He couldn’t deny he was going somewhere, and Haley’s glance towards his tent suggested she knew he should be under guard. “I’ve found a way to get us free of Father,” he said, rushing his words as he glanced at the camp, hoping no one would hear them or notice Haley’s absence and come looking for her. “I just need a few hours.”
Haley huffed and marched towards him, grabbing the strap of the bag over his shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m not becoming a second-class loser because you’re miserable!” she snapped, tugging the strap so hard Milo nearly fell.
“Stop it! Let go!” He was forced to shuffle one crutch from his right arm to his left, barely holding on to two with one hand, to pull the bag from her grip. “I’m doing this for us. To get us away from this toxic family.” Milo pulled as Haley used both hands to tug, and the inevitable had his breath catching.
The fabric gave way, the strap ripped, and multiple items fell from his bag to the ground. Haley frowned at the medication and the bracelet heirloom, letting go of the bag. Unable to pick anything up and maintain his balance, Milo stared at the mess, dumbstruck.
“Haley?” A drunken voice called into the night, followed by laughter from multiple voices.
Milo grit his teeth against his fury, and the humiliation of seeing his plans fall apart because he couldn’t bend to pick up his belongings. Afraid he’d be seen or reported, he made his way into the trees though every step made his frustration and anger grow until his eyesight blurred with the onset of tears.
After planning, careful calculations, and preparations to account for every possibility, Milo couldn’t believe they’d been undone by one stupid girl, who refused to see the danger she was in. She didn’t deserve his protection and didn’t deserve the well of love he had for her, but that wasn’t his choice any more than it was Haley’s. One day, he hoped she could look back on this night and realise what an important moment it was in their lives.
It took what felt like forever for Milo to hobble through the trees and overgrowth of the forest to the worn path the guard had mentioned. He’d been farther than he thought, which made him wonder if his anger at Haley had clouded his judgement and he’d made a wrong turn.
When Milo reached the village, he found chaos. There was a huge crowd of m’weko gathered around the podium, men and women screaming and shouting for blood. Collective gasps and cheers resounded from both factions of the crowd, when a huge m’weko with brown fur was taken down by Usher’s beast.
Milo frowned in confusion, until he realised Alpha Keon was the brown m’weko and his people had cheered because it was a lure to trap Usher in a position where he could be easily attacked.
The Alpha was either brave or stupid; he couldn’t tell, but the noise and constant reaction from the crowd meant everyone was focused on the fight, and his arrival had gone unnoticed.
As the m’weko stood, with Usher struggling to his feet, Milo gasped as the scene resonated in his mind. This was the vision he’d had. The fight of two m’weko on a podium. He should have realised when Thatcher told him about the challenge and he saw the podium, but he’d never known one of his visions to happen during his lifetime.
If this had come true, did that mean the storm he’d sensed was the same storm in his vision? If so, he desperately needed to find shelter. The storm in his vision had been the kind to ruin a pack if they were unprepared.
Should he warn someone?
Who could he tell?
Who would believe him?
More frightened than when he began this trip, Milo left the centre of the village to head towards the Alpha’s home. He would wait for the challenge to end, then warn the Alpha or his Beta about the upcoming storm. Someone needed to know it was coming, and that it could be the storm to end all storms.
*
Keon
AFTER AN HOUR, Usher visibly weakened. He never had a chance after they shifted. His fighting consisted of dodging and diving, stepping aside to avoid every furious punch, kick, and jibe from Keon.
Between college classes and practice every evening, Keon had spent his free time studying the link between physical sports like martial arts, boxing, and underground fighting and long-term brain damage. Cataloguing the various injuries possible to a human, and how they were made, had been illuminating.
Finally, his hard work had paid off.
While he refrained from debilitating or permanent injuries, the rhythm held a beauty, like a symphony in motion.
Keon landed an upper cut to Usher’s jaw. He stumbled on unsteady feet, dazed. He had learned to protect his face and trained in fighting techniques at one point, but Usher was rusty, or he’d never been good. Keon’s blows landed precisely where he wanted. Usher failed to put his weight behind a blow to his gut, giving Keon the opportunity to lean into it. Grabbing Usher with one arm, he held him close, bent around the fist in his stomach, trading it for a kidney jab.
Usher grunted and broke free, pushing Keon away. A look of incredulity wiped away the arrogant scowl he’d worn for the last hour. This was the moment he realised how deeply he’d underestimated Keon or when he knew he would lose.
As he wobbled, Keon grabbed him by the neck and offered a direct hit to his stomach. When Usher dropped to his knees, coughing, Keon grabbed his hair and tugged. “Ready to surrender?” he asked, giving him a clean exit. A fight to the submission, and if Usher bowed out, he wouldn’t be brought to the ground, incapacitated.
There was no shame in throwing in the towel.
Usher grabbed Keon around the knees with one arm, drew his fist, and targeted Keon’s right knee. A sickening crack had Keon roaring in pain, ripping out a handful of Usher’s hair as he shoved him away.
Usher slid across the blood-dripped ground and scrambled to his feet, though it took two tries to stand. Doubt entered dark eyes, a typical bulk fighter who thought his weight and muscle meant he could overpower Keon. Forgetting bulk slowed him. Keon wiped the sweat from the tip of his nose and brushed dripping hair from his eyes.
Usher clenched his fists and returned to his boxing stance, abandoned a half hour ago. He’d thought this would be easy, that Keon would pose no challenge and he could win the challenge without effort. While he’d proven that wasn’t the case, he was surprised at Usher’s ability to withstand the blows they’d been trading. All those muscles had been padding the impact.
