Magnus was stronger. That much was undeniable. When they grappled, Cal felt the disparity in their size—the sheer brute force that had won Magnus dozens of victories. Magnus drove him backward, claws scoring lines of fire across Cal’s ribs, teeth snapping inches from his throat.
For a terrible moment, Cal thought he was going to lose.
Magnus pinned him against the ancient stones at the circle’s edge, massive paws pressing down, jaws seeking the killing grip. Cal’s lungs burned. His muscles screamed. Everything hurt, and the blood loss was making the world spin.
Then he saw her.
Dahlia, at the edge of the circle. Pale and shaking, held up by her friends, but her eyes—her eyes were blazing. Not with fear. With absolute, unwavering belief.
She believed in him. Even now. Even with Magnus’s claws at his throat.
Cal thought about all the reasons he had to win. The sleuth that needed protection. The community that had welcomed him back. His grandfather, recovering at home, trusting Cal to finish what he’d started.
But mostly, he thought about Dahlia. About Paris. About the future they’d barely begun to imagine. About croissants at 2:00 a.m. and honey harvests at dawn and falling asleep with her pressed against him.
He hadn’t come this far to lose her now.
Get up,his bear snarled.FIGHT.
A switch flipped inside him.
He stopped fighting to survive.
He started fighting to win.
All those years in Seattle boardrooms, negotiating hostile takeovers and corporate warfare—they hadn’t been wasted. Cal knew how to read an opponent. Knew how to find weaknesses and exploit them. Magnus was bigger, yes. Stronger. But he was also predictable. He’d won so many fights the same way that he didn’t know how to adapt.
Cal could adapt.
Magnus’s next strike came for his face—claws aimed at eyes, meant to blind, to maim. Cal dropped beneath it, driving upward with all the power in his hindquarters. His shoulder slammed into Magnus’s ribs, staggering the bigger bear. Before Magnus could recover, Cal was on him—teeth finding the thick fur of Magnus’s neck, clamping down with crushing force.
Magnus roared. Thrashed. His claws raked Cal’s sides, drawing fresh blood, but Cal didn’t let go. Couldn’t let go. If he released his grip now, Magnus would kill him.
They went down in a heap, rolling across the challenge circle. Stone scraped against fur. Blood smeared across ancient rock. The crowd was shouting—screaming—but Cal heard none of it. There was the fight. The taste of blood in his mouth and the desperate need to end this.
Magnus managed to throw him off, scrambling to his feet with fur matted red. He was limping—Cal’s earlier bite had done real damage to his flank. Good.
They faced each other across the bloodied stone.
Cal bled from a dozen wounds. His shoulder burned where Magnus’s claws had torn through muscle. His ribs screamed with every ragged breath. But he was still standing. Still fighting.
Magnus looked worse.
The bigger bear was favoring his injured flank. Blood matted the fur along his neck where Cal’s teeth had found purchase. His movements had slowed, the explosive power replaced by desperation.
For the first time, Cal saw uncertainty in those cold eyes. Magnus had expected an easy victory. Had expected Cal to fight like a businessman, all strategy and no instinct. Instead, he’d found a bear who’d finally remembered what he was fighting for.
“Yield,” Cal growled—the word barely recognizable through his bear’s throat, but clear enough. “It’s over.”
Magnus’s response was another charge.
Desperate. Sloppy. He was going for the kill—throwing everything into one final assault, hoping to end it before his injuries dragged him down.
Cal met him head-on.
They collided with a sound like thunder, two bears locked in a death grip. Cal felt Magnus’s claws sink into his back—felt thehot rush of blood—but he was already moving. Already finding the opening he needed.
His jaws closed around Magnus’s throat.
