Garrett circled, limping slightly now. Blood dripped from a gash on his hindquarters where Theo’s claws had scored deep.
They came together. And again. Each clash was brutal, primal—no strategy, no finesse, two predators testing each other’s limits. Theo took hits he could have avoided because they let him land harder ones. He fought like his father had taught him, like the decade away had never happened.
But he didn’t fight to kill.
That was the difference between them. Garrett craved blood, craved dominance, craved proving himself through destruction.Theo wanted this over. Wanted his cousin to submit so they could all go back to the work that actually mattered.
Garrett lunged for his throat again. Theo caught him mid-leap, jaws closing on his cousin’s scruff, and slammed him into the ground with enough force to crack the packed earth. Before Garrett could recover, Theo was on him, pinning him with his full weight, teeth pressed against the vulnerable pulse of his neck.
One bite. That’s all it would take.
Garrett thrashed beneath him, still fighting, still refusing to yield. Everything in him screamed to finish it, to eliminate the threat permanently. An alpha who couldn’t hold his territory wasn’t an alpha at all.
But Theo wasn’t only his instincts.
He held the position, teeth pressing harder, harder, until he felt Garrett’s resistance crumble. His cousin went limp beneath him. Neck bared. Belly exposed. The posture of absolute submission.
Theo released him. Retreated two paces. Let Garrett scramble to his feet and slink away through the crowd, head low, tail tucked.
No one spoke.
Theo shifted back, the change rolling through him in a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. He stood naked in the cold, blood streaming from his shoulder, and looked at the assembled pack.
“Anyone else?”
Silence.
Beck appeared at his side with a pair of jeans and a hard set to his jaw. “Show’s over.” He announced to the crowd. “Back inside. Drinks are on the house.”
The pack dispersed slowly, murmuring amongst themselves. Theo pulled on the jeans, ignoring the way the rough denimscraped against his wound. His first conscious thought, cutting through the post-fight haze:
Is Avine safe?
He pulled out his phone. Checked the ward alerts. Everything normal. No disturbances.
Beck said nothing. Just steered him back toward the door.
TWENTY
THEO
The back room felt different now. Smaller, despite being the same four walls.
Theo sat on the edge of the oak table while Beck cleaned the bite wound on his shoulder with antiseptic that burned like hellfire. Wyatt had resumed his position by the door, arms crossed, face giving nothing away. Hux had stayed too, though he kept checking his phone.
“Garrett won’t challenge again.” Wyatt broke the silence with his typical bluntness. “Not directly. You humiliated him in front of the pack.”
Theo hissed as Beck prodded a particularly deep tear. “I didn’t humiliate him. I let him walk away.”
“You dominated him without killing him. In pack terms, that’s worse.” Wyatt’s tone remained clinical. “He’ll look for other ways to undermine you. Politically. Through allies. Through rumors.”
“Let him try.”
“He will.” The sheriff pushed off from the wall, crossing to stand in front of Theo. That sharp gaze saw too much—always had. “Your choice of mate—if that’s what’s happening—will be used against you. Every decision you make regarding the inn orits owner will be questioned. Every moment you spend with her will be framed as a dereliction of duty.”
“She’s not my mate.”
Wyatt’s expression didn’t change. “I’m a sheriff. I know when people are lying. Even to themselves.”
