Page 29

Jim's laugh held no humor. "Generous? Like you were with Reyes?"

Matthews shrugged, rainwater dripping from his shoulders onto the wooden floor with a sound like ticking clock. "A regrettable necessity. Your withdrawal would ensure no further... incidents."

Mia stepped forward, placing herself between the two alphas. Through their bond, she felt Jim's gratitude and frustration in equal measure. "The Council hasn't even ruled on Reyes' death yet."

"And they won't need to if the Challenge concludes peacefully." Matthews spread his hands. "I'm offering a solution that benefits everyone. Wolf Valley gets a strong alpha mate. Jim gets to walk away. Clean. Simple."

Never, Mia's wolf snarled. Never accept this monster.

Jim pushed past Mia, his green eyes burning with something ancient and dangerous. The temporal anchors across his arms suddenly flared bright, as if drawing power from his resolve. "I accept the Challenge. Here. Now."

A murmur ran through the crowd. Gerald nodded approvingly. Curtis pumped his fist despite his age. But others looked worried—Jim could barely stand, let alone fight.

"But," Jim continued, his voice carrying despite its roughness, "I invoke Clause Seventeen of the Ancient Challenge Laws."

The room went absolutely still. Even the storm seemed to pause.

Elder Agnes shot to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor. "You cannot be serious."

Bertram moved closer, his voice low with warning. "Jim, Clause Seventeen is?—"

"A fight to the death," Jim finished, never taking his eyes off Matthews. "Winner takes all. No appeals. No second chances. No pack law protection for the loser."

The younger wolves looked confused, but the elders' faces showed naked shock. Clause Seventeen hadn't been invoked in nearly two centuries—a relic from more brutal times when wolf packs settled leadership disputes with finality.

Matthews' confident expression faltered for the first time. "That's... archaic. Barbaric."

"Scared?" Jim challenged, something in his stance changing, becoming more predatory despite his weakened state. The temporal anchors pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat now, growing brighter with each beat. "Or is the vampire blood not enough of an advantage?"

Matthews' eyes narrowed at the public accusation. "You have no proof?—"

"I don't need proof for Clause Seventeen." Jim's smile was all teeth. "Just the challenge and a witness from each bloodline. Death makes all evidence irrelevant."

Mia grabbed Jim's arm, her fingers digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks. Through their bond, she felt his iron determination—and underneath it, the cold calculation of a plan. "What are you doing?" she hissed, loud enough for only him to hear. "You're in no condition to fight him."

Mate is clever, her wolf observed suddenly. Trap for trap.

"It's the only way," Jim whispered back, his hand covering hers briefly. "If he wins normally, he takes Wolf Valley. Becomes your mate. Controls the territory. But if he kills me outside sanctioned Challenge rules?—"

"He's exposed," Mia realized, the strategy suddenly clear. Jim was forcing Matthews into a corner where his true nature would be revealed, one way or another. A death match would strip away all pretense, all control.

But the cost...

"There has to be another way," she pleaded, her voice cracking. Through their bond, she pushed every ounce of her love, her fear, her desperate need for him to live.

Jim's hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away moisture she hadn't realized was there. "Trust me, mo ghrá. The anchors have been showing me something. A possibility. I just need to be close enough to him to understand it."

Bertram stepped forward, his Enforcement badge gleaming in the harsh light. "As Supernatural Law Enforcement liaison, I must inform both participants that a death match places this matter beyond pack jurisdiction. No interference will be tolerated, regardless of circumstances."

Jasmine moved to stand beside him, her own credentials displayed. "We will serve as official witnesses. Any violation of supernatural combat protocols will result in immediate intervention." Her dark eyes found Mia's, carrying a silent message: We'll watch for treachery.

Matthews looked from Jim to the enforcement officers, calculation evident in his posture. To refuse now would be to lose face in front of the entire pack, to admit weakness. But to accept was to enter a fight where his true nature might be exposed.

"You're barely standing," Matthews said, making one last attempt. "This is suicide."

"Maybe," Jim agreed easily. "But I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees. And I'll never—" his eyes found Mia's, "—never let you have her."

Matthews' expression hardened. "I accept."

The pack erupted into motion, tables and chairs hastily pushed aside to create a fighting arena within the great hall. The storm provided a fitting backdrop, lightning illuminating the scene through the windows in stark flashes.

Jim pulled Mia close one last time, his lips brushing her ear. "Whatever happens, remember—the anchors show me possibilities, not certainties. And right now, they're showing me something about Matthews. Something hidden."

"Jim—"

"I love you," he whispered fiercely. "Across every timeline, in every reality. That's the only certainty I need."

Before she could respond, he stepped into the circle, shedding his torn shirt to reveal the glowing temporal marks spread across his skin like a roadmap of other times, other places. They pulsed brighter now, creating patterns that almost looked like words in languages long dead.

Matthews did the same, his perfectly sculpted physique unmarred except for the rapidly healing cuts from his confrontation with Reyes.

No temporal marks there—but as he rolled his shoulders, the blackened veins beneath his skin became momentarily visible, tracing patterns that mimicked a vampire's circulatory system.

Elder Agnes stood at the edge of the circle, her ancient voice carrying the weight of centuries. "By the laws of our ancestors, this challenge is set. To the death. No interference. No mercy." She looked between the two men, regret evident in her eyes. "May the stronger wolf prevail."

She stepped back, and the world exploded into violence.

Matthews moved first, lunging with supernatural speed that betrayed his hybrid nature.

Jim sidestepped, barely avoiding the attack, his own movements hampered by exhaustion and lingering injury.

But Mia noticed something—the temporal anchors flared brighter when Matthews came close, as if reacting to his presence.

"Already slowing down," Matthews taunted, circling like the predator he was. "Pity. I expected more of a challenge."

Jim didn't waste breath on a response, conserving his energy as he tracked Matthews' movements. The temporal marks on his skin began to form new patterns, shifting and reforming like living things.

When the attack came again—a flurry of blows too fast for normal wolves to follow—Jim blocked only what he couldn't avoid, each impact sending shockwaves of pain through his weakened body.

Fight smarter, not harder, Mia urged through their bond. Use what you know.

A brutal kick connected with Jim's ribs, the crack audible even over the storm. He stumbled, momentarily dropping his guard. Matthews pressed the advantage, landing three rapid strikes to Jim's face and torso that sent him sprawling on the wooden floor.

Blood spattered from Jim's reopened wounds, the scent of it heavy in the air. But something else happened—where Jim's blood touched the floor, the wood seemed to shimmer, as if time itself was bleeding from his wounds.

Matthews stalked closer, clearly savoring the moment, unaware of the strange phenomenon. "Pathetic," he spat, delivering a vicious kick to Jim's side that lifted him off the ground. "This is the wolf you would choose, Mia? This broken, time-lost relic?"

Jim struggled to his knees, spitting blood onto the floorboards. The temporal anchors beneath his skin pulsed erratically, flaring brighter with each labored breath. More blood dripped, and more shadows danced where it fell.

"At least I'm still a wolf," Jim managed, the words raw and challenging. "What exactly are you now, Matthews?"

Rage flashed across the Northern Alpha's face. He grabbed Jim by the throat, lifting him off the ground with one hand —a display of strength impossible for even the most powerful werewolf.

"I am evolution," Matthews hissed, his face inches from Jim's. "The next stage. The future."

And that's when Mia saw it—the temporal anchors on Jim's skin suddenly formed a coherent pattern, ancient symbols that made her wolf recoil with recognition. Not random marks, but a spell. A trap. Waiting.

Jim's feet dangled, his hands clawing at Matthews' grip as his air supply cut off. Around them, the pack watched in horror, bound by ancient law not to interfere.

Mia's nails dug into her palms hard enough to draw blood, every instinct screaming at her to intervene. Beside her, Jasmine and Bertram tensed, hands hovering near weapons, but held back by the rules of supernatural combat they were sworn to uphold.

Wait, her wolf suddenly said. Watch. Mate knows what he does.

Matthews slammed Jim against a support pillar, the impact sending shudders through the entire structure. "Any last words, time walker?" he taunted, drawing back his free hand, claws extending to deliver the fatal blow.

The temporal anchors across Jim's body suddenly blazed with blinding intensity, bathing the room in otherworldly light. His eyes, barely open, met Mia's across the room—and for the briefest moment, a smile touched his bloodied lips.

Matthews' hand came down in a killing arc, aimed directly at Jim's exposed throat.