Chapter 1

The air in the Slaughterhouse tasted like iron and old cigar smoke. It was 3:00 AM, and the basement of the meatpacking plant was vibrating with the low-frequency thrum of industrial bass and the nervous heartbeats of a hundred wolves.

Ren stood behind Silas’s chair, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture rigid. He was the furniture. He was the shadow. He was the Beta who cleaned up the mess.

"Hit me," Silas grinned, tapping the felt.

Silas looked like an angel who had fallen into a vat of whiskey. His golden hair was tousled, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal the clavicle that Ren had spent too many nights dreaming about touching. His eyes, bright with the manic gloss of addiction, were fixed on the dealer.

Across the table sat Brick. He was a Rogue Enforcer, a mountain of scarred muscle and bad intentions who smelled of wet dog and dried blood. He didn't smile. He just watched Silas with the patience of a butcher waiting for the cow to stop thrashing.

"Sir," Ren whispered, leaning down. "We're down forty grand. The sun comes up in three hours. Your father expects you at the territory line."

Silas waved a hand dismissively, not looking back. "Relax, Ren. I can feel it. The luck is turning. I just need one more hand to win it all back."

Ren’s stomach twisted. He scanned the room. Two exits. Both blocked by Brick’s crew. They weren't leaving until the debt was paid.

"Raise," Silas announced. He shoved his remaining stack of chips into the center. It wasn't enough to match Brick’s bet.

Brick raised a thick eyebrow. "You’re short, little prince."

Silas laughed, a breathless, jagged sound. "I’m good for it. You know who my father is."

"I don't care about your daddy," Brick rumbled. "Cash or collateral."

Silas hesitated. His eyes darted around the room, manic and desperate. He looked at the pot—enough money to clear his debts for a month. The greed hooked him, dragging him under.

"I bet the Spark," Silas said.

The room went silent. The music seemed to stop. Even the strippers in the cages froze.

Ren grabbed Silas’s shoulder. "No. Silas, no. You can't bet the Alpha power. It’s not yours to give—it belongs to the pack."

Silas shook him off. "I’m not going to lose, Ren! Trust me." He looked at Brick. "The Alpha Spark. My birthright. Against the pot."

Brick smiled. It was a terrifying sight, a wall of yellow teeth. "Accepted."

The dealer flipped the river card.

Silas slammed his hand down. "Full house. Kings over tens."

He reached for the chips, his face glowing with triumph.

"Sit down," Brick growled.

The Enforcer turned over his cards. Four fours.

Silas froze. His hand hovered over the pile of chips, his fingers trembling. The color drained from his face, leaving him pale and sickly.

"No," Silas whispered. "That’s... you cheated."

Brick stood up. The table creaked under his weight. "A bet is a bet. Come here, boy. I’m going to rip that magic right out of your throat."

Brick’s claws extended, black and hooked. He lunged across the table.

Silas scrambled back, tripping over his chair. He looked at Ren, his eyes wide with terrified pleading. *Fix it. Fix it like you always do.*

Ren didn't think. He didn't calculate the odds. He just stepped in front of the boy he loved.

"Second’s Law!" Ren shouted, his voice cracking but loud enough to echo off the concrete walls.

Brick stopped, his claws inches from Ren’s face. He looked down at the scrawny Beta.

"Second’s Law," Ren repeated, his breath coming in short gasps. "The subordinate pays the debt. Blood for gold."

Brick laughed. "You? You’re half a meal, kid. You want to fight me for him?"

Ren pulled a silver-tipped butterfly knife from his pocket. He flicked it open. "To the death. If I win, the debt is cleared."

Brick looked at Silas, who was cowering on the floor. Then he looked at Ren.

"Fine," Brick spat. "To the Kill Floor."

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