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I held in my sigh as I turned and walked back to the table, looking between my very much in-love parents. The Contention was an outdated tradition, something left over from centuries past. The sheer brutality of it should have been enough to put an end to the tradition. Women from each regional pack were to come and compete for my hand—but there were no rules against violence amongst the competitors, and I’d heard more than a few stories of them battling to the death. I was well aware that not all the women wanted to be my mate, but the allure of a council position as a consolation prize seemed enough for them to come anyway. I often wondered if my father would have done away with the competition if it hadn’t resulted in such a perfect match for him. Even more often, I worried about my Contention and who I would end up with.
While my parents had been a match and fallen in love at first sight—I’d heard the story countless times growing up—I wasn’t under any delusions. The likelihood of finding a woman that was both a suitable wife for the North American alpha and someone I could grow to love wasn’t high. Bridger and Kessa Wilder were an exception.
Especially with the Contention rules stating the winner couldn’t be the alpha’s fated mate. Again, outdated rules should no longer apply, but it had worked for my father, so he saw no reason for change. There had been an incident ages ago with an alpha who did choose his fated mate. He’d been a terrible leader, putting his mate above all else, allowing the packs to fall into a civil war that cut the shifter population by half.
Not that I thought I’d find my true fated mate, anyway. It was so rare that I knew only a handful of shifters who were fated. I’d resigned myself to choosing a mate in the Contention who would be an excellent political match. If we got along, great. But I certainly didn’t expect to find the love my parents had.
Garrett waggled his eyebrows and grinned when I sat back down. “So just what are you looking for in a mate, Holden? A tall, willowy beauty? Someone scrappy and tough?”
I rolled my eyes. Not my preferred topic of conversation for my birthday dinner, but the Contention began in just a few days. There was no escaping it.
“Someone who will support my efforts as alpha, whose strengths complement my weaknesses.” I knocked back the rest of my whiskey.
Garrett laughed. “Well, that’s the politically correct answer, I guess. But surely you have a preference.”
Mother leaned in, her effortless smile still in place, but concern lingered in her warm brown eyes. “Garrett’s right, you know. Of course you want a match who will help you lead. But you also need to follow your heart.”
I forced a smile. “Yes, Mother. So you’ve said about a thousand times,” I teased.
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Only because I want you to be happy.”
“I’ll do what’s best for the packs.”
“Yes, but—”
“Kessa.” Father gave her a look like they’d had this conversation before.
“Someone with strong knowledge of pack politics would be ideal,” Jax mused. “Someone who can assist you with the council.”
“Maybe he wants someone who will just obey his commands,” Garrett joked.
“Someone who knows how to fight.” Even Cal was throwing in his two cents.
“Thank you all for your opinions,” I said wryly. “But can we talk about something else?”
Just then, the carved double doors swung open, and my mother’s best friend, Willow, entered the room, her brow furrowed. A tall, curvy redhead, she had been in the group of twenty women from my parents’ Contention and, like many of the finalists, had earned a high-ranking position within the North American pack. This year, Willow would be coordinating and overseeing my Contention.
“So sorry to interrupt your birthday dinner, Holden.” Willow gave me an apologetic smile. “But I thought you’d want to know right away.”
I sat up a bit straighter. “What news do you have for us?”
“As you know, invitations for the Contention were sent to all twenty alphas weeks ago. By now, the alphas have selected the girls, and some have even begun the journey here.” Willow pressed her lips together, glancing between my father and me.
“What’s the problem?” My father got right to the point.
“One pack is refusing to participate. Refusing to send a contestant.”
“That’s simply not an option.” He was matter-of-fact, his tone indicating there was no room for argument.
“Yes, sir,” Willow said, nodding in agreement. “It is unprecedented. I’m not sure how you wish to proceed, which is why I’m bringing it to your attention now.”
He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Which pack?”
I wasn’t surprised when Willow said, “The Southeastern Coastal pack.”
“Of course they’re refusing,” Garrett growled, his blue eyes narrowing. “What game is Branson playing here?”
Jax gripped his glass tighter, his knuckles going white. “We already took care of their challenge.”
