Chapter 31
Morning light cast the world in shades of gray with light pink riding the bottoms of the clouds. The wind whipped around, throwing snow in every direction. It cut into Caidrik’s bare skin, sharp enough to sting. Bruises still covered his torso, but all of the cuts had healed.
He faced the bleachers, where many of the pack members sat huddled in blankets. Other members ringed the football field. They were rather quiet for wolves. The football field was a sheet of churned slush over frozen grass, slick in patches and heavy in others. His boots found grip where they could.
Solomon cleared his throat, standing once again on the icy track that surrounded the field.
“The librarian has accepted the challenge from Caidrik McGregor, who was disqualified from the trials due to breaking the, ah, the chastity requirement.” Solomon flushed a tomato red color.
“According to the grimoire, he can be reinstated as a challenger if he survives twenty-five fights with pack members as well as a fight with any remaining challengers, who in this case, is his brother, Bulwark McGregor.”
A rumbling set up in the bleachers.
Solomon rocked back on his heels. “The rules, according to the grimoire, is that a fight goes on until one wolf taps out. In addition, the challenger may not shift to wolf form unless his opponent does so first.”
Just great. Caidrik was already aching in his human form. He lifted his chin and surveyed the pack. “The librarian has given me his word that should I fail, Nadia Hodge is to be escorted safely to the Granite Pack territory and then left alone. For life.”
Solomon nodded. “Yes. It’s a bit of a gray area in the grimoire, but I do believe I have the right to make that promise. So I did.”
Caidrik didn’t give a shit if it was a gray area or not. That was the only way he’d allow Nadia to attend the fights. “I want the vow of every wolf here.” He didn’t need to raise his voice.
The entire pack nodded, while several members called out their agreement. Good.
He gave Nadia a chin lift where she sat between Bussy and Margaret, all three sharing a green blanket already dotted with snow.
She smiled back, but her eyes were wide.
Worried. He nodded at his mother, who sat farther down the bleachers next to Taryn.
He’d asked her not to attend, but his mother had never listened to him, so why would she start now?
Solomon patted the grimoire. “Let the challenge begin.”
A male stepped onto the field from the crowd. Monty Robertson.
Caidrik knew him. Everybody knew him. Monty had been an enforcer long enough that the pack had stopped asking how he kept walking away from fights. Scars ran along his knuckles and up his forearms like old writing. He carried himself like he didn’t need luck.
He stopped a few yards away. Snow collected on his shoulders and hair. He looked at Caidrik’s bare chest, then at the bruises, and his mouth twitched. “You sure about this?”
Caidrik lifted his hands and settled into his stance. He didn’t waste breath on anything that sounded like doubt.
Solomon cleared his throat. “If anybody beats the challenger, they earn a twenty-five percent ownership interest in all of the Slate Pack mines.”
Monty grinned, revealing a gap in the middle of his teeth. “That’s quite the incentive.”
Yeah, it most certainly was.
Solomon nodded. “We had more than twenty-five fighters ask to be included in the challenge and had to narrow it down to our best fighters. It was difficult, and I do apologize to everyone who didn’t make the grade.”
More than twenty-five of them wanted to slash Caidrik’s throat?
Solomon blew a whistle.
Monty surged forward, fast for his size, all momentum and intent.
He went straight for the ribs. Caidrik shifted his weight at the last second.
Monty’s shoulder still slammed into him, hard enough to make his teeth click.
Pain rippled through him. His boots slid on the slick grass, but he stayed upright.
He let the hit travel through him instead of stopping him.
Monty followed with a hook aimed for the jaw. Caidrik blocked with his forearm, then snapped his elbow down into Monty’s wrist. Monty grunted but kept coming. The enforcer fought like a storm. No pause. No hesitation. Just pressure.
Caidrik gave ground by inches. He didn’t retreat. He angled. He waited for the moment Monty’s weight got ahead of him. It always did. Even the best fighters had habits.
Monty faked low and came high. The second punch landed. It clipped Caidrik’s jaw and snapped his head sideways. Heat bloomed in his mouth. Blood tasted metallic and immediate.
Good.
That meant his body still worked.
Caidrik wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, more to clear the blood than to be dramatic.
He stepped in. Close range was where size stopped mattering and control started.
He drove a fist into Monty’s ribs and then another into the same spot before Monty could fully exhale.
Monty’s breath hitched. Caidrik felt it.
He felt the body give. He followed with a knee to the thigh, sharp and punishing.
Monty swore under his breath and swung wide.
Caidrik ducked under it and grabbed Monty’s arm, twisting and pulling him forward. Monty stumbled a half step. That half step was everything.
Caidrik swept Monty’s leg.
Monty went down hard, back slamming into the snow-matted turf. Slush sprayed out. Monty tried to roll. Caidrik dropped his weight onto him and pinned him, forearm across his throat, pressure controlled.
“Yield,” Solomon called.
Monty’s eyes burned. Pride fought survival for a long second. Then Monty slapped the ground once. Hard. The sound was dull in the snow, but it carried anyway.
Solomon raised a hand. “Winner.”
Caidrik stood slowly. His chest heaved. The cold rushed in the second his body stopped moving. He leaned down and jerked Monty to stand. “You okay?”
“Yeah. That was fun.” Monty clapped him on the back. “I gave it my best.”
All right. “Would you have killed me if you got the chance?” Caidrik asked, because that was the only way he was losing today.
“We’ll never know,” Monty said cheerfully, limping toward the bleachers.
A new challenger peeled off from the crowd before the murmurs even settled.
The second enforcer was leaner. Quick like a younger wolf who had never been injured. His name was Bobby Livingstone, and he bounced lightly on his feet as he walked onto the field, like this was fun.
Caidrik didn’t know him well, but he was too young to hurt. He’d have to be careful. While he wanted to win this thing, he wasn’t willing to kill a youngster.
“I ain’t gonna shift,” Bobby said. “I’m the best wrestler in town.”
Good to know. Caidrik prepared to hit the snow.
The whistle sounded.
Caidrik dispatched the kid in a few moves and was careful to help him back up. “Take care of those ribs.”
“No prob.” Bobby grinned, holding his ribs. “I’d like another chance someday.”
Yeah, if Caidrik survived. He went through five more challengers, slowing a bit each time.
Then ten. He got to number fifteen and was seeing double.
The pack members were loudly, actively cheering him on now.
He took energy from them, but it wasn’t enough.
So he turned to the bleachers, looking for her.
On the bleachers, the pack was a mass of dark shapes.
Coats. Hats. Scarves. A few faces stood out.
Bussy’s posture. Margaret’s tight hands.
And Nadia, bundled between them. Caidrik didn’t let himself study her.
He just let the sight of her settle into him like a promise. One he’d given her. To fucking survive.
Solomon’s voice carried over the field again. “Next challenger.”
Caidrik rolled his shoulders, ignoring the ache in his ribs. He flexed his hands again. His knuckles were already swelling, the skin splitting in thin lines. Blood warmed as it flowed from him and then cooled in the air. The winds didn’t care.
He set his feet.
He stayed human.
And waited for whoever came next.
Nadia had stopped counting somewhere around the fourteenth challenger. Her body reacted each time Caidrik jerked from pain.
By the twenty-fifth challenger, her hands were numb from gripping the blanket.
Her throat hurt from taking shallow and panicked breaths.
Snow clung to her lashes and melted down her cheeks, mixing with tears she hadn’t noticed falling.
The field below looked chewed up as if it were getting as bruised as her mate.
Caidrik stood near the center and bent slightly at the waist to spit blood onto the snow.
He braced his hands on his knees. Blood streaked down his ribs and dripped from his knuckles.
One eye was already swelling shut. His chest rose and fell hard, and it looked like he might be struggling to breathe.
Bruises bloomed across him in every shade of ugly, purples and yellows layered over one another. He looked held together by sheer will.
He’d survived all twenty-five fights. Hell. He’d won them all.
The pack rooted loudly for him now. The bleachers shook with noise as most of the wolves had jumped to their feet. They shouted his name, encouraging him. Knowing he wanted to lead and protect them all.
Nadia barely heard them.
She watched him straighten and force himself to stand fully again.
The wet snow whipped around him and stuck to the blood across his torso and neck.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and left a smear of red across his cheek.
He didn’t look up at the stands. He didn’t look at her. He just waited.
The noise shifted.
It wasn’t cheering anymore. It was anticipation.
A figure stepped out from the far side of the field.
Bulwark.
He was shirtless as well with unmarked skin. Not a cut or a bruise on him. He smiled, moving toward Caidrik, steam flowing off his heated body.
Nadia’s stomach dropped.