The survivor.
He didn’t look at her. Couldn’t afford the distraction.
“Shift,” Coleman commanded.
The transformation took Adrian between one heartbeat and the next. Bones cracked and reformed. Muscles rippled beneath skin that sprouted thick black fur. His senses exploded outward—every scent amplified a hundredfold, every sound crystal clear.
Across the circle, Howard’s shift was slower, more labored. The grey wolf that emerged was smaller than Adrian’s massive black form, its muzzle flecked with white.
But there was nothing weak about the hatred in those yellow eyes.
Coleman raised his hand.
“Begin.”
Howard moved first. The old wolf was fast—faster than Adrian expected. He darted left, feinting towards Adrian’s flank, then reversed direction with a speed that belied his age. His jaws snapped shut inches from Adrian’s throat.
He twisted away, feeling fur tear as Howard’s teeth grazed his shoulder.Fuck.He’d underestimated the Elder’s desperation.
He wouldn’t make that mistake twice.
He lunged, using his superior size and weight to drive Howard back towards the circle’s edge. His jaws clamped down on the grey wolf’s haunch, and hot blood filled his mouth. Howard yelped, twisting free with a move that cost him a chunk of flesh.
Good. First blood was his.
They circled each other, both bleeding now. The pack watched in tense silence. Adrian could smell their fear, their excitement, their desperate hope. Could smell Harper above it all—her sweet scent spiked with terror.
I’m fine,he wanted to tell her.This is nothing.
Howard lunged again, and Adrian met him head-on. They collided in a snarling mass of fur and fangs, each seeking the killing grip on the other’s throat. His greater weight bore Howard down, but the old wolf writhed beneath him like a snake, impossibly slippery.
Then pain exploded through his side, and he yelped, leaping back. Blood welled from deep gouges just below his ribs—too deep, too precise. Howard hadn’t used his teeth.
The grey wolf’s lips pulled back in something like a smile. And he saw it—the glint of metal on Howard’s forepaw. Claws extended, yes, but wrapped around them…
Silver.
“You’re cheating,” he snarled, the words distorted by his wolf’s muzzle but understandable to any shifter present. “Silver is forbidden in the circle.”
“Forbidden by the modern rules your father established.” Howard’s voice was a ragged growl. “The old ways—the true old ways—allowed any advantage a wolf could claim. I’m simply honoring tradition.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. He heard Coleman’s sharp intake of breath, saw the enforcer’s hand twitch towards the circle as if to intervene.
“No,” he commanded. “This changes nothing. He wants to fight dirty? Let him.”
He circled Howard again, more cautious now. The silver wounds burned with a pain that went beyond physical—his healing was already slowing, the flesh knitting sluggishly around the poisoned metal.
Howard pressed his advantage. He darted in and out, slashing with those silver-wrapped claws, opening new wounds before the old ones could close. Adrian blocked what he could, absorbed what he couldn’t, and waited for an opening.
It came when Howard overextended on a strike aimed at his face.
He caught the Elder’s forepaw in his jaws and bit down.
Bone crunched. Howard screamed—a high, keening sound that echoed off the mountains. The silver rings fell away from the mangled paw, scattering across the bloodstained earth.
He released him and stepped back.
“Yield,” he growled. “It’s over.”
