Page 29 of A Kiss From a Wolfman
“My mate will bear my mark soon enough,” Ciaryn spits.
“Why should we follow you?” The brown wolfman asks.
Ciaryn bares his fangs, lowering to his haunches.
“If you wish to challenge me for alpha, Lukar, I will oblige you. You’ve been dying to fight me since we were pups.”
The brown wolfman—Lukar—bears his deadly fangs. Foamy saliva clings to the corners of his mouth and drops in frothy piles to the grass below.
My heart lurches in my chest. Ciaryn is strong—taller than the other male by a good foot—but he must be weary from our travels. Not to mention, he was injured by hunters only a few nights ago. I feel frozen to the spot, unable to make a sound. Whatever is passing between the two wolfmen must come to a head. The others in the pack seem to understand and take several steps back.
“If it is a challenge you want, it is a challenge you shall have.” Lukar’s lips pull into a sinister grin. “You are no alpha. You are weak, just as your father had been.”
Without so much as a growl, Ciaryn launches himself into the air and lands atop the other wolfman. From there, a fight ensues unlike any I’ve ever seen before. I’d witnessed a few drunken brawls at the Wolf’s Fang. Men come to blows over such small slights: a stolen sheep, spilling a cup of ale, or even perceived liberties they believe another has taken with their wife.
This clash is much different. The two males locked in a fury of shredding claws and snapping jaws are predators. Their moves are deadly—inflicting as much pain on the other as possible. Neither one shows any sign of yielding. This is a fight to the death.
Ciaryn’s claws snag Lukar in the side, drawing blood. The metallic scent coats the air. It wakes me from my daze and urges me to move. The other pack members venture closer to the action, taking in the grisly scene, but I want to be as far away as possible. It only now strikes me that Ciaryn could be killed. Coldness settles over my skin.
No, he will not perish here—he can’t. I only just found him, and now he is facing another brush with death. I want to rush into the carnage and urge Ciaryn to stop. We don’t need a pack—we would be happy, just the two of us.
My heart nearly stops as Lukar’s jaws lock around Ciaryn’s forearm. The pained howl of my mate causes my knees to buckle. Quickly, he manages to shake off his opponent, but blood flows down his arm. The other wolfman knocks him off his feet, and they grapple with each other. Dirt and grass fly around them in a frenzy.
I take a small step forward, arm extended. Before I can take another, I sense a presence at my side.
“They must do this,” a soft voice says.
Glancing beside me, I take in the large gray wolf with sparkling blue eyes a few feet away. The ends of his fur are nearly white, giving me the impression that he is much older than the other wolfman in the pack. He nods towards the two clashing wolves who are once more on their feet. Blood streams out of Lukar’s mouth, and Ciaryn limps as they circle each other.
“Lukar will never accept Ciaryn as his alpha without this duel. If he still refuses to submit to his authority, Ciaryn must kill him.” At my sharp inhale the older wolf’s eyes soften. “It is our way.”
“It seems so brutal,” I say.
The older wolfman nods.
“In time, you will understand how we live.”
A sharp whine causes me to whip my head back towards the fighting. Despite them both being covered in blood, Ciaryn has managed to pin Lukar beneath him. The brown wolfman’s arm is bent at a grotesque angle. Ciaryn snaps his jaws at the other wolfman, his black fur shining in the moonlight.
“Do you yield?” my mate snarls.
Lukar thrashes in his grip, but it is to no avail. Ciaryn has him beaten. They both know it. With a resounding growl, Ciaryn tightens his grip on his shattered arm.
“Do you yield?” he repeats.
With a broken yelp, Lukar ceases his movements.
“Yes,” he spits, blood trailing from his mouth.
Ciaryn snarls again.
“Alpha,” Lukar adds, infusing as much hate into the title as he can muster.
With one final snarl, Ciaryn releases the other wolfman man and rises to his feet. There is a soft murmuring amongst the crowd. His golden eyes scan his pack as if daring another to issue a challenge. When none do, he nods.
“Let Lukar lick his wounds.” The wolves around him bow their heads in supplication. “And let us have no further discussion on the matter. I am your alpha—now until I take my last breath. Those who wish to challenge that fact can look to Lukar as an example of what will happen if you do. Next time, I will not be so generous as to let you live.”
“Yes, alpha,” rings out from the gathered crowd.
