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The crowd forms a circle around Ridge and Lawson, giving them a wide arena of space. The two shifters face off in the center, both of them shedding their clothes as they watch each other warily. Ridge looks hard-faced and stoic, and I can see the wheels turning in his head as he plans his moves.
Archer leads me to where Trystan and Dare have taken up positions at the front of the crowd. The three shifters crowd around me, each of them touching me as if to lend me their strength for what comes next. I wonder if anyone in the crowd notices and finds it strange how I seem to have three men looking out for me.
The air hangs heavy with anticipation as everyone watches Ridge and Lawson take their spots in the circle. Magic shimmers over both men, and my breath hitches in my throat as Ridge shifts into his beautiful, rust-colored wolf. He’s slightly smaller than Lawson’s burly blond beast, just like they are in human form, but Ridge’s inherent strength is more obvious in his wolf form. I cling to my memories of him carrying me for miles across the wilderness, of the power beneath me, his body all hidden strength and lean muscle. That’s how he can beat Lawson.
I hope.
Archer places a gentle hand on my lower back and leans in close to my ear. “He’s going to be okay.”
I appreciate his constant reassurances, but to be honest, I don’t believe him. Not right now. Not for this. I have no doubt Lawson will play as dirty and underhanded as he possibly can, if it means he takes the alpha seat from Ridge.
An elder I’ve never met or seen before walks out between the two wolves, his face set in a stony mask. I get the feeling he’s not happy with this turn of events, but like all the other shifters present, he’s not doing anything to stop it.
He can’t, if what Archer said is true.
The way everyone is just accepting this insanity—even the wisest men, the men in charge—makes me want to scream. What kind of archaic ritual is this? How is this an accepted method of choosing the pack leader in this day and age?
The elder lifts both hands, and the crowd’s low murmur dies off. Then he clears his throat and speaks. “Ridge and Lawson meet here, in this circle, to fight for the status of Alpha of the North Pack. No one is to step in or offer assistance, or the fight will be forfeit on behalf of the offender. Both wolves will fight until one is unable to keep going, whether by injury or death.”
That last statement tears through me like a knife to the gut, more painful than any blade my uncle ever sliced into my skin. I grip Archer’s arm, and some part of me recognizes that Trystan’s arm has slipped around my shoulders and pulled me tight to him. It’s only through their firm hands that I can stay on my feet.
Ridge could die. The reality sinks in, and I’m unable to hold back the tears burning in my eyes. They burn unnaturally hot paths down my cheeks.
The elder whistles, a long, sharp burst that makes me jump.
And then Ridge and Lawson collide.
The sounds are as vicious as watching the fight take place. The two men are nothing but a blur of teeth and claws, growling, snarling, and snapping at each other, looking for weaknesses and opportunities to hurt each other. After the initial attack, Ridge falls back and circles around his brother, his jaws hanging open as he pants. He’s favoring one of his front legs, which sends another rush of terror through me. If Lawson takes out his legs, how will he fight? I can’t imagine Lawson will allow Ridge to live if he’s given half a chance to kill him.
With another ferocious growl, Ridge makes his next move. He darts in, and his sharp teeth latch onto Lawson’s neck. Then he shakes, sending the bigger wolf to the ground and following him down. Dust billows around them from the dirt, and for a terrifying moment, I can’t see them, can’t follow Ridge’s movements. Lawson yelps, and I’m buoyed by the idea that Ridge might get the upper hand, but then the larger wolf rolls, putting Ridge on the bottom and at a disadvantage with his sheer brute strength.
Lawson’s teeth break through the skin and fur at Ridge’s neck. Then Ridge bucks and shakes him off, leaping away and skidding to a stop in the rising dust. The sight of blood on Ridge’s auburn fur makes me cry out.
Terror runs cold through my veins as the two wolves clash together and break apart, over and over.
My heart beats so hard I think it might burst from my chest. I’m terrified that Ridge will die by his brother’s teeth and claws, and I can’t help.
I can’t do anything, because it will automatically forfeit Ridge’s claim.
Ridge dives toward Lawson, but his brother dodges the attack. Then Lawson pivots on his massive paws and leaps at Ridge, catching him in the side before he’s able to fully regain his balance. The two wolves hit the dirt, and Ridge’s head bounces off the ground. His pained yelp shatters me.
Adrenaline and fear surge through me, a tidal wave of emotion that makes me lightheaded. As if from far away and outside my body, I feel the magic awaken beneath my skin.
Fuck. No!
Fresh panic makes my stomach turn to water.
I try to breathe deeply like Archer taught me, try to force down the emotions rampagi
ng through my body.
But it’s too late.
My scars begin to grow black, and a split second later, inky smoke pours from my fingertips. I watch it happening with the same wide-eyed horror I’ve felt as I’ve watched Ridge in his battle. And just like with him, I can’t stop this.
Behind me, someone screams. The sound cuts over the yips and growls of the two fighting wolves, piercing my ears like a blade.
I’ve been seen.
