Chapter 31 The Culling Preparation (Declan POV)
The Highland Alpha arrives three hours early, which tells me everything I need to know about his intentions.
"Reconnaissance," Callum mutters beside me as we watch the convoy of black SUVs pull into the Blackthorn Academy parking area. "He wants to assess our territory before the other packs arrive."
"Or he wants to intimidate us." I cross my arms, watching as six wolves emerge from the vehicles. All large. All moving with the coordinated precision of experienced fighters. "That's Fergus MacLeod. Held Highland territory for eight years. Won his position by killing the previous Alpha in challenge combat."
"Friendly guy, then."
"Not particularly."
We're standing at the entrance to the Subterranean Pitch, the underground facility beneath the old chapel where The Culling will take place in two months. The space has been transformed from abandoned storage into a regulation supernatural football pitch. Reinforced walls. UV-resistant lighting. Spectator areas carved into stone. And everywhere, the scent of old blood from previous tournaments held centuries ago.
Seven packs invited. Only one walks away with territorial rights across all of Britain.
The rest face exile, dissolution, or death.
Fergus approaches with his Beta, a massive wolf named Duncan who's known for breaking bones first and asking questions never. Both are wearing tactical gear despite this supposedly being a preliminary meeting.
"Hartley." Fergus's Scottish accent is thick, his tone assessing. "Younger than I expected for an Alpha."
"MacLeod. More paranoid than I expected for a preliminary scout." I nod at his gear. "Or did you think we'd attack during a sanctioned pre-tournament gathering?"
"In my experience, 'sanctioned' means nothing when territory is at stake." He looks past me into the Subterranean Pitch. "Impressive facility. Must have cost considerable resources to prepare."
"We've been here for generations. The pitch was already built."
"By whom? This isn't natural construction. Someone carved this space specifically for The Culling." His eyes narrow. "Which makes me wonder why the invitation came to Greyfang territory. Why your pack is hosting. Why we're all being gathered here instead of neutral ground."
"You think it's a trap."
"I think it's suspicious. Seven packs invited to compete in a tournament that hasn't been held in decades, all gathering in one Alpha's territory, with no neutral oversight?" Fergus crosses his arms. "Yeah, I think it's suspicious."
"Then why come?"
"Because refusing forfeits my territory. And I didn't spend eight years building the Highland Pack to hand it over without a fight." He steps closer, deliberately invading my space. "But if this is a trap, Hartley, if you're working with hunters or rival packs or anyone planning to eliminate competition before the tournament even starts? I'll kill you myself. Slowly."
"Noted." I don't back down, meeting his challenge with calm I don't entirely feel. "For the record, I didn't organize The Culling. Didn't send the invitations. Didn't choose Greyfang territory as the location. Someone else orchestrated all of that."
"Who?"
"If I knew, I'd tell you. Because I'm just as suspicious as you are."
Fergus studies me for a long moment. "You're either very honest or very good at lying."
"Guess you'll have to decide which."
Duncan growls…a low rumble that makes several of my pack members tense. Owen and Liam move closer, flanking me defensively.
"Easy," Fergus says, though he doesn't sound particularly concerned about his Beta's aggression. "We're here for reconnaissance, not combat. Yet."
"Then reconnaissance away." I gesture to the pitch. "Everything's open for inspection. No secrets. No traps. Just a facility that's been here longer than any of us have been alive."
Fergus nods once and heads inside with Duncan. Four more Highland wolves follow, spreading out to examine different areas of the space.
"I don't like this," Callum says quietly. "He's right to be suspicious. Someone wanted all seven packs in one location. That's either brilliant strategy or an elaborate death trap."
"Or both." I watch the Highland Pack prowl through the pitch like they own it. "How many others have confirmed attendance?"
"All of them. Pennine Pack arrives this afternoon. Lowlands tonight. Welsh Pack and Cornwall Pack tomorrow. North Pack and Border Pack the day after." Callum pulls out his tablet, showing me the schedule. "By week's end, we'll have fifty-plus werewolves in Yorkshire. All competing for the same prize."
"All potential threats to each other."
"Exactly. Which is why we need to be careful. One wrong move, one perceived insult, and this whole thing erupts into bloodshed before The Culling even starts."
By evening, four packs have arrived, and the tension is thick enough to choke on.
The meeting takes place in Greyfang Hollow, neutral ground within our territory where pack law dictates safe conduct. Twenty-seven Alphas, Betas, and senior pack members gathered in a clearing that suddenly feels too small.
I stand at the center with Callum beside me. The other Alphas form a rough circle: Fergus MacLeod of Highland Pack, Helena Wright of Pennine Pack, Marcus Kane of Lowlands Pack, and Rhys Morgan of Welsh Pack.
"Before we begin," I say, projecting authority I'm not entirely certain I have, "let's establish ground rules. No challenges during preliminary meetings. No combat between packs before The Culling. Anyone who breaks these rules forfeits their pack's entry."
"Who made you arbiter?" Helena asks. She's smaller than the male Alphas but carries herself with aggressive confidence that's earned her pack respect. "Just because we're in your territory doesn't give you authority over the rest of us."
"Then who should arbitrate? You?"
"I'm suggesting we need neutral oversight. Not a competing Alpha making rules that benefit his own pack."
"These rules benefit everyone. Unless you came here planning to start fights before the tournament?"
She glares but doesn't argue further.
"The Culling takes place in two months," I continue. "Between now and then, you're welcome to scout the facility, train in designated areas, and observe other packs. But no interference. No sabotage. No…"
"And what about your mate?" The question comes from Marcus Kane, a brutal-looking wolf with scars across his face. "Rumor says you claimed a mate recently. Powerful bloodline. Silvermane."
The clearing goes silent.
"My mate is none of your concern," I say carefully.
"It is if she's competing. Silvermanes historically held territory across Britain. If she's entering The Culling under your pack, that changes the dynamics considerably."
"She's not competing."
"Then where is she?" Helena leans forward. "Because an Alpha's mate should be present during pack gatherings. Especially ones this significant. Unless you're lying about the bond. Or she rejected you. Or she doesn't actually exist."
"She exists. And she's powerful enough that I'm keeping her away from this gathering to prevent complications." I meet Helena's eyes. "Trust me. You don't want to meet her unprepared."
"That sounds like a threat."
"That sounds like advice."
Fergus laughs…sharp and humorless. "He's protecting her. Smart. Silvermane female showing up here would trigger challenges from every unmated wolf in the clearing. Including some of the mated ones."
"She's claimed," I say, letting edge into my voice. "Anyone who challenges that answers to me."
"Big words from a young Alpha." This from Rhys Morgan, Welsh Pack. He's older, experienced, with the kind of calm that comes from decades of leadership. "But words mean nothing without the strength to back them up. How do we know you're capable of defending your mate? Of defending your pack in The Culling?"
"You want a demonstration?"
"I want assurance that we're not wasting our time. That Greyfang Pack is legitimate competition and not just convenient hosts for a tournament they have no chance of winning."
The challenge is clear. Prove yourself or be dismissed as weak.
"Fine." I step into the center of the clearing. "Anyone who questions Greyfang's capability can challenge me now. One-on-one. First blood. Winner establishes their pack's standing."
Silence.
Then Duncan…Fergus's massive Beta…steps forward. "I'll take that challenge."
"Duncan," Fergus warns. "This isn't…"
"He offered. I'm accepting." Duncan cracks his knuckles. "Besides, I've been curious about the young Alpha everyone's been talking about. Let's see if he's as impressive as rumors claim."
"First blood," I remind him. "Not a death match."
"Where's the fun in that?"
He shifts mid-sentence, transforming into a huge grey wolf that immediately lunges for my throat.
I shift faster, meeting him in mid-air. We collide with enough force to shake the ground, teeth snapping at each other's necks. He's strong…probably stronger than me in pure muscle. But I'm faster, using his momentum against him to twist away and go for his flank.
My teeth find fur and skin, drawing blood before he can counter.
First blood. I win.
Except Duncan doesn't stop.
He spins, ignoring the wound, and comes at me again with renewed fury. His jaws close on my shoulder…not deep enough to cripple but definitely more than "first blood" combat.
The clearing erupts in shouts. Fergus is yelling at Duncan to stand down. Callum and Owen shift, preparing to intervene. The other packs watch with calculating expressions, assessing whether this is genuine challenge or political theater.
I wrench free of Duncan's grip and pin him, my jaws at his throat in a hold that could kill if I chose to finish it.
Yield?
The impression comes through clearly. He can yield or die. His choice.
Duncan shifts back to human, forcing me to release him or risk crushing a smaller form. "I yield."
I shift back too, standing over him. Blood drips from the shoulder wound he gave me, but I ignore it. "First blood means first blood. Not first blood and then keep fighting. Understand?"
"Understood." He stands, not bothering to hide his anger. "You're faster than expected."
"You're stronger than I planned for. We're even."
Fergus approaches, his expression unreadable. "My Beta broke the terms. That's on me. We acknowledge Greyfang's capability."
"Good." I turn to face the assembled Alphas. "Anyone else want to question my pack's standing?"
No one speaks.
"Then we're clear. Greyfang Pack is legitimate competition. And in two months, we'll prove it in The Culling." I press my hand to the shoulder wound, feeling it already starting to heal. "Now, unless there's other business, this gathering is over. Return to your territories. We'll reconvene when all seven packs have arrived."
The Alphas disperse slowly, their pack members following. But I catch the looks they exchange…calculating, suspicious, already plotting strategies for the tournament.
Helena lingers. "That mate of yours. The Silvermane. Is she really as powerful as rumors say?"
"And you're keeping her hidden why? If she's that strong, she'd be an asset during The Culling."
"Or a target. Every pack here would try to eliminate her before the tournament starts. Better to keep her existence ambiguous until we're actually competing."
"Smart. Paranoid, but smart." She starts to leave, then pauses. "For what it's worth, Hartley? I believe the bond is real. I saw how you reacted when Marcus questioned it. That kind of protective fury isn't something you can fake."
She disappears into the trees, leaving me alone with my pack.
"Well," Owen says, examining my shoulder. "That could have gone worse."
"Could have gone better too." Callum is already on his tablet, documenting the meeting. "Duncan breaking first blood rules was deliberate. Testing whether you'd escalate to lethal force. You didn't, which some will see as mercy and others will see as weakness."
"Let them see it however they want. I'm not killing wolves before The Culling even starts."
"Even if they're testing you? Even if they're looking for weaknesses to exploit?"
"Especially then. We save our strength for the actual tournament." I look around the hollow, noting the trampled grass and disturbed earth from dozens of wolves moving through. "How many days until all seven packs arrive?"
"Three. North Pack and Border Pack are the last to confirm."
"And after that?"
"Two months of intensive training while being watched by six rival packs who all want us eliminated." Callum closes his tablet. "Should be fun."
"Fun isn't the word I'd use."
"What word would you use?"
I think about Duncan's challenge. About the calculating looks from other Alphas. About Helena's questions regarding Vivienne. About the fact that someone orchestrated this entire tournament and we still don't know who or why.
"Dangerous," I say finally. "This whole thing is dangerous. And it's only going to get worse."
Late that night, after the other packs have retreated to their temporary territories and my pack is settled, I find myself standing at the edge of Greyfang Hollow, staring into the darkness.
Two months until The Culling.
Two months to train my pack for a tournament where losing means exile or death.
Two months to keep Vivienne hidden from rival packs who would see her as either threat or prize.
Two months to figure out who organized this and why they wanted seven packs gathered in one place.
"Can't sleep?" Callum appears beside me, two beers in hand. He offers me one.
"Too much to think about."
"Duncan's challenge?"
"Everything. The tournament. The suspicious timing. The fact that we're hosting but didn't organize it." I take a long drink. "Someone wanted this to happen. Wanted all of us here. And I can't shake the feeling we're walking into a trap."
"Edmund's trap," Callum says quietly. "Has to be. He's been hunting us for years. The Culling gives him the perfect opportunity…all seven packs in one location, focused on competing against each other instead of watching for external threats."
"But he backed off after seeing Vivienne transform. Called off his hunters."
"Or claimed to. Doesn't mean he actually did." Callum leans against a tree. "What if the hunter attack two months ago was just reconnaissance? What if he let us think we won so we'd lower our guard for the real operation?"
The thought makes my stomach turn. "The Culling."
"All seven packs. Fifty-plus wolves. All underground in a facility with limited exits. If hunters sealed the entrances and deployed silver gas..."
"It would be a massacre."
We stand in silence, the implications settling between us.
"We need to tell the other packs," I say finally. "Warn them about the potential hunter threat."
"They won't believe us. We're competing for the same territory. They'll think it's psychological warfare…trying to make them paranoid and unfocused."
"Then we need proof. Evidence that Edmund is planning something."
"How? He's been silent for two months. No surveillance, no hunter activity, no contact with Vivienne. Either he's genuinely given up or he's planning something so big he doesn't want any warning signs."
I finish the beer, crushing the can. "Then we prepare for both. Train for The Culling while also preparing for a hunter attack. Double the security. Triple the escape routes. Make sure every wolf knows the emergency protocols."
"And Vivienne?"
"Stays hidden until we know what we're dealing with. If this is a trap, I won't give Edmund another target."
"She's not going to like being kept away."
"She'll understand. She's too valuable to risk."
"To the pack or to you?"
I don't answer. Because the truth is both, and Callum already knows it.
My mate. My responsibility. My greatest strength and my most dangerous weakness.
And in two months, when The Culling begins, everyone will find out just how far I'll go to protect her.
Even if it costs me everything.