I left right after the deal with Gamma Endo.
Harvey stood up to follow, but I told him to stay and finish the meeting and go back with his dad.
I needed sleep. The hand that caught my dad's punch was hurting something bad. I hated that my body could not match up to my Wolfie's power.
My small, puny hands.
I wished I was a guy; then Gamma Endo wouldn't be messing with me. Then no one would be calling my betas my boyfriends.
I needed to sleep now, though. I changed directly into tomorrow's fight gear: a black sports bra, gray sweatpants, and an old black t-shirt. Old clothes, but if I had to shift during the fight, I wouldn't be too sorry to have torn them.
I needed to sleep now. If I wanted to max out my chances of winning. I might be alpha, but I had a puny, girly body. I was also young and inexperienced. Gamma Endo had probably fought more rogues than I had eaten burgers (and I have eaten many, many burgers).
I needed to sleep now.
I needed to sleep now.
And then I was sleeping.
I opened my eyes and knew immediately I was dreaming again.
This time, I was in a dark, empty room. I got up and found myself on a sofa—an extremely soft and plush leather sofa.
On one side of the room was the night sky, the stars scattered across it. It was not snowing anymore. And the moon, as in all my dreams, was full and round. Another prophetic dream? I'm not sure they were really just dreams anymore. I looked around: where was I? And where was Rebel?
On the other side was another row of windows, but it was brightly lit outside.
I walked over and looked out.
There was a stadium, full of spectators—vampires, humans, even some Lycan.
And in the middle of the stadium, a large cage.
The cage was very large and in the shape of a sphere.
There were two elevated paths leading to it.
I couldn't hear anything happening, only watch the crowd go wild—but silently, as if someone had pressed the mute button on the TV.
Then the lights darkened, and strobe lights flashed across the arena. The entrance at both ends of the elevated path opened, and two men stepped out, one on each path.
The spotlight dropped on them as they walked toward the cage. They were topless, with tight leather pants and boots. A large screen showed a close-up of both men on split-screen, and I recognized one of them immediately.
Apparently, the crowd favored my mate. He swaggered down the path.
In the middle of it, he did a backward flip followed by flipping his finger at the audience—of course, it had to be the rudest finger possible.
And while his opponent walked right in the middle of the path, away from the audience's grabbing hands, Rebel made it a point to stomp on any outreached hands, hard.
But the more he stomped on those hands, the more the audience nearest the pathway tried to reach out to grab him.
He was truly riled by the time he reached the cage and ready for the kill. This did not escape his opponent's notice. You could see the trepidation on the poor guy's face on the big screen.
I was watching Rebel's cage fight live, from my dream, in an unused VIP lounge.
Then the fight began.
It was obvious that Rebel would win from the onset. Perhaps the fight had begun even before they reached the cage.
It was a violent fight.
To be honest, I covered my eyes through most of the second part of it.
I felt quite sure Rebel could have won within the first five minutes, but he had dragged out the kill for a full fifteen minutes before his opponent lay lifeless in a pool of blood.
There was blood everywhere. So much, it didn't even look real. The crowds were enjoying it wildly.
But the cage didn't open, and Rebel continued to pace inside. He kicked at the cage walls and snarled at anyone who came near. The more he snarled at them and tried to get at them through the cage, the more excited the crowds got.
At one point, he ran at full speed up the side of the spherical fight cage and dropped back down in a somersault.
He was such a show-off.
The crowds were screaming so loud by then, I could hear it muffled through the thick glass of the lounge.
Then the big screen broke into a split screen. Rebel was still snarling and growling on one side. On the other were numbers—and what I realized were bids. The bidding amount kept increasing.
It wasn't in a currency I recognized, though, but the number of digits doubled before the bid ended.
The camera traveled over Rebel's body, and I noticed he had black marks—were they tattoos? One on his lower back, one above his pec, both were palm-sized, disc-shaped with patterns drawn in them. I felt quite sure he didn't have them before.
The cage door opened, allowing Rebel to walk back to the entrance he first appeared at. I could see the silhouette of men waiting for him behind the strobe lights and smoke. The way they stood reminded me of the two vampire guards Harvey and I killed last night.
Rebel kicked the open cage door, rattling the entire cage. The crowd continued to eat up his antics. The camera swept through the audience, showing fans in t-shirts with a circle and the letter "R" on it.
Rebel stalked back across the catwalk path. Well, it did look like a catwalk.
This time, he kept to the center of the pathway, just out of reach of those hands.
The backstage door closed behind him, and the entire arena dimmed before another pair of fighters were announced.
Altogether, I watched eight fights. They all took place like the first: introducing the fighters, making them catwalk to the cage, then the actual fight, followed by whatever the winner wanted to do in the cage and the bidding.
I could see why many male wolves liked watching these fights. There were a lot of techniques; these fighters were trained not just to kill, but to kill in the most dramatic and violent way possible.
Of course, because the general Lycan society did not condone fight cages—since it was considered cruel and violent—most of these guys watched or followed the matches secretly. Almost like porn.
I could also see how Rebel could be really popular. His had been the most exciting fight of the eight. And most of the excitement happened before and after the fight.
Rebel really worked up the audience. It was like they had purposely put his fight first to break the ice.
Out of the blue, I remembered Bra saying that their posters were hot. And then I remembered the sad jar of dog food I kept by my nightstand as a souvenir.
I was going to go find myself a better souvenir. Maybe a poster of Rebel. Hahahaha.
I looked around the room for an exit, and then noticed the selection of magazines laid out on the coffee table. Fight dog magazines! There were at least three different publication titles.
I picked up an issue of TOP DOG because there was a familiar face on it—Keys.
Actually, Keys was on the cover of three of the magazines. On one of them, I think he was possibly naked, but I didn't examine it. Keys's body was also marked with the black disc tattoos—I didn't think to count them, but they were pasted all over him. He reminded me of a luggage bag with too many stickers.
There was only one magazine with Rebel on the cover. It was a different magazine; it looked almost like the NEW LORENT. The cover was thicker, and the spine was rose gold. It was called CAGE CROWN. Maybe it was the high-class version of TOP DOG; its contents certainly read like an issue of TOP DOG.
The caption on the cover asked, "Is Rebel the New Keys?" and promised an in-depth comparison of the two fight dogs, as well as a bonus sexy Rebel centerfold and a lowdown on who the editors think would be the next number-one fight dog.
I decided that this was the magazine I was going to take home. I rolled it up and stuck it in the waistband of my sweatpants. I was waking up with this!
I opened the fridge door. Urgh, just packet blood.
And then I woke up. I guess my little excursion was over. I didn't even talk to Rebel. Was there even a point to these field trips? Something poked me under the blanket. I pulled it out—CAGE CROWN.
Yes! Never mind, goddess. I quickly got out of bed; I needed to hide this somewhere. OMG, was this how it feels to own porn?
My alarm rang, making me jump out of my skin. I turned off the alarm and slid the magazine into my nightstand drawer with the dog food. I probably need a box to keep all the Rebel fangirl stuff.
Why was I awake at 3:30 a.m. again?
Oh yeah, I had a fight in half an hour.