“Holy shit,” Arsenal said, half under his breath.
Even Lucia, who’d seen more death than any man at the table, was momentarily stunned. “You look…” She searched for the word, then gave up.
“Fucking hell, Red. You look like pale rider come to collect.”
Menace crossed to me in three steps. He ran his eyes over every inch—slow, hot, unashamed—and when he reached the Iron Valor patch above my heart, he stopped. He put his hand over it, fingers splayed, palm warm through the layers.
“You look like a queen,” he said, voice rough. “Not the kind that sits on a throne. The kind that burns the fucking castle down.”
He kissed me right there in front of everyone, hands flat against my back, mouth open and hungry. The room erupted in catcalls and applause, but I shut the sound out. The bond roared between us, a current that pulsed with so much love and trepidation I thought it might crack me open.
When he pulled away, there was blood on his lower lip—mine, from where my teeth had split in the force of the kiss. He licked it off and grinned, feral and sweet.
“I could eat you right here,” he whispered, low enough that only I could hear it. “But we’d never get to the fight.”
I smacked his arm, just hard enough to sting. “I’m ready,” I said, and it was true.
Lucia poured me a mug of coffee, then slid it across the table with a smile. “You will not need this. But it helps, yes?”
I nodded thanks.
The men talked, voices tight with adrenaline and old grievances, and for a moment I felt like I’d always been here, like I belonged in this den of broken wolves and dying hope. Juliet entered the room last, dressed much like me, only her top was red and her hair was down, her eyes alive with the kind of wild, steady rage that only a Luna can wield. She gave me a once-over, then nodded, as if to say,now you get it.
We ate in silence for a while. Menace never let his hand leave my thigh.
There was a clock on the far wall. The numbers ticked closer to the hour when everything would change, but in that second, with him beside me and the pack all around, it almost didn’t seem like his life was on the line.
Almost.
After breakfast, the house shifted from a lair to a command post. Menace and Bronc started clearing plates before the last of the eggs were gone, shoving them into the sink with a violence that didn’t match the eggs themselves. Arsenal, Doc, and Wrecker migrated toward the living room, but were called back in with a barked order from Bronc, who was already unrolling maps and scattering them across the scarred dining table. The room filled, one by one, with the rest of our war council: Juliet, serious and intense, with her hair loose, golden, wild waves around her face; Lucia, still barefoot, padding across the tile with a mug of vodka in hand; and King Rafe, who wore a shirt like it was a uniform and stood behind his chair as if he meant to interrogate it.
“Let’s do this,” Menace said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the low buzz of caffeine and nerves. The men took theirseats. I pulled up a chair beside Juliet, who winked at me as she produced a legal pad from a briefcase somewhere beside her.
The table was covered with printed diagrams, aerial photographs, and what looked like a hand-drawn layout of the fighting pit. At the center was a glossy full-color map of the arena, marked up with red and blue Sharpie lines.
“First thing,” Bronc started, “we go over the arena. No surprises. This is where they’ll try to fuck us.”
Menace leaned forward and traced a line along the map. “There’s three main exits—here, here, and here. Security will be tightest at the entry, but the Council’s running all external checkpoints. That means no one gets in or out without at least three signatures. They’ll have private guards in all the corridors.” He jabbed a finger at the edge of the pit. “The fighting area itself is open, with no barriers, no cover except for the arena cover itself. Other than that, just dirt and blood. The Council Chairwoman will announce the challenge, then they will lock the doors until it’s over. No interference, no medical, no second chances. You win or you die.”
“Sounds like home,” Arsenal muttered, but no one laughed.
“Judges will be posted along the perimeter,” Doc said, pointing to the small red circles along the outer ring. “One from each species—wolf, vampire, witch, demon, and angel. They have kill-switches for anything magical or tech-based. The moment it starts, the rules are absolute.”
I looked at the map, trying to picture the fight. “So it’s just… you and Dominic. No weapons, nothing?”
Bronc shook his head. “Just teeth, claws, and what the Goddess gave you. Anything else is grounds for immediate execution. And they will do it, Savannah. They’d rather kill you both than risk a scandal.”
“Dominic’s wolf is bigger, but slower,” Menace said, voice hard. “He’s used to bullying smaller prey. I’ll have to run him out, make him tired, and then take him when he’s desperate. His left hind leg is weak froman old injury. If I can bait him into lunging, I can take it out and end this fast.”
Arsenal grinned. “And if you can’t?”
“Then I’ll die trying,” Menace said, and there was no bravado in it.
I cleared my throat. “What about the Council? The ones who voted for us—they should all sit together. In our box. Show strength.”
There was a pause, then Lucia nodded. “Is good idea. Looks like unity. Makes them less likely to betray.”
Juliet scribbled a note, then spoke without looking up. “Iron Valor officers will be first row. The rest of the pack fills the general stands. We’ll have eyes everywhere. And Rafe’s people are running external logistics—communications, transport, everything.”
