“No, you’re not.”
Nope. Never.
She follows me out to the simple dirt patch about one hundred yards from the back steps, where the family now waits, forming a half-moon circle. They all stand, arms crossed, or hands held behind their back as they wait.
In the center, Mother stands, and as we draw closer, she begins to recite the rites.
“As of this night, Adrian Cross has issued a challenge to Elliot Cross. The challenge is a Cross challenge. No boundary. No rule. No healer. No judge. Death or submission is the way. By the Cross!”
“Or by thy blade!” we all answer.
Mother waits until the echo dies down before stepping off to the side and clearing the ring.
“Begin when you are ready,” she says.
My opponent steps in first.
Six years older than me, about twenty pounds heavier, and taller by just a hair, cousin Adrian has never bested me.
None of them have.
“Why do you wear that stupid thing?” he spits, gesturing at my neck.
“To keep from killing you,” I say, reaching for the clasp at the back.
The heavy leather falls away, and I suck in a steadying breath, preparing for the onslaught while cousin Adrian merely laughs. Poor cousin Adrian.
From deep in my core, my wolf stretches to life. I fist my hands as it claws its way to the surface, burning a path through my soul.
My shoulders don’t feel as heavy, and my spine relaxes for what feels like the first time in months.
It settles in my chest, like fire, and greets me with a single question.
Kill?
Nah.
Killing a Cross wolf is not easy, even for another Cross.
The youngest among us can go for hours. Sometimes days. The greatest Cross challenge in clan history spanned one week and three hundred acres. Only to end in a bloody mess and several missing limbs.
So no, I don’t have time to kill cousin Adrian. But with enough skill and enough pain, you can put anyone down in a few minutes. You just have to know how.
I claim the advantage and rush at him, darting across the ring to strike a barrage of blows before he can even find his footing. It proves effective and more efficient than I anticipated when Adrian immediately lapses into throwing blind haymakers.
When two wolves are equally matched in strength, the only thing that matters is skill.
I take care of his knee in a single blow, followed by a bone-shattering strike to his right eye. He staggers backward, disoriented, and I take the opportunity to drive my fist into his stomach.
As he doubles over, I bring my knee into his face.
There’s a collective, “Ooo” from the family as a sickening crunch flits through the air. But Adrian is quick to collect himself.
He straightens before swinging at me in a wild arc, aiming for my left eye.
I let it connect, but only so I can keep him in close range. He’s less effective at a short distance. Too big for his own good.
His fist meets my jaw, and I can feel it dislocate, but I ignore the ear-splitting pain and wrap my arm around his free hand, yanking him forward, and slamming my forehead into his nose.
