“To the death.”
“Yes.”
I blink. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Her eyes flare as she reaches for something at her hip. Produces a key. Crosses the space between us with quick, angry strides. Steps in front of me.
Her fingers work the suppression cuffs. The runes flicker, die. Metal falls away and heat floods back into my system—not dragonfire yet, just the return of natural temperature that’s been dampened for hours.
She stands. Backs away three paces. Pulls a combat knife from her belt and throws it. The blade embeds in the dirt floor near my feet.
“Pick it up,” she says.
I look at the knife. At her. Back to the knife.
“Fair terms,” she continues. Her voice is hard, controlled. “No shifting. Blades only. First one down doesn’t get up.”
The laugh escapes before I can stop it. Not cruel. Just… genuine disbelief.
She thinks this is fair. She actually believes that giving me a weapon and fighting me on even terms—no fire, no shifting—somehow levels a playing field that has never been level. That two hundred years of killing experience can be matched by youth and rage and whatever training Aurora gave her.
“You cannot be serious,” I say, shaking my head.
Her eyes flare.
“This is your plan?” I gesture between us. “You drag me into a shelter, give me a blade, and hope you’re good enough to—what? Kill me in single combat?”
“Stop talking.”
“I don’t think you understand the—”
“I saidstop talking.” The fury in her voice finally registers. Not calculated. Just raw.
She’s not trying to win. She’s trying to survive what she’s feeling.
The realization should change something. Should make me stop. Should trigger some basic decency that says you don’t mock someone’s desperate attempt at justice, however futile.
But the absurdity is still too much.
I shake my head. “You don’t stand a chance against me. You must know that.”
“I know you’re still talking when I told you to stop.”
“This isn’t arrogance. It’s—”
“Shut. Up.”
“—basic reality. I’ve been training since before your grandmother was—”
She attacks. No warning. No stance shift. Just pure explosive violence that closes the distance before my brain catches up to my eyes.
The blade arcs toward my throat. I twist. Too slow. The edge catches my shoulder—shallow, but enough to draw blood. Pain flares hot and immediate.
She’s already moving. Inside my guard. Elbow driving toward my face. I block. Barely. The impact sends shock up my forearm.
She’sfast. Faster than any wolf I’ve fought. Faster than she should be with exhaustion dragging at her.
And she’s not fighting to win.
