8 | Sacrifice
❝A moment of pain is worth a lifetime of glory.❞

My heart is thumping inside my chest as if it's a volcano about to explode. I can feel the lava burning its way through my soul, creating a scorching hole where my heart should be. My stomach is blazing with the inferno of butterflies, and my lungs feel as though they're breathing in fire every time I dare to take a breath. Every movement hurts, and no matter how many times I tell myself it's ok, Alaska, it's ok, reality comes crashing down on me.

I nervously gulp, but even that feels painful as my throat refuses to swallow. I had never felt like this before, perhaps because this time I knew that this was the end. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. This was it.

I tremble as I stand waiting below the arena. Last night had shaken me much more than it should ever effect a teenager. Every time I blinked, an image of the king tumbling to the ground flashed before me, and it stung. Why I was reacting in such a way, I didn't know. Maybe it reminded me of my parents' deaths.

Since the king had died, the guards and the kingdom's army had been able to hold the rogues off long enough to get us to the arena. The rogue attack had slowly ebbed away, leaving few rebels, but it was still enough to threaten the city. Whatever the beasts were planning, they were holding off their attack for the time being, as if they were allowing us to choose a new ruler.

God, how have I even got this far? What did he have planned for me?

"Choose your weapon," a gritty voice demands. It took me a few seconds to realise that the sound had echoed from behind me, produced by a larger, more rounded guard who looked out of shape compared to the others.

I glance at the selection before me. Both Chase and I were staring at a weapons cupboard laid neatly with newer and shinier weapons. Some tiny part of my mind wondered whether they were specially laid out, cleaned, and sharpened for the task ahead of us.

My hands graze over the sword I had been given last night. I still had it because some part of me never wanted to let go. I had been given it as a gift, and although I despised the deceased King, I couldn't help but like him too. He had shown me respect, which was more than I deserved.

I pat the sword at my side and turn so sharply on my heel that I almost lose my balance. I quickly skitter my feet into a safer position, bringing my hands firmly by my side. My aim was to try and not make a fool out of myself, yet here I was undermining my goal.

"I'm sorted," I state, unsheathing the beautiful sword from its covering. It was clear to see that this sword had been crafted for royalty - and who knew, I might be the next Alpha Queen.

But the truth was that today I had to make a decision: Alpha Queen or death? Lead a kingdom and numerous packs, or chose the easy option out of this hell hole? It was my choice, and it was one that I could not make. Perhaps I would never have to make it.

Chase follows my lead and takes a sword from the rack, choosing the same weapon, perhaps to make the fight fairer. Or maybe it was just because it was his preferred weapon.

Chase curtly nods at our escort before the wide man nods himself. Despite his larger shape, he moved surprisingly quickly and I found it hard to keep up as we paraded through the deserted catacombs below the arena. With no competition left, the place was so quiet, you would be able to hear a pin drop from the other side of the corridor.

Our footsteps are the only noise as we continue to stalk the hallways like ghosts. One of us would soon be, anyway, left to haunt these forsaken walls and corridors for the rest of eternity, confined within the kingdom as if it was an impenetrable fortress.

Finally, we reach the dreaded entrance to the arena, the metal gate drawn up above us to allow us to pass. Sunlight hits my face almost immediately, and the arena is so quiet, I feel as though no one is watching.

Except they are. Most of the kingdom stare at me so closely that it feels like they are trying to pry apart my body, cell by cell. Many of them scowl: they didn't want a rogue to win. Others, like Josh and Azra simply nod to wish me luck.

I am weak. I have bad technique. This isn't going to end well.

The wind clumsily flings loose hair in my face, partly obscuring the view of my death bed. I had rushed to French plat it this morning, leaving a messy braid. But, for now, that was the least of my worries.

Chase and I stare at each other as the warrior wolf raises his arm, mouth opening to bellow the rules to the rest of the werewolves in the arena. I glance up to the box where the king had once sat in all his pride and glory, seeing it empty of life.

"Welcome, citizens of Arla, to the final of the Alpha Trials!" The guard introduces, but barely anyone claps. They all wear morbid faces as if they had been claimed by death as well. And that's when I saw it: a kingdom without a ruler was like killing the whole kingdom. With no one to follow, they were lost spirits, just as I had been when I arrived here, and rule would quickly be demolished. Law would be throw in the trash, and the city would destroy itself from the inside out.

The few that do cheer quickly grow silent as the armoured wolf continues. "Unlike the other rounds, this fight will have a different rule. Today, only one will emerge victorious," The guard states, causing the butterflies in my stomach to rapidly reproduce like a plague of locust. "Today, the fight will be to the death!"

Since when had that been a rule? Why had nobody told me? I knew that Chase would most likely kill me anyway, but there was still that flutter of hope left in my heart that he would let me live if he were to win. Now it looks like I only have one choice.

"Good luck," the male finishes and backs away, lowering his arm to signal the beginning of the match, but it's as if a nuclear bomb has been dropped. I can see everyone perched nervously on the edges of their seats, anticipation riding on top of all the spectators' shoulders.

Chase stands before me in a sleeveless top, revealing his bulky muscles. He was all an alpha was expected to be: strong, handsome, and daunting. Even when I looked into his eyes, I saw the true look of power. He was the king they deserved, but what won: the want for power or the need to survive?

"Are you ready?" Chase asks as he gives his sword a whirl in boredom. He was a strange opponent: one who was confident that he would win. The only problem was that I had seen him fight, and I knew his tactic. He would try to wear me down as if I was a battery, but I would try and do the same with him too.

I shrug my shoulders. I had to stay strong, even if every single part of my body was shaking. I remembered the last time we had fought, and his immense power had effortlessly crushed me. I would not let that happen again.

I grit my teeth, taking a long and slow breath, preparing myself for the battle ahead. I nod at the alpha before me, "as ready as I'll ever be."

Chase considers my answer and appears to be happy with it. His face even has a hint of a smirk on it. His handsome eyes glint menacingly at me as he flicks his wrist once more, creating a perfect arc with his metal blade.

We continue to stare at each other, the sand from the arena fluttering into my boots due to the light zephyr. The sky above us is grey and dull, just like the previous night had been when I was forced to stay in a room with guards outside my door for the duration. Their plodding alone had kept me up all night, and God only knows what my eye bags look like now.

After a few moments, Chase raises his eyebrow. He clearly expects me to attack first, but even I am not that stupid. It was one of the first rules of battle and had been plugged into my system since birth.

"Are we going to fight, or not?" I ask out of boredom.

Chase clenches his jaw when he realises that I want him to attack first. He bows his head slowly. "Yes."

His actions are a blur as he spins his blade towards me as his own body pivots in a circle, creating a distant whistling noise before his sword meets my own. I grit my teeth as the weapons clatter together, but we both quickly retreat.

This was unlike the battle with Titus. He had held his blade against mine, trying to overpower what little strength I had. Chase was different with his fighting tactic, so I would have to change mine too.

The young werewolf before me goes straight for my stomach, jabbing the sword towards my flesh. I arc my back into a curve to avoid the blade ripping through my skin, and quickly think to batter his sword away with my own.

Now it's my turn, and if I was going to win this, then I wanted the fight to be a quick one. I didn't have time to become exhausted and finally give up because I had no energy left within my cells. I was going to win this quickly, because otherwise the battle would become even harder than it already was.

I slash with my sword precisely, but each time Chase ducks or counteracts my attack with his own steady strike. After a few attempts to try and wound him, I realise that it's pointless to keep slashing with my mighty blade. He would keep avoiding the attempts, and soon I would tire, leaving the crown as his.

Males are faster, stronger and better in combat than females. Sexist biology.

With one final try, I clench my teeth and put all of the strength I can muster in my muscles behind one blow of my sword. I think about Dylan, my old friend who had been taken from this world before his time. He deserved so much better than to bleed out in the middle of the bleak, white snow-stained landscape.

My mind suddenly flashes, and it feels as though I am standing on the same cursed ground I had been perched on the night my parents were slaughtered. I see my mother's face, but it's blurry. All I can make out are her brown eyes: exactly the same as my own. I feel her hand push against my flesh as the arrow buries itself in her heart, shoving me into the gushing river behind us. The water swirls around me like a mystical veil, wrapping me tightly in its glacial grip.

The gush of the water seems to wake me up. I feel a chill run down my spine as my eyes automatically focus back on reality. I had only been absorbed in my thoughts for a millisecond, but it had felt like decades.

In that final attempt, I place all my anger and all my hatred into one strike so powerful, I hope that his sword goes flying in the opposite direction. But it doesn't. As the blades meet for the countless time, he matches my potency with his own.

We hold out positions, and I feel a bead of sweat slowly run down my face as my feet begin to slip backwards, my muscles too exhausted to react. I was not strong enough to conquer him, but I had the brains to outsmart him.

I grit my teeth so tightly I think that they're going to shatter into a thousand unsalvageable shards. I didn't want this to be over, but even now I knew that it was the end.

Chase suddenly jabs his sword forwards, and manages to scratch his own sword across my cheek. Taken by shock, I stagger back as I feel a sting coming from when the handle had made contact. My hand flies to my enflamed wound, and it comes away stick with the ruby resin of blood – something I had grown used to seeing over this past week.

I feel my anger grow so strong that it takes control of my body, forcing my conscience out of the driver's seat to take the reins. My infuriated body hurls another sloppy throw of my sword at Chase, but given my extra rile, I am able to batter his weapon away from his hand.

I growl as Chase widens his eyes in shock. He, just like many others, had underestimated me. Maybe I had even underestimated myself.

My wolf nears the surface as my instincts become more animalistic, and my senses sharpen. I refuse to let my body shift, it silently obeying through the blinding rage. I can't see anything: my vision is blurred with red. After stuffing my emotions into the deepest, most fathomable depths of my soul, they had finally surfaced in one final push to keep my alive.

I swipe with my sword across Chase's mid-section, but he's just fast enough to dodge out of the way before I can get close to ripping his flesh. I try and strike, him again but he ducks under my blade and swiftly springs on his heel to grab my wrist as I bring it backwards.

Using his toned body and boundless strength, Chase naturally flings me over his shoulder as if I weighed no more than a sheet of paper.

I feel my bones rattle as my body makes contact with the ground, vibrating like a electrified wire in an alternating magnetic field. My body feels electric with pain, each movement as I force myself into a crawling position sending a jolting lightning strike through my nerves.

Completely and utterly winded, I stagger maladroitly to my feet, mouth open like a fish out of water as I try and intake oxygen. I had felt like this many times throughout my previous fights, but none had left me feeling like a deflated balloon.

I had lost my sword in the process, and as Chase allowed me to teeter to a standing position, I saw that it was too far away for me to currently access. I would have to fight my way to it, and that included going through Chase.

Chase's sword was close to my own, and I knew that all I had to do was get to them before he did, and then this crappy contest would be over.

I feel a drop of blood slowly trickle from my nose, and tentatively wipe it away. All the while, Chase stares at me as if I had come from a different planet. Was he surprised that I wasn't giving up? Because if he thought that I was, then he had clearly been bashed in the head too hard as a baby.

I lurch forwards, swinging my fist and hoping that it connects with his perfect jawline. I feel the air rush out of the way of my charging hand as it whistles forwards.

Chase's hand reaches up to block my punch, and the other one manages to hit me in the stomach. I feel myself reel backwards to try and get away from his next punch, but it lands directly in my stomach once more.

A gurgle emerges from my throat as I cough up blood, spraying it in his face. Dazed, Chase blinks for a second, and I take to opportunity to tackle him to the floor, pinning his hands by his sides with my legs.

He looks up at me with his huge, mysterious eyes. Even now, in amidst the torment of the battle, I could see the strange gold flecks that reminded me of my mother's hair. But as I looked further than the metallic flusters, I could spot something else hidden deep within the iris. Fear. It was too well concealed to know whether it was genuine, but the look on his face of defeat was enough to give away the fact that Chase's defeat was not a mirage.

Chase's chest rises as he tries and pushes me from his body, but I use all my strength and will to keep him contained. I wasn't the heaviest werewolf, but with my extra muscle mass, I weighed more than I perhaps presumed.

As I gaze at Chase, a flood of memories swell in my brain, threatening to make it explode. All I can picture is the sword slicing straight through Dylan's figure, and his body going still as he was flung to the ground like a worthless rag. Chase hadn't killed Dylan, but he had been there. He was the Alpha who had lead the massacre on my friends and adopted family. And I would never forgive him.

A bubble furiously rises in my chest like an eruption of magma, and I feel my limbs consumed once again by rage which I cannot control. As I force Chase to lay still on the ground, I am powerless as my fists ram into his face, punch after punch.

I don't know how long I'm there for, but by the time I'm done my fists are raw and blistered. At some point, tears had formed in my eyes, and I had almost cried. My vision is a haze of water, trapped in Chase's cryptic stare.

He's still conscious, but barely. As I deliver my final punch after realising that I have done enough damage, his head lulls to the side like a baby in his sleep.

Confident that he was practically unconscious, I withdraw myself from my victim. You would have thought that I would feel something like guilt or sympathy, but all that's left of my heart is a black hole. My heart was stolen when my parents died, and that abyss only grew when Dylan was slain before my very eyes.

My steps are fragile as I move to pick up the two fallen blades, collecting one in each hand. They feel like poison in my grip and that it's slowly corroding my flesh away from my bone.

I was never raised to be a murderer, but here I was. The events of my life had rounded the edges of my personality, and sharpened me. I was the finished the product, and I was not proud of it. I was a monster. I killed. Maybe I should be labelled as a rogue. I murder. I kill. I'm no different to a true rogue.

But more importantly, I don't deserve to live. Chase does.

I can feel the eyes of the audience trailing my every move, observing what I was going to do next. I almost laughed: wasn't it obvious? This was a fight to the death, and with Chase barely conscious on the ground, he was an easy target.

My opponent has since woken up dazed, but his movements are laboured and slow. He gradually gets up onto his knees, but I use most of my remaining strength to push him back so that he is kneeling before me.

His eyes are startled as I place both swords in the shape of a cross at his throat. All I had to do was move my arms away from my body to decapitate the handsome young man before me.

Chase looks as though he has a tear in his eye, but his sturdy face shows no sign of weakness. Even in death, he was a warrior as any other werewolf should be.

Chase shrugs his shoulders, despite the swords resting on them. "What are you waiting for?" His expression is solemn, pleading me to get the job over and done with. "Just get it over with."

But I can't kill him. Even if he had been at the scene where Dylan died, he still hadn't killed my ex-best friend. He had also tried to kill me, be he hadn't. There was nothing he had done to make him deserve such a horrific – yet heroic – death.

I look away, biting my lip nervously. Tears threated to sprout from my eyes, my body overwhelmed with a foreign emotion I can't quite figure out.

I couldn't kill him.

I look back at Chase, his face still as bold as it had previously been. "Take care of them, Alaska," he nods to the people surrounding him. "They deserve a strong leader, and you are that leader."

I inhale sharply because the words flowing from his mouth are lies. I wasn't strong enough to lead a whole city. It would break me from the inside out. I was free, and I always would be. Keeping me cooped up in a castle would deteriorate me.

I shake my head, stepping back slowly as I withdraw the swords from Chase's neck. I chuck one to the side, and then one in front of Chase so that he could get it more easily.

Chase gives me a shocked look, but I ignore it. He wanted to be king, and this was his opportunity.

"I'm not," I state quietly. I feel my legs give way, and fall to my knees. I couldn't rule, and maybe death wasn't as bad as I had thought. I had come all this way to escape demise, but I would never be able to escape fate. I had run from it long enough. Now it was time to turn and face my demons.

Kneeling before Chase, he stands up and gathers the sword the King gave me, shaking his head slightly to try and rid his dizziness. I look up at him with huge, wide eyes, hoping that he would get this over with quickly.

"Alaska!" A familiar desperately calls out from the spectators, but I ignore the frantic shout. I hope that Josh would be able to accept my sacrifice. If he only knew what I had witnessed in my life. Maybe then he would understand.

Chase places the sword across my neck. He knows that he hasn't won the crown rightfully, but he still acts like the cocky bastard he is. I have sacrificed myself to let him live, and every part of my brain still believe that he will kill me. It was the rules, but I thought that he might spare my life. He had done it before, and maybe, just maybe, he would do it now.

"Give me one reason why I should let you live," Chase's face is blank as he speaks.

What kind of question was that? Was he actually thinking about letting me live? I was a rogue, and any other competitor with any sense would've plunged the sword through my heart moments ago.

I feel my lip tremble as the sword pushes closer to my windpipe. It's only then that I realise that I didn't want to die. Dying now was a coward's way out, and Alaska Morgan was not a coward.

I blink rapidly. "That's the problem. I can't."

Chase sighs, weighing up his options. The blade presses ever closer to my windpipe, threatening to slice the skin. Less air reaches my lungs, and my body takes quicker breaths as I begin to hyperventilate, both in fear and in oxygen deprivation.

Chase glances around the stadium and the silent faces. Every single member of the crowd is on their feet, anxiously watching to see who would be crowned king or queen. The man then snaps his regard to me, the powerless girl knelt before him.

We stay there for what seems like centuries, but within one blink, he turns away and chucks his sword to the other side of the arena. He pants heavily with anger, his body moving up and down with every breath. It was clear to see how hard it was for him to let me live.

I kneel there, shocked. Amongst the sand and the concrete, I sit on my legs, completely and utterly stunned as if I had witnessed the death of my mother all over again.

He turns back to me, fuming, his eyes infiltrated by a beautiful silver tint. "I have one condition if I let you live," he spits furiously, unleashing his inner beast from within.

"Name it."

Chase lets out a tiny growl as he slowly loses control to his wolf. "That you, Alaska Morgan, will be my Second in Command."

A/N - Please don't hate me. I'm sorry I haven't updated for so long, but like I said, I have exams. And trust me, writing these chapters takes hours, and it's hard to find time to write alongside revision.

But anyway, for all Chalaska fans out there, what did we think of the ending? I was going to do the cliché "That you, Alaska Morgan, will be my Queen," but I wanted to make this as original as possible, so what did everyone think of the slight twist?

And poor Alaska. She's such a muddle but I love her nonetheless.

Thank you for all the name suggestions for the white haired rogue from last chapter! I loved them all and I've got a good idea of what I'm going to call him ;)

Thank you so much for reading, and don't forget to vote and follow. Don't be afraid to comment your heart out - I love reading what you guys think.

-Lotte x

Dedicated to my #bellarkesis MarizaHaris. You are a talented writer who deserves some more recognition (if you're not following her, then I recommend that you do). You always make my day and I can't thank you enough for being there for me ❤️

Image: Cover I made for Alaska, and gif of Alaska right at the end ;)

Song: Sacrifice - Zella Day