Page 48 of Direbound (The Wolves of Ruin #1)

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

T he morning of the Unity Trial, the horn blasts through the castle before dawn, so loud the vase on my nightstand rattles slightly.

I’m already wide awake. I’ve been awake for hours, lying here in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling. I sit up slowly and rub my itchy eyes, then mechanically set about slipping into uniform and readying myself as best I can for what’s about to happen.

Our instructors have prepared us as well as they can for this moment, even Daegan, who greatly improved as an instructor once I told him directly that he did not need to look to me for guidance and that he should assume authority during all classes. Today is the culmination of the Proving period, our ability to show the instructors, the king and the nobles that we’re capable of working together across packs.

Of course, like every Trial here, it’s also an opportunity for bloodshed. Each pack has been assessing the other during the last two months of joint training. Today’s the last chance for any direwolf or rider to cull a pair that they find wanting.

Tomorrow, we’ll all be on the same side, facing the same enemy.

When I reach the common lounge, the rest of the Rawbonds are already assembled, eating breakfast in tense silence. It’s like there are icicles hanging perilously from the ceiling and we’re all just waiting for them to fall, wondering which of us will be hit first. Grabbing a roll, I sit down next to Izabel and Nevah, though I can’t bring myself to eat it.

A shadow falls over my plate and I look up into Jonah’s hard, dark eyes. He fixes me with a burning glare. Ever since he broke my nose and Stark threatened him, he’s kept a wide berth, but I’ve felt his malignant attention on me whenever we’re in the same room. Today is the closest he’s come since that day in the yard.

“What?” I say with a scowl.

He smiles, and it contains no warmth. “Good luck today, Cooper. You might have aspirations about your station, but mark my word, you’ll die in the gutter like the common-born bitch you are.”

I push my plate away from me with a huff. “If you’re thinking about challenging an Alpha during the Trial today, Jonah, you are far fucking stupider than I assumed, and believe me, I was not giving you much credit as it was.”

His smile widens and still does not reach his soulless eyes. “I would never dare challenge an Alpha,” he says sarcastically, his voice rising in volume to draw the attention of all the other Rawbonds. “I’m merely pointing out that today is a very good day to weed out any unsuitable common blood.”

With that, he turns and stalks off, but he’s made the scene he wanted to make. People are whispering. Fucker. Maybe someone will find it fit to take him out today.

Leader Aldrich appears then through the door of the common lounge, his face serious. “Rawbonds, form up to move to the arena.”

I’m numb as we file out of the common lounge and into the halls, which I suppose is better than trembling or teetering on the verge of vomiting.

Through gaps in the crowd, I catch glimpses of faces I recognize. Venna’s distinctive chic hair marks her amongst the Kryptos ranks. Joining us from the other direction is Henrey with the rest of Phylax.

The morning sun hasn’t yet crested the castle walls. The early light paints everything in a wash of gray as we arrive at the arena. Despite the hour, the arena is already packed with the usual crowd of finely dressed nobles, shouting and laughing and drunk with anticipation. It’s a spectacle no noble would miss. They stare and point like we’re animals on show.

Today, though, they’re joined by Bonded who have come from the city, family members who are on leave or retired from the forces already. Both the nobles and Bonded will be attending this final Trial and tomorrow’s graduation ceremony.

The wolves are waiting for us already, and Anassa lifts her head high and meets my eyes as I approach her. Moving to her side, I run my hand along her fur, feeling the power of her muscles beneath my fingers.

The iron wall between us thins to almost nothing, turning translucent and soft.

I’ve been continuing to keep that wall up between us, and now she’s forcing it away. I’m not ready to forgive her. Not until she comes clean with me. But if we’re going to make it through this, we’ll need total connection—no hesitation, no holding back. Unity.

My gaze skirts the dirt floor of the arena, following the drains to where the grate is. To where, perhaps, that crown is. I haven’t had a chance to get in here since I found Stark’s book and I’m burning with curiosity.

But the grate is covered today. A raised stage has been erected in the middle of the arena, where Leader Aldrich stands with the other four instructors. Stark’s arms are folded over his chest, and his glower is on full-blast even at this early hour.

The second horn blares to signal the Unity Trial’s beginning. I look up just as King Cyril and Killian enter to sit at their usual dais. Killian catches my eye and nods. I nod back, warmth filling me.

Aldrich raises a voice amplifier to his mouth and begins to speak, the sound carrying clear across the arena. “Today’s Trial will simulate a coordinated Siphon assault on the castle. Daemos will play the role of the enemy forces, attacking from multiple positions. Phylax must maintain our defensive lines. Kryptos will relay critical intelligence. And Strategos must process all incoming information and coordinate the forces in real-time response.”

It’s what we’ve been training for. The stage on which the instructors stand will serve as the castle. The rest of the arena, the open battlefield. Plenty of space for maneuvering, whatever Daemos decides to do.

“As I’m sure your instructors have warned you, one misstep in your strategy, one break in your pack’s unity, and the defenses crumble,” Aldrich continues.

Frissons of awareness strike through my consciousness. Anassa is reaching out to the other wolves, making initial contact, readying herself for the stream of information she’ll have to control.

We’ll be leading this as the Alpha pair. It’s a good exercise for me—this is what it will feel like when I join the remainder of the Strategos forces at the front.

Flashes of information begin to flow from other riders, through their wolves, back to my bond. Terrain details, potential troop movements, tactical possibilities. Everyone is humming with nervous energy, though some of the emotions I glimpse lean more towards anticipation. I’d bet money that one of those is Tomison.

It should all be overwhelming, but I’ve gotten slowly more used to the outward expansion of my mind, reshaping myself to allow for a wider current. More information, less painful force. All of it washes over me faster than the human mind can process.

There is no thinking. Only knowing.

“The Trial ends when either Daemos breaches our final defenses or Strategos successfully coordinates a decisive victory,” Aldrich says. “But remember! This tests more than strategy. It tests your ability to think and act as one entity . It’s also one final chance for the wolves to minimize potential weaknesses—in their packs, or any others.”

The underlying meaning is clear. Anyone could die today.

The horn blasts again. And we begin.

The Daemos wolves immediately split into attack formations, wasting no time. Their movements are precise and threatening, a blade of dark fur slicing across the open arena.

I can’t waste time. There is no time with how fast they’re moving.

Through the pack bond, I can sense my packmates’ minds analyzing Daemos maneuvers and churning with possible counter-strategies, all offered up for my approval.

My eyes follow the split of Daemos, groups of wolves spreading out across the arena and then whipping back towards us. Anassa’s will delves into me like her fangs are dragging me up a cliff. It’s painful at first until I realize she’s pulling me in the right direction, and I let her influence guide me.

“ Speak ,” Anassa orders, her vicious intent clear. “ Strategos leads, so you lead .”

“Phylax, form a defensive line!” I shout over the thundering approach of a Daemos wolf. A wall of dark fur descends on us, and we have to meet it with our own force or it will crush us entirely. My mind is so focused on the battle that Anassa’s sudden turn beneath me doesn’t even startle me. My body moves with hers. “Kryptos! We need eyes on our flanks!”

The other packs move to comply instantly.

The river of the pack bond stills, like a stormy sea going entirely placid. I can see for miles. The full power of Strategos unity locks into place, and my consciousness expands, connecting me with every member of my pack.

It’s as though nineteen bolts of light have flashed across the battlefield, converging in my mind, carrying with them instantaneous knowledge.

Izabel calculates probable attack vectors while Tomison analyzes terrain advantages. Nevah is assessing the movements of Phylax to ensure they’re complying quickly enough with my order.

Then comes the impact. Daemos’s front line slams into the wall of Phylax in a flurry of fur and teeth. Sound erupts in the arena—shouts and clashing blades, pounding feet and the snarls and barks of the wolves.

From there, the true test begins.

I know where all of my packmates are. I can track Phylax and Kryptos movements as they ebb and flow to rise up against Daemos attacks. I know who is injured, who is starting to overexert themselves. I sense spikes of intent as wolves reposition within our defensive line.

Daemos probes against the eastern defenses, and all the knowledge I need comes to me instantly. “ Seven attackers ,” I project over the bond. “ They’re going to rush us, pure force .”

Through the bond, I sense Tomison calculating the structural weakness in their assault pattern. “ One Daemos wolf is lagging, the farthest south in the line. Their attack will be weak there .”

“Phylax wolves, rotate your line!” Izabel calls, sensing that the front of the line is already weakening under the Daemos attack.

Instinct snaps through me. I see it happening before anyone else does.

Years of fights in the pit have taught me that though the movements of a person’s body are important, you also always have to pay attention to where their eyes are. People look where they’re going to strike, even if their muscles are pulling in a different direction.

One of the Daemos riders on the eastern front stares up towards the north even as his contingent of wolves launches their attack. A feint.

“ It’s a distraction ,” I project through the bond. “ Their main force is gathering for a strike from the north .”

My insight moves through the pack like electricity leaping across iron nodes. Attention turns to the north.

Where Jonah is leading another contingent of Daemos wolves.

Unease tears through me as our gazes connect. He grins, and this time it does reach his eyes—the look in them so bone-chillingly malicious that my breath catches in my throat.

Then his direwolf lunges for the Phylax pair in front of him, and I recognize who it is.

Henrey.

“ Rid ourselves of any unsuitable common blood .”

All this time I was worried about what Jonah would do to me, and I missed it. He couldn’t have been more clear. He couldn’t get to me, so he’d take out the one other commoner Rawbond. And he’s attacking to kill.

“No!” The shout bursts forth from me but can’t be heard over the clashing fights escalating around the arena.

Jonah’s huge black direwolf claws Henrey’s light brown wolf across the face. The tawny wolf yelps in pain and pulls back, but Jonah’s not done. He instructs his wolf to attack again, and this time, his wolf takes a huge bite from the other wolf’s front leg, tearing flesh. Most of the wolf’s leg is suddenly a gaping wound.

Henrey’s direwolf falls forward, unable to stand on the leg any longer, and a blood-curdling howl reverberates over the arena. Even in the chaos and noise of the battle, it’s clear as day.

The sound cuts through my pack’s strategic focus like an ax cracking wood in two. My awareness of the battlefield fractures, disorientation taking me for the first time since the battle began. The Phylax on either side of Henrey are wavering now, too, their riders’ attention split between the attacking Daemos and their compromised packmate.

There’s a low chorus of responding howls as the direwolves realize what’s happening to Henrey’s pair. Pain. Confusion. Anger.

Through Nevah’s mind, I watch as Henrey’s wolf turns its massive head towards his rider, eyes wild with pain and fury. The defensive line begins to buckle immediately.

“ Northern defense compromised ,” Anassa’s cold voice hisses. “ Adjust formation ? — ”

Before she can finish the command, Henrey’s wolf lunges for his own rider’s throat.