Chapter 93: No middle ground
Chapter 93
Cameron
I sit on a rough, weather-worn log at the edge of a wide, barren patch of ground. The soil here is the color of rust—red-brown, dry, and lifeless.
It’s odd. The forest around us is full of life, lush grass and wildflowers fighting for space. But this circle? Nothing. Not a single blade of green dares creep in. The silence here feels heavy, like the ground itself is holding its breath.
Lenora drops into my lap without hesitation, fitting there like she was made for it. Her hair brushes my jaw as she leans back against me.
"It’s changed color," she says softly, running her fingers through the sandy grit. "Because for as long as White Stone has stood, they’ve had death matches here. They say the dirt itself soaked in all the blood, and that’s why nothing grows anymore."
I glance down at my boots half-buried in the strange soil, my arms tightening around her waist. "Now I feel weird," I mutter, forcing a crooked grin to mask the unease slithering up my spine.
The ground feels wrong beneath me. Too still. Too watchful. Like if I listen closely enough, I’ll hear the echoes of bones breaking.
Lenora twists slightly in my arms, her gray eyes flashing with something both sharp and calm. "Don’t worry about it."
I huff a dry laugh against her neck, nuzzling into the spot that always smells like forest rain.
"Shouldn’t you be a little more concerned? I’m the one walking into a death match, in case you forgot."
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink.
"I’m not worried," she says with maddening certainty.
"Because you’re definitely not the one dying in that circle."
The warmth that floods me at her words is immediate, undeniable. Her faith in me wraps around the gnawing doubts chewing at the back of my skull.
But still, as the golden light of the late afternoon dips lower, I can’t shake the truth simmering beneath her certainty: once the sun sets, I’m supposed to kill someone.
It isn’t that I’ve never killed before. I have. More than once. But this—this feels different.More final. It feels less like survival and more like execution.
Less human.
I glance at my hand, flexing it in front of me. The claws slide free with a sound that’s both alien and familiar, a rasp of steel unsheathed from flesh. Yeah. Not human. I don’t think I ever was.
I curl my arm tighter around Lenora’s waist, needing the anchor. She turns her head and kisses me—soft, sure, unbothered by the weight pressing down on me. I meet her kiss, let myself drown in her for a moment, disparaging the watching eyes that prick at my back.
"How envious."
The voice slices through the air like a blade. Rude. Mocking. A deliberate intrusion.
I kiss her once more. Then again. A third time, slower, lingering just long enough to make a point: I won’t let some bastard dictate when I stop kissing my mate.
Only then do I pull away, eyes narrowing as I finally turn to the interruption.
He’s standing there.
The proxy. My opponent.
The one who volunteered—no, demanded—to fight in Alric’s place.
His size alone is enough to silence the murmurs around the circle. He’s taller than me by a head, broad-shouldered, every inch of him carved from violence and brutality. Bald scalp gleaming with sweat, scars latticing across his arms and jaw like a roadmap of past battles. His grin is wide, hungry, showing too many teeth.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
"Pretty little omega wolf," he drawls, his eyes raking over Lenora in a way that makes my blood simmer, "enjoy it while it lasts. Because come sunrise tomorrow, you’ll be mine."
Lenora doesn’t even flinch. She only presses closer into my side, her chin tilting with regal defiance. "I’ll forgive your words," she says smoothly, "since men on their deathbeds tend to speak irrelevant things."
He scoffs.
"I hope you’ll still have that much spank beneath me," he sneers.
The sound that rips from my chest isn’t human. A low, guttural growl, deep enough to rattle in the bones of every wolf gathered. It alarms even me.
The murmurs die instantly. Dozens of eyes fix on me, wide, uncertain.
And the proxy—this towering brute who moments ago smirked like he owned the circle—actually flinches. His grin falters. His boots scrape the dirt as he takes one involuntary step back.
"Should get your affairs in order," Lenora says coolly, her voice slicing through the heavy silence. "Because you really are done for." She turns back towards me like the fight is already decided.
The brute tries to recover, puffing out his chest. "We’ll see," he snarls, but his bluster rings hollow.
***
Simone
"Don’t mind them," Nana says, her cane sunk into the reddish dirt as I kneel beside her. I pour the handful of sand into a wide clay bowl, and she sprinkles in that strange white powder of hers. The air here already feels heavier, like the soil itself is watching.
"Well, I have a question," I murmur, lowering my voice. "Is the goddess even okay with this? I mean... from what I’ve heard, she doesn’t exactly sound like—"
"A merciful god?" Nana cuts me off, lips quirking.
I nod.
She chuckles, and it’s not a kind sound—it’s sharp, almost wicked.
She chuckles—dark and humorless. "My dear, the devotees are carved in the image of their goddess. Do you think wolves are ruthless by accident? No. We are as She made us. The Moon Goddess is not merciful. She is demanding. Blood for blood, tooth for tooth."
I blink. My throat goes dry. "...Are you saying she’s—"
"A ruthless god? Call her what she is." Nana’s eyes gleam in the firelight.
"Evil. Glorious. Honest. Do you think it coincidence that for centuries we fed her blood sacrifices? A heart. A head. A body, burned under her moonlight."
I gape. "You can’t just say that—"
"I lived it," Nana snaps, her cane thudding against the ground for emphasis.
"Do not mistake the trappings of civility for truth. Wolves have always been hers. And she demands proof of strength. Always strength."
The bowl of sand begins to smoke faintly. I feel it against my skin like a warning.
I swallow hard. "And Cameron?"
Nana finally looks at me, her gaze like a blade. "He will either prove himself as her chosen alpha. Or he will die. There is no middle ground."