"Done?" I say against his neck.
His chest heaves twice. “No!”
With unexpected agility, he rolls onto his back and digs his claws into my belly, pushing me away and breaking my hold. The fight continues.
29
CASSIDY
The ritual ring is the only thing I can look at, which means I'm watching Alden bleed.
He's moving well—better than Gideon—but Alden's left side is wet, darker than it should be, and every time he pivots off that flank his stride adjusts in the way of someone compensating. Not limping, but for how long?
I press my hands together in front of my mouth and watch him take a raking blow across the neck, counter with a body slam that drives Gideon back four feet, and feel the knot in my chest draw tighter.
Around me the pack stands in the crescent ring, their attention split between the fight and each other, the low murmur of divided loyalties moving through the crowd in slow currents. Gideon's supporters are quieter than they were at the start. Alden's supporters haven't been loud enough.
I bite my lower lip hard enough to feel it and make myself watch the footwork instead of the blood.
The movement at my left comes with no warning.
Kieran hits the restraint cord hard enough to snap it, one clean break, and he's covering ground toward me before anyonein the crowd has registered the sound. His eyes are fixed on me with the glassy, determined focus of someone who has made a decision and committed to it, and he's close enough that I catch the expression a half-second before impact.
My hand is already in my vest pocket.
The second dart comes out in the same motion I used on him in the cabin, and I drive it into his flank. He hits me with enough force to stagger us both, but the needle goes in, and I get my thumb on the plunger. Not all the way. Maybe halfway before his weight knocks my arm aside and the dart pulls free.
Then Ciaran is there, dropping Kieran to the ground. He rebinds his arms behind his back, his reaction was so fast, like he was waiting for Kieran to make a move.
Kieran goes down hard. He doesn't go out.
He blinks at the ground, one cheek against the stone, arms pinned, and makes a sound that's halfway between a groan and a curse.
"Half dose," I say, stepping back and checking my hand—no needle stick, clean. "He's going to feel it but he's going to stay awake."
"Good enough," Ciaran says, one knee in Kieran's back, not releasing the grip. He looks at me once, quick and assessing. "You all right?"
"Yes." I look at the ring. Alden is still on his feet, still pressing. "Did you know he'd break the restraint?"
"I knew one of them would try something." Ciaran glances down at Kieran. "Wasn't sure which."
"You could have warned me," I say.
"You handled it," he says, which is the closest thing to a compliment I've heard from.
Kieran turns his head as much as Ciaran's grip allows and looks up at me with an expression that has lost most of its conviction and kept all of its misery. "He told me you werethe threat," he says. His voice is blurred and wavered from the partial dose. "He said removing you protected the pack."
"He told you what you wanted to hear," I say.
Kieran closes his eyes.
Across the ring, Brynn's staff strikes the stone twice in quick succession. When I look toward her, she's looking directly at Ciaran. Her chin tips once in a deliberate gesture, then toward me, then back.
She wants us in front of her. Now. While the fight is still ongoing.
Ciaran hauls Kieran upright by the back of his jacket, keeping him vertical through applied pressure rather than Kieran's cooperation, and we cross the outer ring toward Brynn's position at the council arc. The wolves around us step aside without being asked, reading Ciaran's expression and making a collective decision to be somewhere else.
Brynn doesn't look at me when we reach her. She's watching the ring.
