Page 113 of The Reaper's Vow
Karina doesn’t flinch. “My mother fled to protect me from men like Blackwood. Why do you think he wanted me above all others, when any female here would have bent at the chance to call herself Luna? He hunted me because of my bloodline. Headmitted it before he died. His obsession wasn’t with me. It was with my mother. He saw me as his property by inheritance.”
A stir passes through the pack. From the front, an older woman steps closer. Her white-streaked braid swings against her back, her movements measured but sure. Lines of memory etch her face, but her gaze is steady as it settles on Karina.
“I knew Elena,” the woman remarks.
Frost snarls at the woman. “Silence, Mara! This is pack business.”
“It is pack business,” Mara replies, unflinching under his glare. “And if she truly is Elena's daughter, that changes everything.”
I feel Damien shift beside me, his body angling subtly to keep both Frost and the newcomer in his line of sight.
“It changes nothing,” Frost snaps, his attention returning to us. “Rosewood or not, you have no claim here. This territory has belonged to the Blackwood pack for generations.”
“That ends today,” I challenge him. “This transition does not merit bloodshed. I am giving you a choice. Submit or leave.”
Frost's laugh is harsh, grating against my ears like claws on stone. “Submit? To a pup who thinks killing one alpha makes him worthy of leading a pack? I've served this territory for fifteen years. I know every border, every threat, every weakness. What do you know besides how to follow orders?”
The challenge hangs in the air between us, heavy with implication. I can feel the pack's attention shift, weighing his words against my presence. Some nod in agreement.
“I know how to protect what's mine. I know the difference between leadership and tyranny. And I know that any wolf who stood by while Blackwood tortured innocents has already proven themselves unfit to lead.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd again. I catch fragments of whispered conversations—wolves recounting memories ofBlackwood's cruelties, his excesses, the fear that permeated every aspect of pack life under his rule.
Frost's jaw tightens. “You know nothing of what it takes to keep a pack alive. To make the hard choices. Blackwood may have been harsh, but he kept us strong. Kept us unified.”
“He kept you terrified,” Karina interjects.
“He kept you isolated,” I say evenly. “Fear isn’t strength—it’s weakness wearing a mask of dominance.”
Frost’s nostrils flare as the realization hits that he’s losing ground.
“Pretty words from someone who’s never led anything,” he spits. “What happens when neighboring packs test our borders? When food runs short? Will your mate’s bloodline feed our young?”
“My mate’s bloodline will make sure they have a future worth fighting for,” I growl, stepping forward until only a few feet separate us. “Under Blackwood, you were scavengers. Under me, you’ll remember what it means to be wolves.”
Something in Frost fractures. His composure shatters, gold flooding his eyes as his wolf surges free. Bones pop and twist as the change takes hold. “Then prove it!” he snarls, voice warping as his canines lengthen. “Face me as wolves do. Winner takes all.”
The crowd forms a circle around us, their excitement palpable as they scent the coming violence. This is what they understand—not politics or bloodlines, but raw power. The most primal form of pack law.
I begin to strip, handing my clothes to Karina without breaking eye contact with Frost. Her fingers brush mine as she takes them. It steadies something wild in my chest.
“End this quickly,” she murmurs, low enough that only I can hear.
I nod once, then let my wolf surge forward. The shift tears through me like lightning—bones cracking, muscles expanding, my human form dissolving into something far more lethal. When I rise on four legs, I'm massive even by alpha standards.
He's smaller than I expected. Lean where I'm broad, built for speed rather than raw power. His white-blond fur makes him look ghostly in the afternoon light filtering through the trees. He circles me slowly, looking for weakness, for an opening.
I don't give him one.
The pack falls silent around us, the only sounds our heavy breathing and the soft pad of paws on forest floor.
Frost lunges first, aiming for my throat in a move that speaks of desperation rather than strategy. I sidestep easily, my larger frame moving with surprising grace. His momentum carries him past me, and I rake my claws across his ribs as he stumbles.
First blood. The metallic scent fills the air, and several wolves in the circle shift restlessly, their wolves eager to witness the outcome.
Frost recovers quickly, wheeling around to face me with bared fangs. Blood drips from his wounded side, but he shows no sign of backing down. If anything, the injury seems to fuel his desperation.
He feints left, then launches himself at my flank. This time, I'm ready for the deception, catching him mid-leap with my jaws. My teeth sink deep into his shoulder, and his howl of pain echoes through the clearing. I shake him once, violently, before releasing him to crash into the circle of watching wolves.
