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“Okay, well… did you talk to your trainer? Did he have anything to say?”

His smile faltered. “Um, not really. I guess his pack is signing up for the Rite, so he canceled all his appointments until after it’s over.”

“Fuck,” I groaned. “I don’t want to psych you out, but I have to ask…”

Julian held up his hand to interrupt me. “I can beat him. He may have a few moves he hasn’t taught me yet, but he’s a lot slower than me. I’m not worried, I’m just pissed. Especially since there’s no way I can work with him again once this is over, and I’m not looking forward to finding a new gym.”

A lot of bridges were going to burn in the aftermath of this Rite, that was for damn sure. “Good. Channel that energy, got it?”

“Yeah, sure Coach,” he replied sarcastically.

I gave him one more pat and then left him to whatever prep he needed to do, heading down the hall towards the bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready for bed. I paused in front of James’s office. Elias sat at Marlowe’s father’s desk, and Archer was on the other side. They were finishing a bottle of tequila between the two of them, shirts unbuttoned and hair thoroughly disheveled.

“You know there’s a nice bottle of Lagavulin over there, right?” I pointed towards the liquor shelf and the two of them shrugged.

“We’re not trying to enjoy ourselves,” Elias grumbled, grimacing as he took a big sip.

“Oh.” I turned around to head back out when Archer inelegantly nudged the chair next to him with his foot.

“Sit, this pity party’s got room for more,” he said, finishing another glass. Elias immediately refilled it for him.

I shook my head. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve earned back the right…”

“For fuck’s sake, Nolan!” Archer snapped. “Stop the self-flagellation and drink with us.”

Elias raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think I could even say that word sober.”

I sighed and grabbed my own glass, taking the bottle from Elias and pouring what was left. I threw back the whole thing, coughing as it threatened to come back up, then slammed the glass back on the table. “There, you happy? I’ve wallowed.”

Archer grunted, but didn’t look at me.

The three of us sat in silence, listening to the seconds from the wall clock tick away.

I’d never felt so awkward with my pack before. After the initial shock wore off, Elias and Archer had finally said they didn’t blame me anymore, but all I felt coming down the bond was cold disdain.

“So is the backup plan to shift and maul the Conclave to death if they win?” Elias asked.

I rubbed my hand down my face and grunted. “I talked to Linda this morning. The cops have been issued silver bullets to deal with us if necessary. I hadn’t told the Conclave we could shift, but apparently Marlowe let it slip when she said she’d been planning to rip their throats out in their sleep.”

“Fuck,” Elias replied, taking another sip of his tequila. “What I wouldn’t pay to see that.”

I chuckled. “Linda said she flipped them off and called them bitches, too.”

Another small laugh bubbled out of Archer’s chest. “Who else but Marlowe could flip Roland fucking Thorne the bird, call him a bitch, and walk away unscathed? I’m starting to think sheistoo good for us.”

“Maybe for you assholes, but she and I are perfect for each other.”

I turned around and saw Cam in the doorway, his jaw tight as he looked at us. “And seriously guys? Julian can feel your despair, so pull yourselves together. He’ll need every ounce of our faith tomorrow or he’ll get distracted, and that could fuck him over when he finallyfaces Eamon.”

The Rite of Dominion was a gauntlet challenge. Since our pack had invoked it, Julian would start and have to face each competitor one at a time. As soon as one battle was finished, the next would start with the winner of the previous match going against the new opponent, until there was only one left standing.

The Conclave reserved the right to fight last, which not only meant they only had to face one male, but that Eamon would be fresh while Julian would be exhausted. The one advantage Julian had over the hulking retired linebacker was his speed and the stamina of youth, but those could very well be gone by the time they met in the ring.

“Do we know how many packs have signed up?” Archer asked.

I looked at the empty tequila bottle and went up to see what else James had had in his collection. If the whiskey was for enjoying ourselves, then I’d go with the vodka next.

“So far, twenty-two,” I replied flatly. “But packs have until a winner is declared to enter.”