ETY | MW [✔]

19.

The smell of the oil was familiar as was the feel of it gliding across his skin. Though he was sure their beta attendants had never been so careful with him. He remembered harsh hands scrubbing at him, always grumpy, always in a hurry. Forcing himself to keep his eyes closed, he tried to relax and let the memories come. Another scent found him, smoky. His nose twitched at the familiar smell. It was the cigars the spectators would smoke sometimes. Usually the rich ones in the good seats, the ones they were really putting the show on for. The ones with real money, big stakes, in the game. A third scent hit him and almost sent him reeling. Blood, he could smell blood.

"Won?" His voice was tight, fearful. Was his mate hurt?

"Shh," his mate soothed. "Everything's fine. It was a pinprick, nothing more. Just focus on what you can scent and what you can feel."

Wonwoo's hand continued to glide across the oil he'd rubbed into Mingyu's skin, and Mingyu forced himself to calm down and return to cataloging the scents. Oil, smoke, and blood. It was that third one that caught him, wrapped itself around him, and drew him down deep. He was still conscious of Wonwoo's hand on him but it felt like the omega was growing more distant with each passing moment.

When he opened his eyes, he was in the ring they trained in. The head of their fighting club stood in front of him. Up on the balcony around him were the other fighters, watching, waiting. The air was heavy with anticipation and not in a good way. This was training but not the sort they did every day. They were about to learn a lesson of another kind.

A man was dragged in through the door on the opposite side of the ring. Mingyu jolted with recognition and took a step forward.

"Zuho?"

The trainer held up a hand, and he stilled, watching as he turned in a slow circle making eye contact with every fighter on the balcony.

"You all know the rules. You run. You fight. To the death. Zuho ran. Today is the day he fights." The trainer's gaze returned to Mingyu. "Today is the day he dies."

Mingyu had known Zuho since they were kids, taken from their families and given to the care of the trainers. They'd trained together, grown up together, fought side by side. They always had each other's backs.

"No." He wasn't even sure he'd spoken the word aloud, but the trainer rounded on him.

"You'd rather we took him out back and put him down? At least this way, he gets to go out fighting. He has a chance."

There was a smirk on his face as he said it. Mingyu and Zuho had never fought head to head for a reason. Zuho was a leopard shifter, strong, fast, and wiry, but no match for Mingyu's bear.

He shook his head once, and the trainer got all up in his face, his words menacing.

"You fight or we'll have to make a bigger example for the rest. We'll kill him and all the fighters he shared a room with the night he ran."

Word on the grapevine was that they hadn't sounded the alarm, had said nothing until the trainer came to get them up the next morning.

The trainer stepped back, disgusted.

"Take them," he said, with a jerk of his head.

Guards advanced on the gathered fighters above, shock sticks in their hands.

Mingyu looked to Zuho, their eyes meeting across the arena. Zuho looked shell-shocked as if the light was too bright, and he couldn't quite figure out how he'd gotten there. They'd drugged him. Had he any idea what was going on? Did it matter? Mingyu knew Zuho wouldn't want the others to share his fate. Like Mingyu, he'd take the consequences of his own actions, alone.