I look out over the crowd as I normally do to gauge their reaction. This time, though, a pair of cerulean blue eyes stand out to me. For a heartbeat, I find myself meeting the gaze of a tall man with his hair tied at the base of his neck. He’s all the way at the other end of the arena, but even with the distance between us, I can sense that there is something incredibly dangerous about him. My wolf prowls within the cage of my mind, anxious, intrigued.

For a few seconds, I forget how to breathe.

He’s staring straight at me. It feels like he’s not watching the fight; he’s watching me.

Why is my heart beating so fast?

Why can’t I tear my gaze away from him?

I don’t detect the movement on my right till it’s too late. Mountain Man’s punch hits me in the stomach, making me groan as I stumble back. I can see him gearing up for a second punch, but I don’t give him time. I’ve been fighting in these cages for five years now; I may have gotten distracted, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let this bully of a man land another blow.

Ten seconds left. One of us must go down.

I move quickly, darting aside and sweeping my leg with such force that my opponent falls flat on his face. As he tries to get up, I jump on his back and slam my foot on the back of his head, pinning it against the concrete. Years of practice have taught me just how much pressure I can apply to make sure he’s knocked out and not dead.

He goes limp.

A hush falls over the crowd at this sudden turn of events. Mathew, a round man with a long mustache that can only be described as villainous, enters the cage, grabs my hand, and holds it up in the air. “The Wily Vixen has done it again!”

The underground arena bursts into loud cheers while those who bet against me make frustrated sounds. Mathew meets my gaze, greed and pride glittering in his expression. I look away from him to the spot where the man with the blue eyes was standing. He’s gone.

I don’t know why I feel so disappointed. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline pumping through my blood. Of course that man was staring at me. I was in the middle of a fight. Where else was he supposed to look? The ceiling?

Shaking my head at my temporary lack of functioning brain cells, I say to Mathew, my voice low, “No second round then?”

He’s smiling, but his voice is hard. “I told you not to knock him out. We could have gone three more rounds.”

“He would have bitten me, and I would’ve gotten exposed,” I mutter. “You know shifters aren’t allowed to take part in these things.”

He does not reply to that, and as I exit the cage, he begins introducing the next two fighters. The cage has multiple exits: one for each opponent, and one that leads into the back of the massive basement. There are two corridors, both of which are restricted to everyone but employees. The only other way into the back is through the door that opens directly from the audience area; the only ones with the key to it are Mathew and me.

I make my way to my dressing room and lock the door behind me. Leaning against it, I rip off the red fox mask.

I bought it five years ago right before I first took part in a cage fight. I needed to make some money, and cage fighting sounded like an easy way to do that. The fox mask was the first one I saw in the costume shop, and I grabbed it. I never thought it would end up becoming my identity for five whole years.

Tossing the mask on the dressing table, I walk over to the small, attached bathroom and wash up. My face is flushed red from the heat under that stifling mask. The cold water feels good on my skin. I crank up the air conditioning and strip off my tank top to take a survey of my injuries. It’s not that I’m immune to pain or wounds; it’s just that I can take kicks and punches and not go down as a result of them.

Mountain Man has certainly done a number on my ribs. My skin is all black and blue, and I wince as I gently poke the area.

“This is going to take a day or two at the very least,” I mutter.

I put on a loose-fitting, white shirt and a pair of black jeans before sitting on the small stool in front of the dressing table and starting the long process of undoing my hair. The intricate braids along my scalp are always concealed under my mask. My ash-colored hair is long and sleek, which makes it easy to braid. But it is also a key identifying feature of mine. And in a place as small as Oakrest Town, I would surely be recognized, considering I work at the local bar.

I did think of cutting it once, a couple of years ago, but for some reason, I simply couldn’t go through with it. After combing my fingers through my hair, I run my brush through the tresses before wrapping it all up in a tight bun on the top of my head.

There is a knock on my door, and my head swivels toward it in alarm. I calm down when I realize it’s Mathew on the other side. I hurry over and unlock it. He enters the room and closes the door behind him.

“Here.”

He hands me a fat envelope. I make one grand per fight. It might seem like a lot of money, considering I usually take part in two or three fights every week. But the money isn’t even a drop in the ocean compared to the amount I actually need.

“Sorry about that.” Mathew tucks his hands in his pockets and looks at me. “I forgot that Mountain Man likes to bite his opponents. Anyway, I set a match for you for Wednesday. Same time. I’m going to make sure the back entrance is clear so you can leave from there.”

“Thanks.” I tuck the envelope into the small backpack on the couch.

“Is it just me or did you lose concentration for a minute there during the match?” Mathew’s brown eyes are pinned on mine.

“I did,” I admit, ashamed. “I don’t know what happened. But that was all the time Mountain Man needed to sucker punch me. I’ll be more careful next time.”

The older man sighs. “You should be, Sophia. Even if you are a wolf shifter, it doesn’t mean you can’t get badly hurt.”

I feel flustered. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Mathew has looked out for me for years. With his graying hair, kind brown eyes, and rounded belly, he has a grandfatherly look to him. Nobody would ever think that he’s running a successful cage fighting ring right under his boxing gym, or that he’s been fixing matches for years with my help. What he’s doing is wrong and illegal, but I learned very early on that life isn’t fair or kind to the innocent. Those who hold power thrive. Those who hold power also abuse it.

My beliefs are set. I haven’t taken up a life of crime by any means, but I know that sitting on my hands and simply existing in this town—as I was ordered to nine years ago—will never help me escape the hell that is the wolf pack I was born into. To get my freedom, I’m willing to do anything. That’s why it was so easy to accept Mathew’s offer to make money cage fighting.

Mathew turns around to leave, but before he does, he looks over his shoulder at me and says, “I got some takeout for you. Steak and meatballs. I know your opponent did a number on you, even if you don’t want to admit it. You need to heal; the meat will help.”

The idea of food, especially meat, has me cheering up. “Thanks, Mathew.”

He just smiles at me before disappearing into the hallway. I lock the door again and return to gathering up my things.

My bag packed, I put on a long hoodie and sit down at the dressing table, playing with the mask in my hand and feeling tired. Glancing up, I study my reflection, my eyes taking in the bruise blooming on my cheek. I don’t know who I inherited these features from. I don’t know if it was my father or my mother who had these piercing gray eyes, or whether my parents also had hair the color of ash. I know nothing about myself.