Chapter Thirty-Five
T HIRTY - F I VE
I’m bound and gagged and standing beside Julius.
All the portraits have been taken down. The chairs have been moved, and someone’s drawn a circle, which Augustus explains is where the combatants must remain.
It seems Silas has decided the young wolf will play the role of referee, maybe thinking he isn’t completely on Bishop’s side—after all, the role of Pack advisor is open, and it must require a thorough knowledge of the laws.
As Augustus explains, if either Silas or Bishop intentionally leaves the ring, there’s a penalty.
If they accidentally leave it—such as being thrown outside the bounds—combat stops until they’re both back inside.
This is to keep the bout fair. Otherwise, they could edge close to the onlookers, who might offer subtle aid.
Bishop is already waiting in the ring. When Silas enters the room, I only glance over, briefly, and see that he’s a wolf with fur the color of his hair—honeyed amber, like mine.
I suppose that makes sense. In wolf form, they’ll be whatever color their hair is.
Bishop is dark-furred with dark eyes, which makes him look like an oversized wolf.
Silas’s light fur and blue eyes make him look like a dog.
That relaxes me—irrationally I know, but I can’t help it.
Even if Silas is a wolf, I see a dog as less of a threat.
Then Silas steps into the ring, and my breath catches.
Seeing him walk in alone, I hadn’t realized how big he is.
Now that he’s near Bishop, the difference makes my heart seize.
Silas is massive. He’s not quite as tall as Bishop, but he’s at least a third broader, barrel-chested and thick with muscle.
I should have expected this. Hair color isn’t the only thing that carries over.
In human form, Bishop is tall and leanly muscled.
He’ll be the same as a wolf. Silas is tall and broad and heavily muscled.
He’ll be the same as a wolf. But now, seeing them together, I don’t see a wolf versus a harmless pet.
I see a tall, leggy wolf versus a monstrous mastiff.
I remind myself that big means slow. Silas’s musculature would be more helpful in human form. What matters is that Bishop is still strong, but also younger and more agile. Smarter, too. Yes, Bishop definitely has the advantage and—
Silas lunges at Bishop, teeth sinking into his shoulder, ripping, blood spraying. Shock steals my breath, and around me, voices rise, the few cheers drowned out by roars of rage.
“Cheat!” someone shouts. “That whoreson—”
“Silas!” Claude shouts as he walks toward the ring. “You know the rules.”
“The bout hasn’t begun, Silas,” Augustus says calmly. “You need to wait for the signal.”
Silas trots off, and if a wolf can smirk, he’s smirking. Bishop backs up, twisting to look at the wound. It’s an ugly gash, streaming blood. Rage rips through me, and I writhe against my bonds.
“Bishop’s fine,” Julius murmurs. “Now he knows Silas is prepared to cheat. He won’t expect a fair fight.”
So shouldn’t they stop it? Shouldn’t Silas be censured? Penalized?
I glare at Augustus, but even as I do, I know I’m being unfair. He is Bishop’s man. I have no doubt of that. But he needs to be so careful here, or he’ll be stripped of any power he has, and one of Silas’s loyal brutes will take his place as referee.
Augustus tells the two combatants to retreat and gives Bishop a moment to recover. Then Augustus instructs the two fighters to prepare. He starts to signal for the match to begin, and Silas charges.
As Silas runs at him, Bishop stands there, staring as if in shock. Then, at the last second, he dives to the side, and I smile behind my gag.
Bishop wasn’t caught off guard. After that first bite, he’s ready for Silas to push every boundary he can push, cheat in every way he can cheat.
Silas stumbles, momentum carrying him to the edge of the circle. Bishop swings around and pounces. He rips into Silas’s shoulder, but he hangs on a moment too long, and Silas whirls and snaps, throwing Bishop off.
“Damn it, Bishop,” Julius growls. “Don’t try to be fancy.”
Silas had torn Bishop’s shoulder a moment ago.
Now Bishop was trying to inflict the same wound on him.
Showing off. Tit for tat. And it cost him.
He only sank his teeth into Silas’s shoulder, and now the big wolf is running at him, and Bishop is caught at an awkward angle, forced to back up on four legs.
Here’s where Bishop’s inexperience becomes glaringly clear.
Backing up as a wolf is awkward enough that he trips over his own legs.
Silas leaps in and takes Bishop down. Bishop manages to twist and avoid being pinned, and the two of them grapple, a whirling mass of fur and fangs and spraying blood and snarls and yelps.
Bishop breaks free and runs full out. Runs for the chalk line.
At the last second, he veers and Silas, charging after him, goes skidding past the line.
“Penalty!” Augustus shouts, with a little too much satisfaction, and Julius glares a warning at the young wolf.
Silas whirls and snarls at Augustus.
“You left the circle,” Augustus says, his voice calm again. “You weren’t pushed or thrown out. That incurs a penalty. You must return to the center mark, which allows Bishop the opportunity to attack—”
Silas charges Bishop instead. Boos and shouts ring out from the crowd.
“Good try, pup,” Julius murmurs, as if to Augustus. “But Silas isn’t going to follow anyone’s rules.”
The interruption, though, was enough for Bishop to catch his breath and regroup. When Silas charges, Bishop dodges. He circles around the larger wolf, who spins and then tries to pounce, only for Bishop to run.
Bishop keeps that up. Run, dodge, feint. Stay out of Silas’s way. Wolves begin to grumble. A few shout at Bishop.
“Fight him, you coward!”
Julius mutters, “Bishop’s tiring him out, you idiot. Using his head, and Silas is too incensed to realize it.”
Julius is right. Bishop’s literally running circles around the Alpha.
Silas should stop falling for it, but he’s only getting more agitated, more angry, charging and pouncing until his sides heave with the effort.
When he pauses for breath, Bishop runs in, snapping at Silas’s flank and ripping a chunk out before Silas can throw him off.
Bishop charges again, but this time Silas is ready. He counterattacks and blood flies from both wolves. Bishop evades and circles and grabs for Silas, catching fur as Silas runs… and keeps running, clear out of the circle.
“Penalty!” Augustus shouts.
Silas only turns and stretches.
“Get back in the ring!” someone shouts.
“Tell him to get back!” another yells at the young referee. “He’s taking a break! Catching his breath!”
Augustus orders Silas into the circle. The Alpha rolls his shoulders and then saunters back. Bishop swings around, preparing for his free shot. Instead Silas wheels and charges.
“No!” Augustus shouts. “You had a penalty!”
Bishop isn’t prepared. He was setting up his own attack, and now he’s defending, and he twists too late. Silas plows into Bishop’s side and sends him skidding through the chalk line.
“Foul!” someone calls cheerfully. “There, Gus. The whelp has earned a penalty.”
“He was pushed out!” another replies—Charlie, judging by the voice. “The Law says—”
“Fuck the Law.”
The sound of a fist striking flesh. The crowd ripples as everyone moves back from the two fighting wolves.
I drag my attention away from the distraction and look toward the ring. Silas has Bishop outside of it, and Bishop is on his feet, facing off with the Alpha, snarling. Silas blocks him from reentering the ring.
“You pushed him out, sir,” Augustus says. “That doesn’t incur a penalty. You need to let him back into the ring—”
Silas charges. Bishop can’t move in time, and he tries to meet the attack with a lunge, but again, Silas plows into him, this time shoving Bishop into a stack of chairs. The chairs clatter down onto Bishop as the Alpha prances off.
“What the fuck?” someone shouts. “Augustus! Stop this.”
“You know he can’t!” Julius shouts back. “Let him do his fucking job.”
“I would, if he’d do it.”
The crowd surges forward. Fights break out, Silas’s supporters trying to hold Bishop’s allies back, but Bishop’s outnumber them at least two to one.
“Damn it,” Julius snaps. “If they interfere, it’s over. Bishop will need to forfeit.”
Yes, because that’s Silas’s plan.
“Back!” Julius shouts, and Claude and Oliver join in, pushing the crowd back.
“Silas wants a forfeit!” Julius shouts. “Don’t let him have it!”
Bishop is out from under the chairs, shaking it off as Silas saunters around the circle. Then, without warning, Silas spins and charges. Bishop tries to dodge, but he stumbles over the scattered chairs and his legs tangle.
Silas slams Bishop into another stack of chairs. This time, the chairs go flying and Bishop’s head strikes the wall with a crack. Bishop crumples to the floor, his head thrown back at a terrible angle. And he doesn’t move.