Chapter 32 Kill Circle
❀ Maeve ❀
“Fight me, bastard!”
I strolled into the training grounds, my dress swapped for pants and a shirt my size.
Brimming with energy, I bounded toward a circle of fighters, shirtless males and a few females dressed like me.
I inhaled deeply, my chest expanding. Had the air always smelled so dramatic? I perceived freshly trampled earth, the dewy grass out in the woods, even roasting meat from the distant kitchens.
All in all, I felt awesome, confident, and my wolf was just itching for a fight.
To rescue my mother, I’d have to be able to protect both of us. Time to acquire some skills to go with my wolf.
“Ahhhh!” came a scream of rage.
I’d wriggled into the circle just in time to witness two bloody males in the center going at it.
One held a hefty, glinting sword, his pants ripped in places and exposing vicious wounds. His hair color was impossible to make out, caked with dirt and blood.
He grinned, his gums bloody. In a taunting move, he slapped his sparring partner in the face with the broadside of the sword.
Bone cracked.
The other male stumbled, snarling in the wrong direction. He looked even worse. Blinded, he waved his arms around, wicked claws extended.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” the blinded man roared.
Just as his body began to contort into his wolf form, Ashar appeared on the opposite side of the circle.
“Shift, and forfeit your rank, soldier.” His voice was hard, his gaze daring.
But the man was too far gone. His bones snapped, muzzle emerging, fur bursting.
A cloud of dust exploded, and in the center, a massive black wolf stood, eyes healed and hungry for blood.
Just as the wolf lunged for his sparring partner, a loud twang sounded in the clearing.
An arrow, longer than I was tall, embedded into the wolf’s thigh, sending it flying.
The crowd parted like a wave to allow the wolf skid out of the circle, all the way to the edge of the woods.
My jaw dropped at the brutality.
Raising my gaze to the fortress, I spied rows and rows of huge ballistas on artillery platforms.
I turned back to the center, the ruthlessness of training sinking in.
Ashar stood with his arms crossed, a bored but hard expression on his face. His blond braid was smeared with blood, his skin even more so.
“You may have the spirit of the wolf in you,” he began, meeting the eyes of the circle. “But that doesn’t make you a beast. Learn to fight with wits, with your wolf acting as a supplementary weapon. If you fight with emotion in your wolf form, you’re as good as dead.”
The crowd was quiet, but energy thrummed like a live wire.
“Continue, until the last man, or woman, drops!” He backed out of the center.
Oh. Fighters were to challenge the winners of each bout until the last—
I stepped forward.
A deep hush cut through the clearing, even the birds quieted.
Believe me, I was just as shocked. This thing my legs do, moving before I decide, needs to be checked.
The sword‑wielding man looked me over.
“Princess Consort,” he drawled, chest heaving from his last fight.
His eyes darted around, no doubt waiting for someone to explain why a five‑foot‑five, weaponless woman stood before him.
“What’s your name, soldier?”
I’d cherish the name of the first man I hit with my wolf’s strength.
“Gareth, Princess. I’ll go easy on ya’.”
I smiled, barely managing to keep control.
My wolf surged. Instincts raging.
Let me at him! Crush, bleed, kill.
Whoa to that last one, this was just training, wolfie.
Besides, I hadn’t shifted before. And would Ashar let them shoot me with a ballista if I did?
I shivered. Best not test him.
Pulling my hair up in a tight bun, I circled Gareth, and he circled right back.
Just this morning, a pack member had accidentally seen my neck. She’d cooed about how romantic it was that Bastian had claimed me.
If she could make that error, I’d be counting on the others to do the same. All except Bastian himself would assume this was his mark.
Gareth twirled his broadsword.
So much for taking it easy on an unarmed woman.
I took position, digging my heels into the churned sand.
Chatters exploded around us, and I picked out what sounded like a bet on my survival.
I tuned them all out. Like a flash, I charged.
Gareth raised his sword in slow motion.
Wait, slow motion?
Gods, I was fast.
I swung. My fist connected.
Gareth’s jaw popped, a spray of blood spurting out the side.
I jumped back before he could regroup. Splaying my fist open and closed, I stared at it with wonder. I just punched someone and it didn’t hurt. In fact, this wolf was aching to deliver more knuckle sandwiches.
A growl dragged me back to the present.
Gareth’s eyes glazed, muscles rippling. He dropped the sword, claws extending with promise.
Teeth bared, fangs dripping, he readied to charge.
Uh oh.
I turned and ran—only to collide with a hard wall.
My head bounced off like a ball, my body slamming to the ground. Blood immediately flowed down my broken nose.
I felt a tingle, cartilage popping. Seconds later, my nose had healed, nice. Now, about that wall.
I lifted my gaze up, and up.
Bastian.
The sun haloed his head like an avenging angel, but then I shaded my eyes with a hand. Not angelic at all.
Bastian scowled, his gaze sliding from me to Gareth at my other side.
“You dare raise a hand to my mate?” His tone was deathly calm.
I gave Gareth a triumphant smirk. I wasn’t stupid enough to think I could get lucky twice. The man was six feet tall and had been a wolf longer than I had.
Ashar came forward. “She stepped up for the challenge, Bastian. On my grounds, there are no princes and princesses.”
My heart sank. Would he have actually let Gareth pummel me?
Still on my butt in the sand, I was cocooned by three large, shirtless males—all three with reason to draw blood.
Oh gods. Why always me?