After the war, London is in chaos.
Packs are battling it out for dominance in the streets, lycans are killing each other in illegal fight dens. The Royals are being murdered.
All Juliet wants to do is forget - forget Sebastien, forget the wa...
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A moment before the whistle sounded, the world around me dissipated and the roar of the crowd faded to a dull murmur in my ears. I was hyperaware of my heartbeat racing, the flood of adrenaline in my system, and Sebastien's words reverberating around inside my head:
Eliminate the chance.
The 'chance' was a broad-chested man with a bald head and yellow teeth. He grinned menacingly at me, his amber eyes glowing under the lanterns, and rubbed his hands together in a gesture designed to intimidate. I stared back, motionless.
When the whistle rang out, he surged forward.
Suddenly, the world came rushing back. I whirled out of the way, sweeping my leg out as he barrelled forward and stumbled. A low growl rumbled up from his chest and he swung around to face me, but I was already there, my fist hurtling toward his face.
There was a sickening crunch and pain jolted through my knuckles. The scent of fresh blood rose in the air but it was like he barely felt the impact; he kept coming at me, gnashing his teeth. I tried to spin out of his way but he caught my hair, twisting it tightly around his fist and pulling me backwards. My scalp burned from the stress and I felt a spasm of panic squeeze my chest.
This wasn't technique — it was just brutal. I wasn't used to fighting like this.
Think, Juliet, think!
He grabbed the back of my neck with his other hand, aiming my skull at the train platform as he surged forward. The second we were close enough, I walked my feet quickly up the side of the platform and threw myself into the air, upside down. Pain scorched my scalp and I felt my eyes water from the sensation, but I forced myself to keep them open. The momentum of my jump allowed him to throw me around by my hair and before I fully crested my swing, he was flinging me across the tracks.
There was a rush of cold air before my back hit the opposite platform and pain ricocheted down my spine.
Fuck!
I grimaced through the torturous sensation, scrambling to my feet as he came barrelling toward me once more. I didn't have time to move out of his way; I braced myself as he reached for me, hands grabbing for my neck, and then I was reaching down, shoving my hand into the waistband of his jeans.
I sunk my nails deep into his balls and squeezed as tightly as I could. The scream that erupted from his mouth as unlike any sound I had ever heard. His fingers loosened on my throat, the whites of his eyes showing as he struggled to breathe through the agony. He grabbed for my arms but I refused to let go, squeezing and squeezing until I felt his flesh give way in my palm.
I tugged hard, digging my nails right in until I was ripping his balls from his body. Hot blood spilled over my hand.
He fell to his knees, eyes bulging as he screamed. I felt a flicker of guilt flare in my chest but I pushed past it, flinging the mess of flesh onto the ground and grabbing him by the back of the head. I dragged him toward the side of the tracks, stumbling little under his weight. He tried to fight me off; he attempted to push himself up with his toes, his nails scratching down my arms as he tried to loosen my grip. I cried out as he dug into a vein in my wrist, pain shooting up through my elbow. Then he was tugging my arm down, his teeth bared as he prepared to sink them through the sleeve of my jacket.
