“Linda had nothing to do with Clara’s death,” he asserts, though I’m not convinced anyone believes him.
“Are we doing this or what?” Lydia interrupts, strutting forward in just a shirt she has stolen from somewhere with a smug tilt to her lips.
“No, you aren’t,” Zayn declares, his gaze locking onto Lydia with enough intensity to set the grass ablaze. “Cleo hasn’t shifted.”
Lydia’s hands fly up, her exasperation clear as day. “There’s nothing in the rules that says an unshifted Alpha can’t challenge a shifted one,” she retorts.
“Did you challenge her, Cleo?” Zayn asks, turning his piercing silver eyes on me. I open my mouth, but no words come out—only silence. Yet as his gaze runs over me, I see the flicker of anger in it at my bleeding face.
“Thought so. This isn’t happening,” Zayn concludes, about to turn away when my father’s voice invades my mind, commanding me to speak.
“Tell them you challenged her, Cleo. I will not be made to look like a fool by this prick.” I glare at my father when he speaks again. “Or you step down,” he warns.
Seriously, his ego is bigger than his care for his daughter. I grit my teeth.
The weight of their stares squeezes the air from my lungs. I step forward, my resolve faltering under the heavy expectations of everyone.
“I… I challenged Lydia,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper and Zayn’s entire body tenses and he stops, turning back to me.
“See? All settled,” Samuel says with a nod, and Lydia practically leaps toward the ring.
“Wait,” Zayn interjects, his eyes burning into mine. “You challenged her?” he knows I’m lying.
I stand mute, my heart pounding in my chest, betraying the truth without uttering a single word. Zayn growls storming toward me and grabbing my arm, my father moves to intervene, Alpha Greyson becomes a wall between Zayn and him.
Zayn’s grip on my arm is firm, his eyes searching mine for any sign of surrender. “It’s suicide, Cleo,” he says through clenched teeth. “You don’t have to lie for him.”
“Admit it, and we can put an end to this madness,” Alpha Greyson adds, coming over to us while Vance keeps my father back.
I yank my arm away, frustration boiling over. “Stop interfering! You’re making things worse,” I snap at Zayn.
“Cleo, your mother wouldn’t want this,” Greyson persists, and I cut him off.
“Maybe that’s exactly why I’m doing it!” My voice breaks as I speak, the weight of my mother’s absence is like a stone inmy chest. Everyone is hellbent on using her against me lately. “If I step into that ring, at least my father can’t banish me. I’ve done what he wanted.” The image of my pack—my home—slipping through my fingers if I refuse this fight makes me stubborn. I won’t let that bitch get her hands on my mother’s pack.
As I turn to leave for the ring, Zayn’s hand finds my arm again, pulling me back. “Don’t expect me to stand by and do nothing if you’re losing,” he warns, his gray eyes stormy.
“That’s exactly what you’ll do,” I retort, my heart pounding in a fierce rhythm of defiance. “I am not your problem.”
His next words hit me like a physical blow. “I’ll pull my men from your borders if you do this.”
We had a deal—his protection in exchange for… something else, something I haven’t actually delivered on yet. “Consider it broken if you step into a title fight,” Zayn growls, the muscle in his jaw ticking.
“You’re all the same,” I mutter, shaking my head, my insides twisting with anger and betrayal. “All of you just want to control me.” Zayn’s gaze hardens and his eyes flicker.
“Control this, Zayn. Go fuck yourself,” I spit out, the words laced with venom. I storm off, leaving him standing there, his expression unreadable.
“Last warning, Cleo,” he calls after me, steeling myself. I ignore him.
“Pull them, then!” I throw the challenge over my shoulder without stopping.
“I’m not talking about my men this time, Cleo,” Zayn replies, and I hesitate, confusion momentarily breaking through my resolve.
“What are you talking about then?” I ask, worriedly.
“Get in that ring, and you’ll find out,” he says, a note of dark promise in his voice.
My father’s call slices through the tension, demanding my presence. I turn away from Zayn, ignoring the mix of disappointment and anger in his eyes. I march toward the makeshift ring—a simple dirt circle of onlookers that feels more like an arena than ever now.
