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As if he can read the words in my eyes, he cups my cheeks and leans down. “I’m not a saint, Rowe. And right now, I’m furious.”
I study his calm face. Despite his claim, I can’t find any hint of his inner rage.
Haut’s hand on my arm draws me away, and we go as far as the porch steps before turning back to face them.
The others form a loose half-moon on the other side of the driveway, with Bruce and Owen in the center.
As the two men strip, Horace steps forward. “As per tradition, only wolfman forms are allowed, and the loser will not seek revenge against the winner.” He looks at Owen. “That means no kicking anyone out of their homes or threatening to ruin people financially.”
Owen dips his chin. “I understand how a challenge works, Horace.”
Scared now, I grip Haut’s arm. Owen’s curse prevents him from turning into his wolf form. Will the shadow monster of smoke and burning-coal eyes be accepted as a wolfman form?
Haut catches my hand. “Believe in him. He can do it.”
But can he? As the two men face off from each other, the bodies bared to the bright light of day, the size difference between them becomes even more apparent. Heavy muscles cord Bruce’s shoulders, and when his biceps flex, they form small mountains on his arms. His thick thighs look bigger than my waist.
In comparison, Owen’s lean body looks frail, like Bruce can cut through him as easily as he takes down a tree.
Haut squeezes me again. “Believe.”
With a deep breath, I close my eyes, blocking out the obvious weight difference between the two men, and reach for that thread inside of me that connects me to Owen as his mate. It hums with vibrant power, strong enough to take down an entire forest.
I hold that feeling tight as my eyes open once more and watch as the two men shift.
Thick, brown bristles break out over Bruce’s body, and his bones pop as his legs and arms lengthen, thick claws pushing through his nail beds. His face collapses and pushes outward into a snout, and his broad shoulders hunch forward.
Horror fills me as I watch. The shift from man to wolf takes place in a shimmer of magic, like the man fades from reality to allow the wolf to take his place. But the transition into this halfway form makes my stomach roil. I’ve only seen Haut’s shift into a wolfman before, and it happened so fast that I never noticed his body breaking apart and reforming.
Why would they choose this form to fight in? The pain of the transformation has to put them at a disadvantage.
Haut leans down to whisper in my ear, “Only Alphas can maintain the mid-shift. That’s why the challenge is done like this.”
I huddle closer to him. “Stop reading my mind.”
Unlike Bruce’s shift, Owen’s happens in reverse. First, the shadows of his curse boil out of his skin, smothering his body, and he grows in size, the werewolf in him far larger than Bruce’s wolfman form.
Then the shadows compress in on themselves, peeling back to reveal a wolfman with sleek, black fur and blue eyes that glow red at their center. Compared to Bruce’s shift, Owen’s was fast and beautiful to behold.
I clutch Haut’s hand. “How?”
Pride fills Haut’s voice. “He’s been practicing.”
Those in the crowd stare in shock, and worried murmurs rise from their end.
Haut grunts with satisfaction. “They all thought he’d lose the challenge at this point.”
“Cowards trying to use his curse to their advantage.” I raise my voice. “You better hope he kills you, Bruce, because if he just bites you and lets you live, you’re joining the moon-cursed side, and all your friends will turn their backs on you!”
Bruce snarls toward me, and Horace shouts, “Quiet! No one else speaks until the challenge is over!”
Not sure that I can stop myself, I lift Haut’s hand and place it over my mouth.
The two wolfmen circle each other, gravel crunching beneath their large paws and their tails swishing as they search for an opening.
Bruce lunges forward, swiping a hand toward Owen’s stomach.
Owen dodges to the side, kicking his foot out. His thick claws rip through the fur on Bruce’s right calf, drawing first blood.
