Chapter 14 *

Chapter 14 Chapter 14 Challenging the Champion
Angelina's POV

The Porsche growled softly as I followed Zion's directions toward the outskirts of town, heading into Redstone Pack territory. The sun was sinking low, painting the desert landscape in shades of amber and rust.
"So, uh..." Zion shifted in the passenger seat, clearly uncomfortable. "About tonight's race. It's the third round of the Wildpath Championship—the Badlands Circuit."
I kept my eyes on the road, one hand draped casually over the steering wheel. "Mm-hmm."
"Right. So, Wildpath Championship is basically the biggest racing event for North American werewolf packs. Six races throughout the year, teams from different packs competing for points. End of the season, highest points wins the overall title."
"Got it."
Zion glanced at me, probably wondering if I was actually listening. I was—I just didn't need him to know I'd done my homework on this the moment Leo mentioned it yesterday.
"The Badlands Circuit is... well, it's brutal. The track runs along cliff edges and dried riverbeds. Mix of sandy stretches and hard-packed dirt. Super technical. Super dangerous." He paused. "That's why Leo crashed during practice earlier."
I said nothing, just watched the landscape change as we drove deeper into Redstone territory. The houses grew sparser, replaced by rocky outcrops and scrub brush.
"Redstone Pack is hosting," Zion continued. "They've got a reputation for being... intense. Old-school pack mentality, you know? Very 'strength above all' kind of vibe."
"And?"
"And they invited Tyler 'Apex' Cross as a special competitor." Zion's voice dropped slightly. "He's won the Wildpath Championship three years running. In the North American werewolf racing scene, he's basically unbeatable."
I raised an eyebrow but kept my expression neutral.
"Tyler's been dominating since his early twenties. He's probably mid-thirties now, racing for Thunder Racing Team. Huge sponsors, connections to half the packs on the continent. When Tyler shows up, everyone else is basically competing for second place."
"Sounds impressive," I said flatly.
Zion shot me a look. "Aria, I'm serious. This guy is the real deal. Leo was supposed to race him tonight—it's Leo's first official Wildpath race, representing Meadow Pack. The winner gets half a million dollars. But even Leo knew he probably couldn't beat Tyler. He was hoping for top three, maybe top five if he was lucky."
I made a noncommittal sound.
"No pressure, Aria," Zion said quickly. "Seriously. Nobody expects you to beat Tyler. Hell, nobody expects you to even keep up. Just... finishing the race without wiping out would be a win, okay? Even attempting to challenge him will boost Leo's reputation in the racing scene. That's worth something."
If only you knew, I thought, suppressing a smile.
In my previous life, I'd been "Phantom"—a name whispered with equal parts awe and fear on international racing circuits. I'd left professional champions eating my dust, made grown men question their entire careers. Tyler Cross, three-time regional champion of North America's werewolf racing scene?
In my old world, he wouldn't have even qualified to warm up my tires.
"We're cutting it close," Zion muttered, checking his phone. "Race starts in forty minutes."
I pressed down slightly on the accelerator. The pit area was exactly what I expected—a semi-enclosed space reserved for racers, crew members, and race officials. The smell hit me first: motor oil, burning rubber, welding sparks. Engines roared as teams ran final tests on their vehicles.
I stepped out of the Porsche, my boots crunching on the hard-packed dirt. Zion scrambled out after me, already scanning the area nervously.
"Okay, we need to check in with Big Marc—he's the race director. Then we'll get you briefed on the track layout and—oh shit."
I followed his gaze.
A group of about fifteen people was walking toward us. In the center was a man I immediately clocked as the race director—short, maybe 5'6", with a beer gut straining against a polo shirt bearing the Redstone Pack logo. Bald head, khaki pants, the self-important swagger of someone who enjoyed having authority.
But it wasn't him who caught my attention.
It was the man beside him.
Tyler "Apex" Cross stood 6'2", all muscle and swagger. His racing suit was unzipped to mid-chest, showing off a tight undershirt. Tanned skin, sharp features, and that distinctive tilt of his chin.
He was chewing gum, his jaw working in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
The group stopped a few feet away from us.
"Where's Leo?" Big Marc asked, his voice carrying the gruff edge of someone who didn't like complications. "We need to do the pre-race briefing."
Zion stepped forward. "Leo had an accident during practice. He's in the hospital."
Murmurs rippled through the group.
"This is his sister, Aria," Zion continued, gesturing to me. "She'll be racing in his place tonight."
Silence.
Dead. Fucking. Silence.
Tyler's gum bubble popped.
Then he laughed.
It started as a chuckle, then grew into full-throated laughter. His crew joined in, the sound echoing across the pit area.
"You're kidding me, right?" Tyler looked at Big Marc, then back at me, like he was waiting for the punchline. "You want ME to race against HER?"
I said nothing, just met his gaze with level calm.
"What is this, some kind of joke?" Tyler took a step closer, looking me up and down like I was something he'd found stuck to his shoe. "She even got a license? 'Cause I'm not racing against some wannabe who'll crash in the first turn."
More laughter from his crew. Someone whistled.
Tyler walked right up to me, using his height advantage to loom. "Look, sweetheart, I don't know what your brother told you, but this ain't go-karts. Badlands Circuit eats rookies for breakfast. MALE rookies with actual experience."
I could feel the weight of everyone's stares. They were all waiting to see if I'd back down like they expected.
"Tell you what, little girl," Tyler said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Why don't you run along back to your pack? Go home before you embarrass yourself. And your brother."
He leaned in slightly, his breath smelling of mint gum and arrogance.
"Because when I'm done with you on that track, you won't even want to look at a steering wheel again."
The crew nodded along. Big Marc looked uncomfortable but said nothing.
I let the silence stretch, just long enough for everyone to think maybe Tyler had won this little standoff.
Then I smiled.
Not a friendly smile. Not a nervous smile.
The kind of smile that, in my previous life, made hardened criminals reconsider their choices.
"Funny," I said, my voice quiet but cutting through the noise like a blade. "I was about to say the same thing to you."
I let that hang in the air for a beat.
"Walk away now, Tyler. Because when I'm done with you tonight..."
My smile widened, cold and sharp.
"...you'll be the one too embarrassed to show your face in this circuit again."
The effect was immediate.
Tyler's jaw stopped moving. His crew went silent. Big Marc's eyes widened. Even the race officials behind them looked stunned.
The only person who didn't seem shocked was Zion—but that was probably because he'd already seen me drive and was having flashbacks.
Tyler's face slowly turned red. His neck veins bulged. For a split second, his eyes flashed gold—the wolf rising to the surface.
His lead mechanic, a massive guy stepped forward. "Do you have ANY idea who you're talking to? Tyler's won championships before you even got your driver's license!"
"This is fucking ridiculous," another crew member added. "She's gonna get killed out there. And WE'RE gonna be the ones scraping her off the canyon wall!"
A young Redstone Pack member chimed in: "Meadow Pack must be desperate, sending a little girl to race. Pathetic. Just pathetic."
Tyler was breathing hard now, trying to control himself. His finger jabbed toward me, trembling with rage.
"You just made the biggest mistake of your life," he said, his voice low and deadly. "I'm gonna bury you out there tonight. And when I'm done, you'll NEVER race again. Not in Wildpath, not ANYWHERE."
He stepped even closer, invading my space.
"Nobody talks to me like that. NOBODY."
I could practically see the wheels turning in his head—already planning how he'd "accidentally" run me off the track, maybe even into the canyon wall.
I just kept smiling that cold smile.
"Oh?" I tilted my head slightly. "I'll be waiting."
Tyler made a disgusted sound, spat his gum on the ground, and turned away. "Let's go. I got a race to win."
His crew scrambled after him like loyal dogs.
Big Marc lingered for a moment, looking at me with genuine concern. Then he hurried after Tyler, calling out, "Tyler, wait, we still need to—"
As he passed one of his assistants, I heard him mutter: "Get medical on standby. We might need them."
When they were gone, Zion grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!"
I calmly removed his hand from my shoulder.
"Do you have ANY idea what you just did?!" He was practically shouting now. "That's TYLER CROSS! Three-time Wildpath Champion! Thunder Racing Team! He's got connections to half the packs in North America! Even Alpha-level racers give him respect!"
"And?" I asked mildly.
"And you—you're a NOBODY in this world! No racing history, no reputation, NOTHING!" Zion's voice dropped to an urgent whisper. "If Tyler wants to end your racing career, he CAN. One word from him, and no pack will let you race. Hell, if he wants to make you 'disappear' during the race, he COULD. Accidents happen on Badlands Circuit."
He grabbed my shoulders again, desperate to make me understand.
"You just painted a target on your back. Do you GET that?!"
I gently pushed his hands away again.
"And?" I repeated, my tone unchanged.
Zion stared at me like I'd grown a second head. He opened his mouth to say more, then just shook his head in defeat.
"Fine. FINE." He raised his hands in surrender. "I tried. I fucking tried."
He walked away muttering to himself, leaving me standing alone in the pit area.