With that, the test begins.
In a flash, I’m on Anassa’s back, opening myself wide to our connection. I catch a flash of something pass between her and the other wolves. Not words, exactly, but intentions, judgments. They’re not letting any of the riders tap into the pack unity today; the time to impress them with our abilities has passed.
With a start, I realize they’re deciding who’s a target—who among us needs to die for the pack to grow stronger.
If any consensus is reached, I’m not privy to it.
The wolves begin to move, circling and passing each other in a bizarre dance that makes no sense to human eyes. But there’s a terrible purpose to it, written in the savage lines of their muscled haunches.
A flash of movement catches my eye just before the chaos starts—a massive silver wolf lunging for Anassa’s flank. It’s Pietr, one of Perielle’s friends.
Anassa spins, faster than I knew she could, and I throw all my focus into staying on her back, tuning every sense to our connection.
Our minds snap together with an odd, psychic click, and suddenly we’re moving as one.
We turn in perfect synchrony to face our attacker, and I catch sight of the king leaning forward in his seat, that strange sword gleaming in the dying light.
Then my awareness narrows with Anassa’s. There’s no more king, no more crowd.
There is nothing now but the Purge.
Pietr’s wolf lunges with impossible speed, darting in and out as the other wolves circle around us. We’ve been chosen—marked again formyweakness.
Our determination hardens into killing resolve. Through our bond flows pure instinct—when to duck, when to weave, how to use our massive bulk to throw off the timing of Pietr’s silver wolf. We’re one body, one mind, moving together like we’ve trained for years instead of weeks.
Killing resolve is joined by a wild electricity I recognize distantly as joy. The joy of the hunt—of a predator going in for the kill.
In a blur of vicious excitement, Anassa’s teeth find Pietr’s wolf’s flank. The scent of hot blood fills her nose, rich with a thousand primal messages. I can taste it on her tongue, feel the droplets peppering her fur.
The silver wolf falls back, shaking off the pain, her rider still in place. Our fight is just beginning, but the first blood has been drawn.
The hunt is on.
All around us, the arena erupts in violence. We turn in unison as two more Bonded pairs approach, falling in with Pietr to form a coordinated team bent on taking Anassa down.
One of them is Perielle and her direwolf. The woman sits tall and proud on her mount, Jonah’s love bites visible on her neck.
Our focus spirals into a razor’s edge.
Perielle radiates confidence—arrogance.
Weakness.
We can smell it on her. See it in the feverish glow of cruelty in her eyes.
And so can the others.
There is no room for her kind of posturing in a pack. Packs demand unity, and Perielle’s cliquey, cruel instincts will alwaysend up dividing us. It matters not that her direwolf has a mate. It’s a sacrifice that must be made for Strategos’s protection.
I can hear Anassa’s instruction to the other wolves, and in synchronicity, the word comes out of my mouth.“Her.”
Her decision is my decision, too. Shadows are edging into my vision now, making me hunger for Perielle’s death.
She doesn’t sense the moment the wolves’ focus shifts, crystalizing into fatal judgment—but her wolf does.
In a single practiced movement, Perielle’s wolf bucks her off. She lands in the dirt with a bone-jarring impact—right at the feet of the other three wolves.
Anassa lunges forward, her massive jaws closing around Perielle’s throat. I get a flash of the woman’s shocked expression just before Anassa’s fangs tear through flesh and ligaments. Blood arcs through the air as the other wolves move in to finish Perielle off.
