Chapter 19 The Underground Invitation (Declan POV)
The silver blade is waiting in my locker Monday morning, gleaming against the dark metal interior.
I freeze, my hand halfway to my chemistry textbook. The knife is ornate…ceremonial, not practical…with symbols etched along the blade that make my wolf recoil instinctively. Ancient pack markings. Territory boundaries. And carved into the flat of the blade in elegant script:
The Culling. Winter Solstice. Seven Packs. Winner Claims All.
"Don't touch it." Callum's voice comes from behind me, sharp with urgency.
I pull my hand back, studying the blade without making contact. The craftsmanship is exceptional, this isn't some mass-produced weapon. Someone commissioned this specifically for delivery.
"There's more writing," I observe, leaning closer to read the smaller text etched along the blade's edge. "Blackthorn Academy. Subterranean Pitch. December 21st. Seven territories. One champion pack."
"The Culling," Callum repeats, reading over my shoulder. "I've heard stories. Grandfather mentioned it once, said it was how packs used to settle territorial disputes before humans started paying too much attention."
"How does it work?"
"Football, mostly. Supernatural rules, obviously. Each pack fields a team of eight. They compete in a tournament format. Winner gets territorial rights across Britain for the next cycle."
"And the losers?"
Callum's expression darkens. "Depends on the terms. Sometimes exile. Sometimes dissolution. Sometimes..." He doesn't finish, but I understand. Sometimes death.
Callum pulls out his phone, taking photos of the blade from multiple angles. "This is a formal challenge, Dec. Refusing means we forfeit our territory by default."
"Or we just don't show up."
"And let seven other packs fight over land that's been ours for centuries? They'll come here regardless. Divide it among themselves. Hunt us down if we resist."
I close the locker carefully, leaving the blade inside. "We need to call a pack meeting. "
"Agreed. Tonight, after classes?"
"No. Now. This is more important than chemistry or history or any of it." I pull out my phone, texting the group: Emergency meeting. Greyfang Hollow. Ten minutes. Non-negotiable.
Responses come immediately, confusion, concern, confirmation. Within two minutes, all seven of them have acknowledged.
"You're skipping classes?" Callum asks.
"For this? Yes." I shoulder my bag. "Come on. Let's get there before the others start panicking."
We head toward the woods, moving quickly but not so fast that we draw attention. Students are streaming toward their first period classes, oblivious to the supernatural politics unfolding around them.
"December 21st," I say as we enter the treeline. "That's the winter solstice. Three months from now."
"Also the Silver Moon," Callum adds. "Happens once every seventeen years. Werewolves are at peak power during a Silver Moon…stronger, faster, more aggressive. Perfect timing for a tournament that's meant to determine dominance."
"Or perfect timing for a trap." The pieces are clicking together in my mind. "Someone wants all the major British packs in one location during the Silver Moon. When we're powerful but also unstable. When ancient laws hold more weight than modern caution."
"Edmund," Callum says quietly.
"Maybe. Or someone working with him. Or using him as a convenient scapegoat." I duck under a low branch. "Either way, this invitation isn't random. It's strategic."
We reach Greyfang Hollow to find Owen already there, pacing anxiously.
"What's going on?" he demands. "Your text said emergency."
"Wait for the others," I tell him. "I only want to explain this once."
The rest of the pack arrives within minutes…Kieran, Brian, Liam, James, and Connor, all looking various degrees of worried. When everyone's assembled, I take a breath.
"We've been invited to The Culling."
The reaction is immediate. Kieran swears. Brian goes pale. Owen stops pacing.
"That's impossible," James says. "The Culling hasn't been held in decades. Maybe longer."
"It's being held now. December 21st. Here, at Blackthorn. Seven packs competing for territorial rights across all of Britain."
"Who issued the invitation?" Kieran asks.
"Unknown. But they left a ceremonial silver blade in my locker with all the details carved into it after I threw the first one they gave me during the first football match."
"Silver?" Connor's eyes narrow. "That's a power play. Making the Alpha handle silver to read the invitation. Psychological dominance."
"Except I didn't touch it," I clarify. "Callum warned me before I made contact. But yes, the symbolism is clear. Someone wants us off-balance."
"This is Edmund's doing," Kieran says immediately. "Has to be. He's been planning something, and this is it…get all the packs together so he can eliminate us at once."
"Maybe," I allow. "Or maybe someone's using Edmund's presence as cover for their own agenda. Either way, we need to decide: do we accept the invitation or refuse it?"
"Refuse," Brian says instantly. "This is obviously a trap. We stay away, keep our heads down, wait for it to blow over."
"It won't blow over," Callum counters. "Refusing a Culling invitation means forfeiting territory. The other six packs will divide our land among themselves. We lose everything."
"Better than losing our lives," Brian argues.
"Is it?" Kieran challenges. "Without territory, we're vulnerable. Other packs can hunt us legally. We become rogues…no protection under pack law, no allies, no home. We might as well paint targets on our backs."
"So we're damned either way," Liam mutters. "Participate and walk into a trap, or refuse and become homeless."
"There's a third option," Owen suggests. "We accept the invitation but prepare for the trap. Go in knowing it's a setup and plan accordingly."
"How do you prepare for an ambush when you don't know the parameters?" Connor asks.
"Research. Intelligence gathering. We find out who else is invited, what the tournament format is, what security measures are in place." Owen ticks off on his fingers. "We treat this like a military operation, not a football match."
"That could work," I say slowly. "If we know what we're walking into, we can counter it."
"Or we could just run," Brian insists. "Leave Yorkshire. Scatter. Regroup somewhere Edmund can't find us."
"And abandon Vivienne?" The words are out before I can stop them.
Everyone goes silent.
"This is about her," Kieran says, realization dawning. "You want to accept because leaving means leaving your mate."
"No. I want to accept because refusing means we lose our territory and our pack cohesion. But yes, Vivienne factors into it. She's transforming in seven days. She'll need pack support. Stability. We can't provide that if we're scattered across Britain hiding from hunters."
"She's not pack yet," Brian points out.
"She will be. After the transformation, she's officially under our protection. That makes her a pack concern."
"A pack concern who's Edmund Ashford's daughter," Kieran adds. "Who might be reporting every word we say back to her hunter father."
"She's not," I say firmly. "We've been over this. She's a victim of Edmund's manipulation, not his accomplice."
"You hope," Kieran shoots back. "But you don't know for certain."
"I know." The certainty in my voice makes even Kieran pause. "I know because I can feel the mate bond. Can sense her emotions, her truth. She's not lying about who she is."
"Mate bonds can be faked," Connor says quietly. "Rare, but possible. Powerful witches can simulate the sensation."
"Freya wouldn't…"
"Not Freya. But there are other witches. Darker ones who'd take Edmund's money to trap an Alpha."
The suggestion makes my skin crawl, but I force myself to consider it objectively. Could the bond be fake? Could everything I'm feeling be manufactured?
No. The certainty is bone-deep. Vivienne is my mate, truly and completely. No magic could replicate this.
"The bond is real," I say. "But even if you don't believe that, the invitation is still here. Still requires a response. So let's vote. All those in favor of accepting the Culling invitation?"
I raise my hand. After a moment, Callum does too. Then Owen. James hesitates before joining us. Liam raises his hand last, bringing us to five.
"All those opposed?"
Kieran, Brian, and Connor raise their hands.
"Five to three," I announce. "We accept."
"This is a mistake," Brian says, but without real heat. "When this goes wrong…and it will…I want it on record that I opposed it."
"Noted," I tell him. "Now we plan. Callum, I need you to research Culling history. Find out everything you can about format, rules, historical precedents. Owen, see what you can learn about the other invited packs. Who they are, their strengths, their alliances."
"And the rest of us?" Kieran asks.
"Train. We have three months to prepare for competition against six other packs at peak power. Football skills won't be enough, we need combat training too."
"I can help with that," Liam offers. "My uncle was military. Taught me some techniques."
"Good. Work with everyone on basics. Hand-to-hand, pack coordination, defensive formations." I look around at my packmates…my family. "This is real now. This is happening. So we prepare like our lives depend on it."
"Because they probably do," Kieran mutters.
"Which is why we're going to win." I inject confidence I don't entirely feel into my voice. "The Greyfang Pack has held this territory for generations. We're not giving it up without a fight."
The meeting breaks up slowly, pack members heading back to campus in pairs to avoid suspicion. Callum lingers, and I know he has more to say.
Callum's expression is serious. "You're keeping secrets from your pack, Dec. That's dangerous."
"I'm protecting information that could make them turn against her."
"Or information that could save their lives. If Kieran knew Vivienne discovered Edmund's plans, knew she chose us over her father, he might actually trust her."
"Or he might see her as a security risk. As someone Edmund will come for regardless of what she wants."
"Which is true," Callum points out. "Edmund's not going to let his daughter become a werewolf without a fight. When he makes his move…and he will…we need to be ready. That means the pack needs to know what we're dealing with."
He's right, and I hate that he's right.
"I'll tell them," I say. "After Vivienne transforms. After the bond is complete and she's officially pack. Then they can't question her place with us."
"Seven days," Callum says. "A lot can happen in seven days."
"I know."
"Edmund could attack early. Could try to prevent the transformation."
"Then we'll stop him."
"How? He's got surveillance equipment in the woods, hunters on standby, probably connections we don't even know about. One Alpha and seven packmates against a coordinated hunter network?" Callum shakes his head. "Those aren't good odds."
"They're the odds we have."
We start walking back toward campus, moving through familiar forest paths. The morning sun filters through bare branches, creating patterns of light and shadow across the ground.
"The Culling," Callum says after a while. "You really think we can win?"
"I think we have to try. Because if we don't, we lose everything, territory, cohesion, identity. The Greyfang Pack becomes nothing."
"And if we do try and fail?"
"Then we fail fighting. Which is better than failing running."
"Your father would be proud," Callum says quietly. "You sound like him. That same stubborn determination to protect what's yours no matter the cost."
The comparison makes my chest tight. "He'd also tell me I'm an idiot for claiming a mate whose father killed him."
"Probably. But he'd also say the mate bond is sacred. That you can't choose who fate gives you." Callum glances at me. "Do you regret it? The bond with Vivienne?"
"No." The answer is immediate. "Even knowing everything…Edmund, the complications, the danger…I wouldn't change it. She's mine, Callum. And I'm hers. That's not something I can walk away from."
"Even if it costs you your pack?"
"It won't come to that."
"You can't know that for certain."
"No. But I have to believe it. Because the alternative…choosing between pack and mate…that's not a choice I can make."
We reach the edge of campus, pausing before emerging from the treeline. Students are moving between buildings, completely unaware of the supernatural politics swirling around them.
"Three months until the Culling," Callum says. "Seven days until Vivienne transforms. Too many things happening at once."
"Welcome to my life lately."
"Your incredibly complicated, ridiculously dangerous life."
"Exactly."
He claps me on the shoulder. "For what it's worth, I'm with you. Whatever happens with the Culling, with Edmund, with Vivienne…I'm with you."
"Thank you."
"Just try not to get us all killed, yeah?"
"I'll do my best."
We return to campus separately, and I make it to second period history only fifteen minutes late. Mr. Patterson gives me a disapproving look but doesn't comment. Vivienne isn't in class…her seat empty, her scent faint.
Probably still dealing with the scratches and shredded sheets from last night's dreams. I need to check on her after class, make sure she's okay.
My phone buzzes with a text from Owen: Found info on other invited packs. Not good. Will send full report tonight.
Then Callum: Culling research underway. Historical records are sparse but what I'm finding is concerning. Talk later.
And finally, from a number I don't recognize: Looking forward to December. May the strongest pack win. - Marcus Thorne
Marcus Thorne. The man who gave me the invitation after the football match. Someone involved in organizing the Culling.
I don't respond. Just pocket my phone and try to focus on Highland Clearances and territorial displacement.
But my mind keeps returning to that silver blade in my locker.
Three months until the Culling.
Seven days until Vivienne's transformation.
Too many variables. Too many threats.
Too many ways this could all fall apart.
But I'm Alpha. Which means I don't get to fall apart. I hold steady. I protect my pack. I make impossible decisions.
And somehow, I find a way through.
Even when the odds say there isn't one.