Chapter 21 Olivia
TWENTY-ONE
Olivia
All our pack mates came to the challenge, and I’d never been more grateful to have a group of wolves at my back than I was while watching my mate strip off his shirt and walk out onto the sand with Kane at his side.
I wanted to chase him, but instead, I grabbed Fiona’s hand and held on tight as I watched him go, sending up prayers to the Goddess that my newfound mágissa talents could protect him from a scar attack for the duration of the challenge.
He was tall and proud, the strong lines of his muscular body oozing danger with every step toward the waiting crowd of centaurs.
If I lived to be one thousand and one years old, I’d remember the outline of him, burned against the sunset.
But more than that, it was the lingering tingle of his kiss on my lips that I held on to, the bold, vibrant taste of him, imparted with a kiss that left my hair wild and my heart pounding.
“Welcome, Pack Blackwater!” Herd Leader Asithius greeted us with a booming voice that carried over the sand, over the waves.
He clapped once, then rubbed his hands together as he surveyed Lucien, shirtless and wearing only black athletic pants, as instructed.
I clutched a spare pair in my hands for him to wear after, assuming he’d need to shift.
I hadn’t let myself take the time to appreciate his chiseled physique before, when we were saying goodbye.
But now there was nothing for me to do but watch and drink him in.
His hair was disheveled, and his muscles corded in the waning sunlight.
He was ruggedly beautiful, eyes burning with intensity that the distance between us couldn’t dampen.
My wild wolf. My own wolf rumbled her appreciation in my chest.
“Centaur challenges have long been a tradition among our kind and are only rarely shared with outsiders. You might be tempted to look at our challengers”—he waved to Flantian, who stood tall and proud a few feet away, with a small throng of admirers who put up a cheer at his attention—“and think that brute strength would win it all for one side, but that’s untrue.
Centaurs are known worldwide for their wisdom.
As such, our challenges are crafted to present an equitable contest of both wits and might for both centaurs and the rival species. ”
I held back a derisive snort. Wisdom might be what was written about in the human books about centaurs, but that certainly wasn’t what the supernatural world knew them for.
No, that was their cunning. They were a brilliant, ruthless species with the physical might to do as they pleased.
Only their hard-to-disguise form and slow reproductive rate kept them from ruling the world.
“Wolves are apex predators, and so we’ve made today’s challenge simple. A hunt. Bring us an infernabist for our celebratory feast tonight, and you win.” Asithius spread his hands wide and smiled, as if we should all just believe this would be a walk in the park.
I watched Flantian from the corner of my eye as Asithius spoke, and even with only partial attention, it was impossible to miss the way his face paled.
Whatever an infernabist was, it wasn’t good.
Fuck.
I didn’t swear often, but this situation clearly warranted it. Wolves didn’t hunt alone; we hunted in packs. And whatever this creature was, it was big enough to make a giant freaking centaur blanch. And Lucien would be facing it completely alone.
Alone and with nothing but herbs and my best guess at herbalist magic between him and another painful attack from his damaged connection with his wolf that could debilitate him at a dangerous time.
I was numb with worry as I followed the stream of centaurs and my pack mates toward the finish line, where we would wait.
Only the two champions and their representatives were left on the beach with Asithius for full instructions.
I cast one last look over my shoulder at Lucien before they were out of sight, his face grim as he listened and nodded along to whatever Asithius was now saying more quietly.
Shit, shit, shit, fuck.