disgusting about wanting to ruin a group through fear. As

looking for the man who

was sure this happened regularly. Hell, not ten minutes after she’d been pulled in, that woman had died, No one shouted or screamed as she’d been dragged down and the fighting hadn’t stopped. No one gave a shit. If it wasn’t common practice, it was at the very least, unsurprising. No,

as well Maybe suppressed like her? With no wolf, they were

the foreign exotic–looking ones, like Lita herself, and the ones that looked like Maxim. The exotic ones seemed to be the lowest tier on the totem pole. Acting as slaves who held towels and provided aid or food. They didn’t speak and they didn’t help pull the men out. Those women were clearly human and every bit worse for wear like she was. They were bruised and

that looked just like the men. The same genetic markers shared between them as if they could have all been Cole’s sister. Or mother. Those women were the strongest and dressed in those warmer clothes. But still subservient, still beneath the men. She supposed that was the hierarchy of this new world. Those were the mates. The sisters. The women who reared their children. And they were still no better than dogs to

master.

training for months with the toughest men she’d ever met. She knew what she was doing in the ring

that her anger was only helping keep her above freezing. She needed to get moving, get her blood pumping harder because she couldn’t feel her feet or her calves.