CHAPTER 319: RACE II

The track stretched wide and long, lined with obstacles—barrels, wooden hurdles, pits of sand, even narrow water trenches. I had heard from Rachel that there were mines too, and from the grim looks of some riders, I knew it wasn’t a rumor.

There were also whispers of nails hidden in the dirt that would spring up without warning, shredding hooves and spilling riders onto the cruel ground. Blood was expected here; death was a spectator’s entertainment. They called it a race, but everyone knew it was war disguised as sport.

Hail the three bloody Lycans. They really had learnt from their father, and had even become worse.

War chants rose from the stands, hundreds of voices thundering as one, shaking the air with anticipation, enlightening the contestants that we didn’t come here for a mere race.

The riders were lined up, mounts restless, nostrils flaring, their coats gleaming with sweat before the start had even come. The crowd’s energy was infectious, rolling through the field in waves.

They came for blood, and I believed they would get it.

They came for a show and I knew that wish would be granted.

"Racers, ready!"

The announcer’s voice split the air like a whip.

The gates snapped open.

The surge of horses was like thunder, a wave of muscle and fury crashing forward. My mare leapt ahead, her muscles coiling and releasing in perfect rhythm. Her mane slapped against my face, wild and free, and I leaned low over her neck, urging her faster. My fingers curled into her dark mane, my lips brushing the curve of her ear.

"Fly, girl," I whispered, my voice steady despite the chaos exploding around us. "Let’s show them."

It wasn’t magic. But it did the trick. Her ears flicked back at the sound of my voice, and she surged forward, eating up the track.

The first hurdles came fast—wooden beams stacked high enough to test strength and balance. We cleared them easily, her hooves lifting with precision, landing light and sure on the other side. Behind us, the sound of splintering wood cracked the air as two riders failed the leap, crashing into the hurdles.

Their horses screamed—a sound that sliced deeper into me than the riders’ own shouts of pain. The poor creatures had no say in this madness.

The crowd roared louder, thrilled by the carnage. Dust kicked up in a thick haze, stinging my eyes and burning my throat, but I didn’t slow. My mare carried me like she had wings, her strides smooth, her power relentless.

Then came the barrels. The riders swerved in, trying to cut each other off, shoulders slamming, elbows digging, whips cracking in the air. The stench of sweat and fear mingled, the noise deafening. One rider’s horse stumbled over a tipped barrel, and in the scramble to recover, another rider slammed into him. Both went down hard, bones snapping under hooves. Blood pooled fast. The crowd cheered louder still.

Halfway through, a rival pressed close, so close I could see the wild whites of his horse’s eyes. His whip cracked dangerously near my mare’s flank. She flinched, muscles tensing, but I steadied her with a hand on her mane, murmuring softly to her even as I turned a glare on the fool.

"Push her again and you’ll regret it," I hissed under my breath.

I pulled sharply, angling us tighter around the barrels, forcing him wide. We stole the lead by a margin so thin I could feel his breath at my shoulder.

"You won’t last!" he snarled, teeth bared in something halfway between rage and a smile.

"Watch me," I shot back, my grin sharp enough to cut.

Fortunately, he wasn’t looking where he was going, too focused on me. So I was the only one unsurprised when his horse hit the trigger buried in the dirt. A deafening boom ripped the ground apart. The man and beast vanished in a spray of blood and fire, their screams cut short.

I didn’t pity him. But my chest tightened somewhat at the thought of the horse, its loyalty betrayed by a rider too foolish to watch the path.

The crowd erupted, stamping their feet, drunk on the death they’d come to see. To them, every fallen rider was a sacrifice to the gods of entertainment. To me, it was just another reminder that this wasn’t a race—it was a slaughterhouse with sand and banners.

Another hurdle. Another trench. Horses flailed, some failing to leap, others crashing midair into their competitors. A man’s scream carried across the track before it was drowned out by the roar of the crowd. I gritted my teeth, refusing to look back. Survival here meant never looking back.

Then she came—my female counterpart. Her stallion surged forward, powerful and sleek, matching my mare’s stride for stride. She pulled even with me, her lips quirking into a half-smile.

"Don’t blink, stranger," she called over the roar of hooves.

And then she was off, urging her beast with a whip crack, barrel-chested stallion barreling ahead. My blood sang. Finally—a real contest.

I leaned low, whispering again into my mare’s ear. "She thinks she’s faster than you. Prove her wrong."

We thundered forward. The ground blurred beneath us, mines waiting like hidden teeth. I spotted one just in time, veering hard left. Another rider wasn’t so lucky—his horse’s leg was shredded, and both went tumbling in a mess of screams and broken flesh.

The crowd went madder.

The final stretch loomed ahead: the dreaded sand pit designed to swallow speed, to drain strength from horse and rider alike. My mare plunged into it, her legs straining as the ground sucked at her hooves.

Grit sprayed into my mouth, coarse and bitter, but I bent low, stroking her neck, murmuring encouragement.

"Come on, you’re stronger than this. Just a little further."

She responded with a snort and a burst of power, muscles rippling under me. Each stride was a battle, but she gave me everything, pulling us ahead inch by inch. I felt her heartbeat hammering against my legs, felt her lungs dragging for air. And still she fought.

The rival woman was ahead still, her stallion clawing through the sand. I pushed, whispering again, and my mare surged, finding speed where there should have been none. Sand sprayed high, stinging my skin as we drew even, then past.

Her eyes met mine in that moment, wide and blazing, fury and disbelief mingling. "No!" she shouted, whipping her horse harder.

But it was too late.

The finish line blurred into view. My mare stretched long, every ounce of her power flung forward. I rose slightly in the saddle, urging her, willing her to give me just one last burst.

She flew.

Together we crossed first.

The stands erupted in chaos. Some cheered wildly, voices breaking with awe and admiration. Others sat frozen, disbelief carved into their faces, unable to comprehend that I had done it again. That I had taken another victory from their favorites.

I swung off the mare as she skidded to a halt, her sides heaving, her body slick with sweat. My hand pressed to her damp neck, my forehead leaning briefly against hers. "Good girl," I whispered, my voice low, full of the respect she deserved. She nickered softly, as if pleased with herself.

Isla came running through the crowd, eyes wide with delight, her voice high and giddy. "You won again! Sage, you’re impossible!"

I smirked, wiping a smear of dirt and blood from my arm. "Impossible? No. Just inevitable."

Behind us, the other contestants dismounted with dark glares, faces taut with frustration, some muttering curses under their breaths. Not one offered congratulations. Not that I needed it. Respect wasn’t handed out freely here. It was taken. And tonight, I had taken plenty.

Jealous men snickered from the sidelines as I walked my mare back toward the tents, their voices low but not low enough.

"Look at her, thinks she’s one of us."

"She won’t last another season."

"Lucky breaks, that’s all."

Their laughter was sharp, ugly, the kind that wanted to chip away at the edges of my victory. I ignored them. Their words couldn’t weigh down what I’d already proven. Let them talk. I had bled for my place here. I would bleed again if I had to.

And then, in the middle of it all, I caught Timothy’s gaze.

He hadn’t joined in the laughter. He wasn’t glaring like the others. His eyes tracked me quietly, curiosity written plain across his face. His lips didn’t move, but there was something in the way he held himself—as if he were weighing me, trying to decide what sort of creature I was.

Attraction, maybe. Or maybe just fascination with the impossible. I didn’t linger on it, but I noticed. And from the way his eyes didn’t waver, I knew he wanted me to notice.

I brushed a hand down my mare’s neck, my voice low for her alone. "Ignore them, girl. We know who carried us."