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The arena had been marked with a white chalk circle, indicating where the fight was to take place, although there was no specific rule that the fighthadto stay in the “ring.” Various raised platforms had been set up, like for competitions, where the Elder Packs and other ‘involved’ individuals would have the best view, and then the rest was standing room only. Searle had timed our arrival such that we came in with a rush of other wolves of varying ranks, and I was quickly herded towards AmberHowl’s little platform box, which was shared with RedRise on one side, and FrostFangare on the other.
I sat behind Demetrius and Henri, keeping my head down without trying to be obvious about it and not attract attention, because right across from us were the SilverPaw, and standing in the space between the two platforms on the other side of the ring was Kyle and Thessa of GranitePaw, and on the other side, the FrostFur in attendance, eager to see their Alpha fight. Attracting most of the attention, though, were Garrett and Cerys, who stood in the space between AmberHowl and FrostFangare.
The other Elder Packs and wolves continued to file in, with most everyone gawking at Garrett, who was wearing a kilt, no shirt, but boots, and he had a bow across his chest, along with a quiver of arrows that carried the faint scent of silver, and a rather large knife on his hip. Cerys was in a loose dress and sandals, her hair unbound and drifting around her in a dark, exquisite cloud. The scent in the area was low-grade rage, shock, and grimness. But the shock and anger was probably directed at Garrett, because how dare the human decide to show up and be ready for a fight.
Normally, a human showing up toanywerewolf affair thinking they were going to win a fight would be good for a few laughs and anaren’t you cutepat on the head. But Garrett’s presence oozed a dangerous capability thatdaredany wolf to try him. It almost bordered on prestige. Cerys remained her usual aloof self, defiant and unapologetic for her taste in partners.
I gripped the top of my knees to keep my hands steady. Searle placed one of his hands over mine.
I shifted my hand. He gripped it.
Fine.
The crowd shifted and jostled. Then Demetrius stood. One by one, the other Elder Alphas followed, and a hush fell.
A few moments later, the wolves to the left shifted, and Sterling stepped into the circle. He wore nothing. His body was sinew and muscle, carved alabaster and silver, marred with the scar on his lower abdomen, and other smaller marks that shone under the sun’s reflection. As he stood in the morning sun, the ground seemed to bow slightly under him, and all attention rolled towards him, unable to escape his pull.
My heart stretched, and a keen started at the base of my throat. Searle crushed my hand in his. I held perfectly still, not wanting to draw even the slightest attention to myself lest it disrupt Sterling’s focus.
A whisper moved through the crowd like a quick, strong breeze passed through trees, then quieted.
“Alan of FrostFur,” Sterling shouted. “Answer my challenge. You cut my mate, my Luna, with silver. Silver is war, silver is death!”
My soul rattled inside my body. My left hand danced with painful shocks and the twitching moved up into my neck and behind my ear.
A moment later, the wolves to the right shifted, and this time, Alan moved into the circle. Naked, handsome, cocky. Mercedes lurked at his side, a feral smile on her features. She stopped outside the ring, while Alan continued until he stopped six paces from Sterling.
The FrostFur Alpha said, “I answer the challenge, Lone Wolf. You abandoned your pack to seek vengeance. Shouldn’t you be seeking vengeance against the wolves who killed your mate?”
A slight breeze tugged at strands of Sterling’s hair. “I will start with you. You have been challenged, you name the weapon.”
Alan laughed. “I’ve already seen your war gauntlet, lone wolf. Show me your fangs.”
So much for hoping Alan would choose gauntlets, not that anyone had thought that was a possibility. The gauntlet would be to Sterling’s advantage, and Alan was here to make a point.
“But I’m curious. Where did a bastard half-breed lone wolf like you get a warrior’s gauntlet? The gauntlet used to kill Alpha Jerron of SilverPaw.”
Alan cast a look at the new Alpha Daniel of SilverPaw, then back at Sterling.
Sterling chuckled. It sounded like bones rattling. “You say that like you are upset I killed Jerron. Perhaps because I killed your little puppet too soon?”
“Wolf,” Demetrius growled.
Sterling’s grim humor melted away, and he swung dark attention onto Alan.
To my left, another FrostFangare moved, and Malte, seated next to his brother, rose to his feet.
The resemblance between Sterling and Malte was disconcerting. Sterling looked at his biological father with an expression that sliced through my core.
“The claw gauntlet was fashioned at FrostFangare,” Malte said, raising his voice enough to be heard, but there was only shame and regret around the lilt to his English. “A trophy given to a warrior who survived an unwinnable battle fought with silver. Sterling is my biological son, and Cerys is my mate. She has abandoned me, as I forsook and abandoned her and the son she carried.”
Another rustle of chatter and shock.
Alan yanked his attention back to Sterling.
Sterling, frozen and glacial, did not move or blink.
“This ends.” Alan growled as he paced a slow arc back and forth. “I want your father’s assurance he will not betray us.”
