Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
I spent the rest of the night in and out of sleep, never able to return to the deep rest I’d been enjoying. When I wasn’t mulling over the phantom screams, my mind returned to the Trial ahead of me—back and forth, a vicious cycle. Finally, I dragged myself back to my own room around dawn and fell back into another few hours of dreamless yet fitful slumber.
We arrive at the arena in the late afternoon. The other Strategos are cheerless and quiet as we reach the center of the field—twenty-three wolves and riders arranged in a perfect circle.
The arena looms massive in the slanted sunlight, its tiered rows already packed with chattering spectators. There are more people here now than there were for the Voice Trial. I wonder if the promise of certain bloodshed has drawn them in. Nobles in their finery crowd the upper levels while the other packs fill the lower seats.
Since the Purge is done pack by pack, the three others wait in the stands during each Purging. Of course we drew the short straw.
Strategos is going first.
The king’s elevated platform dominates the western wall, draped in lush fabrics of royal purple and gold. King Cyril sits with deceptive nonchalance on his ornate throne, that infamous wolf-pommeled sword at his hip.
Audelie, a Phylax Rawbond, is perched on the older man’s lap. She’s the… companion… he’s chosen for the Trials. It’s no wonder why; she’s stunningly beautiful with long, dark hair and glittering emerald eyes. He gropes her chest over her clothes while she smiles widely and placidly, and my stomach twists in disgust.
She’s a visceral reminder that, to the king, we’re merely objects for his entertainment and pleasure.
But even Audelie is dressed in her fighting leathers today. She might be the king’s chosen one, but she’s still part of a pack, and will still have to participate in the Purge when it’s her turn.
Killian stands at his father’s right hand. My eyes are drawn to him despite myself. His presence is both a comfort and a worry. I don’t want him to see me die today, but if things go wrong, at least the last thing I get to see will be his face.
Stark is also on the king’s balcony in his place of honor, dressed in unbroken black, his dark hair slicked neatly back. Our eyes meet, as usual, and the malicious smugness in his gaze says it all.
Today is the day you die, princess .
An avalanche of violence unleashes inside me, the shadows around the arena growing long and strange. For once, I’m almost glad the bastard is here. I needed that extra bit of motivation to prove the fucker wrong.
Hopefully.
I grit my teeth and stiffen my spine. If I die today, I’m sure as shit not going to go down without a fight.
I turn to Anassa, feeling her predatory focus grow sharper.
She meets my gaze when I put my hand on her shoulder.
“Stay on my back, no matter what.”
I don’t have time to answer.
All at once, the wolves look up toward the king, responding to some silent signal. He has the Diren Bl?d sword in his hands, and like he did at Presentation, King Cyril thrusts it into the platform floor at his feet.
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 for my weakness.
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 always end 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.
With a jolt of horror, my mind pulls away from Anassa, realizing this was all planned by the wolves, coordinated from the very start. Our fight with Pietr was a distraction—bait to draw out Perielle’s arrogance. To prove her weakness.
She was marked for death before we ever entered the arena.
“Stay focused!” Anassa snarls in my mind, furious at my withdrawal.
Survival instinct snaps me back into our connection. I cannot risk putting myself at odds with my wolf—or I might end up like Perielle, who lies broken on the ground, her blood soaking into the drains in the dirt.
Perielle’s wolf lays down in the dirt next to her, their severed bond killing them both.
The other two wolves disperse as one, moving to join the others in their deadly dance.
Anassa’s satisfaction radiates through my body. There’s no cruelty in it—at least, not precisely. But there is pleasure. Gratification for an important task efficiently completed.
The pack will be stronger now.
There’s no time to process it further. The direwolves draw inward again as the ritual dance continues. Wolves and riders measure each other with cold eyes, trying to identify who will be next.
It doesn’t take long.
In a matter of seconds, the wolves zero in on their target and start circling someone again. With a flash of horror, I realize it’s Nevah, perched on her dark silver wolf. Her deep brown curls bounce as she turns her head frantically, eyes wide, searching for help.
Izabel and Tomison are closer to her and their wolves bolt over, defending her from the closing pack.
Nevah might be standoffish, but she isn’t weak—she doesn’t deserve to die.
To my surprise, Anassa’s agreement flows along the bond. She’s actually listening to me on this. She leaps into the fray, knocking two attackers aside.
I see Nevah’s surprise and relief when she realizes we’ve come to help. Then her face goes hard with resolve.
That’s right, you are not going to die today .
Four against eighteen isn’t great as far as odds go, but to my surprise, the others back off almost immediately. Nevah and her direwolf take the lead and she defends herself against two or three would-be attackers. Izabel, Tomison and I stay behind her as additional defense if she needs it.
Again, I catch snatches of communication between Anassa and the other wolves—just enough to understand that they aren’t willing to go against all four of us if we believe Nevah is worthy.
For a moment, I think that might be the end of it, but the wolves prove me wrong. Before the test is done, another two pairs fall, each death seemingly predetermined among the direwolves.
When the bellow of a horn announces the end of the Strategos purge, the arena floor is once again painted with blood and gore.
Twenty Bonded pairs remain standing. But the fighting isn’t done yet; three packs left to go.
As the crowd cheers and servants drag away the bodies, Anassa’s mind prods at mine, offering what feels almost like… comfort.
“We survived,” I say to her in relief. “But that still sucked.” Every time I blink, I see Perielle’s quick look of shock before her throat was torn out. It happened so quickly she almost couldn’t process it.
And her blood is on my hands.
“I don’t regret any of it,” Anassa tells me, “and you shouldn’t either. But you chose well in coming to Nevah’s aid.”
“Nevah would’ve done just fine without our help,” I say, eying the woman as she bids her large wolf goodbye. Nevah has an unbelievable strength to her. I only hope that she’ll start to open up to the rest of us more, now. That she’ll realize that friendship can be a strength, too.
Anassa nods to me and then leaves with the rest of the Strategos direwolves, back through the large door that will take them to their pack terraces. I fall in with Izabel and Tomison as we head toward the stands to watch the remainder of the gruesome Trial unfold.
As we near the seats, my gaze drifts upward, toward the beacon of Killian in the stands.
I can’t help it; I smile at him, and his handsome face splits into a responding grin. He shoots me a quick thumbs up that I’m positive no one clocked.
I made it. I survived. We have more time together. I have more time to save Saela.
But when I sit down in my uncomfortable wooden seat, the hair raises at the back of my neck.
Stark’s eyes are narrowed on me, his arms crossed over his chest, the dark kill tattoos on his hands visible from even this distance.
He saw us.