The Alpha's Shadow

Chapter 11: The Alpha's Might

Luna slipped through the raucous solstice crowds, senses heightened for danger. She kept her head low beneath the concealing hood drawn tight despite the celebratory chaos making her anonymity easy. The streets were full of costumed revelers already deep in their cups though the ceremonies had just begun. Perfect camouflage, but it still set Luna's nerves on edge. Anything could lurk behind those masks, friend or foe. She was grateful for the weight of weapons hidden within her cloak and Fenris prowling the rooftops not far distant. Whatever threats awaited at Mara's whispered gathering place tonight, they would face them without fear. Too much depended now on lancing this festering corruption before it claimed any more victims.

At last Luna reached the warehouse stripped bare and abandoned, lurking back from the main thoroughfares. Still, she slipped around to a side door, wary of being spotted. Picking the rusted lock swiftly, she eased inside, one hand on the dagger concealed at her hip. Cavernous shadows swallowed her slender form readily. Luna wove through them toward dim sounds drifting from a deep cellar Masha indicated held the covert gatherings.

Her soft soled shoes made no sound descending into older and older strata until Luna stood before a nondescript wooden door. She focused all her senses, picking out muted voices and raucous laughter beyond the worn green paint. Whatever awaited inside, she prayed it finally exposed the answers needed to excise Avaloria's festering wounds before they turned septic and poisoned the city's future. Steeling herself, Luna grasped the icy handle and slipped inside.

Heat and noise instantly assaulted her. The low, rough-hewn chamber was full of shadowy figures packed around a crude fighting pit sunken in the dirt floor. Copper and musk choked the air as spectators slammed tankards and roared for blood. Luna eased subtly along the perimeter, head still lowered beneath her hood. She scanned the fighters unleashing savage violence against each other and the enraptured crowd, searching for any familiar faces or clues to their shared purpose in this vileness. But nothing obvious caught her eye yet.

Suddenly the bout ended with one wounded combatant submitting limply to his opponent's boot at his throat. Boos and curses rang out as the crowd expressed their dissatisfaction at the lack of a killing blow. As the referee dragged the senseless loser's body from the pit, Luna realized with dawning disgust that he was shackled at the ankles like a prisoner or slave. Who were theseMSE spectres reveling in the cages fights, and who was their hidden master to command such terrible obedience?

Some instinct drew Luna's gaze across the jeering spectators to one shadowed alcove. The hooded figure standing there seemed out of place somehow, neither participating in the depraved revels nor attempting to conceal their presence. Luna froze as awareness crept up her spine. The watcher stared directly back at her, stillness radiating power and control. A predator having scented prey wandering heedlessly into its trap. Luna's pulse spiked, but she embraced the cold clarity of fear. She would no longer cower from the bitter truths haunting Avaloria's darkness.

With slow, deliberate movements, Luna reached up and drew back her concealing hood, never breaking the silent confrontation. Around them the crowd remained oblivious, caught up in the vicious delights of the next brutal match. The shadowy watcher inclined their head slightly at her bold challenge, then turned and disappeared through a doorway behind the pit. Luna didn't hesitate before slipping through the throng in pursuit. The time had come to unmask this lurking evil with her own eyes, no matter where that reckoning led.

The dim passage brought Luna to another heavy door that stood slightly ajar. Foreboding prickled her neck, but she drew one of the hidden daggers and nudged it open. Within stood what looked like an office lined with bookshelves and filing cabinets. At its center, the robed figure faced away, utterly composed. Luna advanced several taut paces before stilling. Her blade remained half-raised in trembling hands. Why did she suddenly feel like a lamb wandering straight into the butcher's embrace?