Page 6

Chapter

Six

D awn came too soon, bringing with it the copper taste of dread on Mia's tongue. She'd barely slept, her wolf pacing restlessly through dreams of shadow-red fur and amber eyes that held too many secrets.

"Today's the day," her wolf said, unnecessarily cheerful for the ungodly hour.

"Thanks for the reminder." Mia dragged herself out of bed, her muscles protesting. "I'd almost forgotten about the medieval circus I'm forced to star in."

"You mean the circus where Jim might die?"

"Shut up."

The shower did nothing to wash away her anxiety.

Neither did her third cup of coffee, which tasted like liquid regret.

She dressed carefully—alpha formal, which meant leather pants that said 'I'm in charge' and a top that said 'but I can still kick your ass.

' Her phone buzzed with texts from Jasmine and Beatrice:

Jasmine: Bar is fully stocked for post-challenge drinks. You'll need them.

Beatrice: PUT THE TRUTH POTION IN SOMEONE'S WATER BOTTLE. FOR SCIENCE.

Mia: No.

Beatrice: You're no fun. PS - made you a good luck charm!

Mia: If it explodes, you're paying for damages.

The walk to the pack house felt like a march to execution. Morning mist clung to the ground, carrying the scent of excitement from every direction—her pack was already gathering, their collective energy making the air practically vibrate.

"They're betting on the outcome," her wolf observed, catching snippets of conversation.

"Of course they are." Mia straightened her shoulders. "What are the odds?"

"Matthews is favored 3:1. Jim's at the bottom with 50:1."

"Good. I love an underdog story."

"Even when the underdog might actually die?"

Mia didn't answer. She couldn't.

She rounded the corner and stopped dead.

"Holy shit," her wolf whispered.

The clearing behind the pack house had been transformed overnight.

Where yesterday there'd been an empty field, now wooden bleachers curved in a half-moon around a massive circular arena.

The morning air bit with autumn's first real chill, making her breath visible in small puffs.

But as she approached the arena, the temperature shifted.

The magical barriers radiated heat like a furnace, creating a microclimate that made the space between the bleachers feel like summer.

The contrast was disorienting—cold wind on her back, magical warmth on her face.

Glowing runes pulsed along the boundaries, their magic making her teeth ache.

The hum of the barriers wasn't just audible; she felt it in her bones, a vibration that made her teeth ache and her wolf pace restlessly.

It was like standing too close to a massive speaker, the bass line reverberating through her chest.

"Mia!" Beatrice waved from the alpha platform, her blonde hair catching the early sunlight. "Up here! I saved you a seat and brought snacks!"

"Please tell me you didn't bring experimental potions as snacks."

"That was ONE TIME."

Mia climbed the platform steps, each footfall echoing her thundering heartbeat.

From this height, she could see everything—and everyone.

The seven alphas stood in the preparation area, and sweet mother of all that was holy, it was like someone had ordered a variety pack of supernatural testosterone.

Matthews, predictably, looked like he'd been professionally styled. His white suit probably cost more than her car, and his smile had definitely been practiced in a mirror. That metallic undertone in his scent was stronger today, making her wolf's hackles rise.

Thompson from the Eastern Packs bore scars like badges of honor, his weathered face telling stories of battles won.

The Blackwood twins—Viktor and Nikolai—stood together, their dark beauty almost ethereal, moving in that eerie synchronization twins sometimes had.

Otto Reyes radiated calm competence, his diplomatic reputation evident in how the others gave him respectful space.

And then there was Jim.

He lounged against a post at the far end, deliberately separate from the others.

Worn jeans, leather jacket, looking like trouble incarnate.

The morning light caught the fresh tattoo peeking from his collar—had he gotten another one?

His eyes found hers across the distance, and that insufferable half-smile appeared.

"Wipe that smirk off your face before I do it for you," Mia muttered.

"You're talking to yourself again," Elder Willow observed, appearing at her elbow like a ninja grandmother. Her silver hair gleamed in the morning sun, and her eyes held far too much amusement.

"It's called processing, Elder."

"Is that what we're calling it?" Willow's gaze swept over the assembled alphas. "Quite the collection of power, isn't it?"

"They're all so..."

"Impressive? Intimidating? Incredibly full of themselves?"

Despite her nerves, Mia laughed. "I was going to say 'intense,' but yours work too."

Elder Willow hummed thoughtfully. "Seven alphas, seven trials. By sunset today, we'll see the first true measure of their worth." She patted Mia's arm with papery fingers. "The question is, what will you be looking for?"

Someone who won't die trying to prove a point, Mia thought but didn't say.

A horn sounded across the clearing, its deep bass note vibrating in her chest. The crowd fell silent instantly, like someone had hit a cosmic mute button.

Elder Marcus stepped into the center of the arena, the runes flaring brighter at his presence, casting his weathered face in otherworldly blue light.

"The time has come," his voice carried across the suddenly silent crowd. "Let the trials begin."

Mia's wolf stirred restlessly as the seven alphas moved forward. Jim's eyes caught hers for just a moment, and something passed between them—a promise? A warning? A goodbye?

"Whatever you're thinking," Beatrice whispered, "stop it. He'll be fine."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's too stubborn to die before explaining why he left. Trust me, narrative causality is on his side."

Elder Marcus raised his arms, commanding attention.

"The first trial tests not just strength, but strategy.

" He gestured to the arena, where the runes began to shift and rise, forming translucent walls of light that hummed with energy.

The sound was like a tuning fork pressed against Mia's skull.

"Each alpha must retrieve their token from the center while protecting their own territory.

Last one standing with both their token and territory intact wins. "

The crowd murmured excitedly. Seven pedestals emerged from the ground with a grinding that Mia felt in her bones, each bearing a crystal that pulsed with different colors. The arena divided itself into seven sections, creating a complex maze that shifted like a living thing.

"That's it?" Viktor Blackwood's voice dripped disdain. "Capture the flag with fancy lights?"

Elder Marcus's smile was sharp as a blade. "The barriers are spelled to respond to both physical and magical attacks. And of course," he paused for dramatic effect, because even ancient elders loved their moments, "you'll be in wolf form. All of you."

Mia's breath caught. Wolf forms meant pure instinct, raw power, strategy filtered through animal perception. It also meant?—

"Jim can't possibly win this," Matthews announced loudly, his perfect teeth flashing. "A turned wolf against pure-bloods? This'll be over in seconds."

"Is he allowed to be that much of a dick?" Beatrice asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," Mia growled.

Jim's only response was to shrug off his jacket. That maddening smile never left his face, but something dangerous flickered in his eyes—knowledge that seemed out of place. "We'll see."

The alphas took their positions. The barriers hummed louder, making Mia's teeth ache. One by one, they shifted—the air crackling with power as human forms gave way to wolf.

Viktor and Nikolai emerged as massive black wolves, synchronized even in their transformations. Thompson's gray coat bore his scars like honor marks. Otto's russet fur rippled over endurance-built muscle. Matthews became a wolf of pure white, so pristine he practically glowed.

Then Jim shifted, and Mia's wolf nearly broke free in response.

Where the others' transformations had sounded like breaking branches and tearing fabric, Jim's was different—a sound like thunder rolling backwards, like time folding in on itself. The air around him shimmered, not with heat but with something older, deeper.

His scent exploded across the arena. Pine smoke and storms.

Her heart didn't just skip; it stopped for a full beat before slamming back to life. Her wolf clawed at her control, desperate, recognition and longing tangled into something painful.

"Oh fuck," Beatrice breathed.

Gone was the lean wolf she remembered. In his place stood a creature of shadow and storm, his fur a mix of deep reds and blacks that seemed to eat light. He was smaller than the others, yes, but the way he moved, the way power rolled off him in waves...

"That's not possible," Matthews snarled through the pack link. "He's turned. He can't?—"

"Begin!" Elder Marcus commanded, his staff striking the ground with a boom.

The wolves launched forward—except Jim, who simply sat down like he was watching Netflix.

"What is he doing?" Beatrice grabbed Mia's arm.

Mia shook her head, unable to look away.

The other wolves were crashing into barriers, and the sound was incredible—not just impacts, but musical notes gone wrong.

Each collision created a different tone, like someone playing a violin with a hammer.

Matthews' calculated strikes rang out in precise intervals, methodical as a metronome.

The twins' synchronized attacks created harmonics that made Mia's inner ear protest. And beneath it all, that steady hum growing stronger, angrier, like the arena itself was awakening.

Viktor and Nikolai were already fighting over a boundary. Matthews worked toward the center with mechanical precision.

Jim hadn't moved. He just watched, head tilted like he was listening to music only he could hear.

Then Mia saw it. With each collision, the barriers shifted in patterns. Random at first glance, but holding a rhythm. And Jim was reading it like sheet music.

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, you clever bastard."

Jim moved.

He flowed through the maze like smoke, slipping through gaps that shouldn't exist, each step perfectly timed to the barriers' dance. Where others fought the magic, he danced with it.

He reached the center just as Matthews broke through the final barrier with brute force. Their eyes met across the pedestals.

And then Jim did something that made Mia's heart stop.

Instead of grabbing his own crystal, he placed his paw on Matthews' token. The silver crystal pulsed beneath his touch.

"He wouldn't," Beatrice gasped.

But Mia knew he absolutely would.

Jim's paw hovered over the crystal that would eliminate Matthews. The entire arena held its breath.

And that's when the barriers exploded.

The magical walls detonated with a sound like the world ending—a shriek of tortured metal mixed with shattering glass played backwards.

The shockwave hit Mia first as pressure, then as pain, her eardrums threatening to burst. Shards of crystallized magic flew like shrapnel, leaving trails of ozone and burnt copper in the air.

The taste flooded her mouth—not the clean energy of protection magic, but something rotten, wrong. Like licking a battery covered in grave dirt. Her skin prickled with the wrongness of it, every supernatural instinct screaming danger.

The force knocked everyone flat, the wooden platform groaning under the impact. Through the ringing in her ears and the spots dancing in her vision, Mia struggled to make sense of the chaos.

Through the smoke and magical residue, she caught a glimpse of Jim—not retreating, but moving toward the fallen Matthews, paw extended in assistance.

"He knew," she whispered, the truth hitting her like a physical blow. "He knew this would happen."

The way he'd studied the patterns, the timing of his movement, his lack of surprise at the explosion—this wasn't strategy. This was foreknowledge.

"That's not supposed to happen," Elder Willow said sharply, all humor gone.

"No," Mia agreed, ice flooding her veins. "It's not."

Whatever had just shattered the arena, whatever game they were really playing, one thing was crystal clear:

This was no longer about mating challenges.

This was something far more dangerous.

And Jim had known it was coming.