Chapter 3 - Rowan
Rowan
Over the past three days, I’d worked my way through the wildlands outside Denraider’s new camps until I managed to be captured.
Though they outnumbered me and had an alpha among them, I refused to submit to them, knowing Denraider would respect me more if I only submitted to those who were obviously more dominant.
Which is how I found myself in a fighting ring deeper inside Denraider territory.
These lands were more recently conquered, and it showed in the subordinate pack members’ attitudes.
In fact, it was pretty easy to tell which wolves called Denraider their pack by choice, and those whose choices had been taken from them.
The dark-haired alpha who faced me now wore the savage grin of a wolf who’d wholeheartedly embraced the Denraider ethos. I’d learned his name was Keith.
“Most lone wolves are happy to find a pack that’ll take them in. So, most of our new recruits from the wildlands learn to submit pretty fast,” he said. “Smart ones, anyway.”
My refusal to submit must have struck a nerve.
“You kneel, show your throat, and we decide if you’re worth keeping. But alphas like you…” He gestured toward the bloodstained circle. “Alphas who think they’re too good to submit to Denraider’s power get to prove themselves the hard way. In the fighting ring.”
I glanced around at the gathering wolves — some bore fresh scars, others seemed untouched by violence.
The pattern was clear: submit immediately, or fight your way to respect.
The crude fighting circle stretched before me, marked by bloodstained stones that jutted from the frozen ground like broken teeth.
I stared at Keith, refusing to drop my eyes. “I’m always up for a good fight. But I doubt you’ll give me one.”
“Not me, no.” Keith smirked. “Gather round!” he called, his breath fogging in the winter solstice air.
Around the circle, Denraider wolves pressed close, their voices rising as they placed bets on whether I would die in the ring.
The casual brutality in their laughter made my wolf snarl inside me.
These weren’t the disciplined fighters I’d grown up with before my exile — they were worse. Thirstier for blood and violence.
Denraider had grown, conquering more and more packs. And their hunger for conquest brought out the worst in them.
“Good timing, because my packmates just recruited another rogue alpha from the Oregon wildlands who refused to submit,” Keith said, his voice raised so everyone around could hear.
“We have enough alphas swinging their dicks around. As far as I’m concerned, you’re both disposable.
We don’t need either of you.” He gave a dramatic sigh.
“But unfortunately, it’s not up to me. The regional alpha decreed that whichever one survives will prove himself worthy of joining the pack. ”
The gathering crowd gave a roar of approval.
“Twenty says the new meat doesn’t last five minutes,” one called out, his ugly face twisted in a grin.
“I’ll take that bet,” another replied. “Look at the size of him. Ripped bastard might actually put up a fight.”
The physical ache in my chest where the Howling Echo pack bond used to be throbbed. Without that anchor, every sense felt too sharp, too exposed. Gage’s steady presence was no longer my north star.
But the Bonded link flowed beneath my consciousness like a warm current, and the irony wasn’t lost on me.
The mage bond I’d once feared was now the only thing keeping me sane in this hellscape.
Freya’s love pulsed through our connection, carefully muted behind my mental barriers but still there. Still real.
My opponent stalked into the circle — a fellow rogue alpha with nothing left to lose.
Desperation rolled off him in waves, mixing with the sour stench of fear-sweat.
His wolf was lean from malnutrition with witchfire scars crisscrossing his torso, mapping the close calls that proved he was a survivor like me.
We both knew the rules: Kill or be killed. No mercy, no surrender. Only the winner received the dubious honor of joining the Denraider pack.
With bloodlust thick in the air, the crowd fell silent as we faced each other and disrobed to shift. Food and shelter were earned through violence in this pack, not given. Weakness meant death, and death meant entertainment for those strong enough to watch.
I shifted, my bones cracking and reforming as my massive black wolf emerged. A ripple of surprise ran through the watching crowd.
“Fuck me,” someone whispered. “That’s a big wolf.”
“Still betting against him?”
The other alpha shifted as well, his brown coat patchy and dull. He was smaller than me but wiry, built for speed rather than power. In a fair fight, he might have given me trouble.
But this wasn’t about winning fairly. This was about survival, and I’d been surviving in these wildlands since I was fifteen years old. I knew what would impress the pack I needed to infiltrate — ruthless efficiency wrapped in just enough struggle to make it entertaining.
The brown wolf crouched low, muscles bunching as he prepared to spring. I let my own wolf’s rage surface just enough to let the watching Denraider wolves see the killer they expected.
Then my opponent lunged, and the fight began.
The brown wolf hit me like a battering ram, and I let him. His momentum carried us both to the ground in a tangle of fur and fangs, putting on a good show. Denraider erupted in cheers as claws raked across my ribs, drawing blood that steamed in the cold air.
I could have ended it in seconds. Could have used my size and strength to crush his windpipe before he knew what hit him. But that would look too easy, too clean. Denraider wanted a show.
So I gave them one.
I rolled with his attack, letting him score hits across my shoulder and flank while protecting my throat and belly.
His claws found purchase, tearing through fur and skin with wet, ripping sounds that made the crowd roar approval.
The taste of my own blood filled my mouth as I snapped at his muzzle, missing by inches.
He was good — better than I’d expected. Packless desperation gave him speed, and starvation made him vicious.
When I feinted left, he anticipated it, lunging for my exposed side with jaws wide.
I twisted away just enough to avoid the worst of it, but his fangs still found flesh, sinking deep into the muscle of my shoulder.
Pain exploded through me, bright and sharp. My wolf snarled, demanding I end this pretense and tear his throat out. But I held back, letting him think he had the advantage as we rolled across the frozen ground, and I latched my fangs into his ribs.
The crowd was on their feet now, howling encouragement. Blood — mine and his — painted the snow in crimson streaks. This was what they lived for. What they craved.
I planted my hind legs and shoved, sending him stumbling backward. Before he could recover, I lunged, going for his flank. He twisted away, but not fast enough. My teeth found the meat of his thigh, and I bit down until I felt bone.
His pained howl echoed off the mountains around us.
Now he was angry. Good. Angry shifters made mistakes.
He came at me in a fury, all strategy forgotten as rage took over. I danced back, letting him exhaust himself with wild swipes that barely connected. When he overextended with a vicious lunge, I was ready.
But so was he.
At the last second, he twisted, and instead of catching empty air, his jaws clamped down on my left foreleg. Fangs pierced deep, scraping bone, and agony tore through me.
The pain was so intense it nearly triggered my feral state. My vision went red at the edges as my wolf’s rage clawed at my control, howling for blood and vengeance. Memories flooded back — my first exile, the first time I’d killed a rogue alpha to survive, the wrongness of being packless and alone.
Through the Bonded link, I sensed my agony hit Freya like she’d been the one to take the hit. Her fear and pain echoed back to me, sharp enough to make me stagger.
“Rowan!” Her mental voice was full of terror.
I shut my mental curtains so hard it felt like a door slamming in my skull. The Bonded link went dark, cutting off Freya’s anguished cry and leaving me truly alone for the first time since the fight began.
The silence in my head was deafening. Without the pack bond to anchor me and the Bonded link sealed away, I felt like I was drowning in isolation. But I couldn’t risk letting Freya feel what came next.
For a heartbeat, I teetered on the edge. It would be so easy to let go, to become the monster Denraider expected. To tear the rogue alpha apart with the mindless fury that had always kept me alive in these wildlands.
But Freya’s face flashed through my mind. Her trust, her love, her belief that I would come back to her. She was counting on me to find her sister. I couldn’t do that if I lost myself to the beast.
I forced the rage down, channeling it into cold calculation instead. The brown wolf still had my foreleg in his grip, shaking his head like he could tear the limb clean off. Blood poured from the wounds, but I ignored the pain.
With a roar that shook snow from the surrounding trees, I twisted, pulling him off balance since his jaws were still latched onto me. That exposed his flank to my jaws.
He released my leg with a yelp, stumbling away as blood streamed from his side. He came at me one last time, going for my throat in a final, suicidal charge.
I met him head-on, using my larger size to hold my ground and push him aside.
Our collision sent shockwaves through me, but this time I didn’t hold back. My jaws closed around his throat, and I bit down with all the force my massive frame could muster. Cartilage crunched. Blood sprayed across the frozen earth in arterial spurts.
His struggles grew weaker, then stopped altogether.