Chapter 196 Ritual combat
Chapter 196: Ritual combat
Damon pov
A moment later, the door to my meeting room opened, and Marcus returned with a man I have never seen before. He was young, maybe twenty, with hollow eyes and trembling hands. The scent coming off him was wrong, too sweet, artificial, like something was masking his natural smell.
He was one of her engineered breeds, the ferals.
"Speak," I commanded.
The messenger swallowed hard, reaching into his jacket slowly. He pulled out a sealed envelope, the wax stamp bearing the Northern Kingdom's crest. "Her Majesty, Queen Millen, sends her regards."
I swallowed a growl that badly wanted to rip away from my throat.
I took the envelope from James, breaking the seal with more force than necessary. Inside was a single piece of parchment, written in elegant script:
Alpha Damon,
“By now, you understand the futility of your position. My brother has returned home, where he belongs, and with even greater news than expected. The child he carries is of royal blood and will be raised as such.
You have two days to surrender yourself and your pack to my rule. Come to the Northern border at dawn on the third day, alone and unarmed. Kneel before me and pledge your loyalty, and I will consider allowing your pack to survive as vassals.
Refuse, and I will show you exactly what happens to those who defy me. Your pack will burn. Your territory will be claimed. And every wolf who stands with you will share your fate.
\[You've already lost your mate and your heir. Don't lose everything else.
Choose wisely, ohh unrighteous of them all.
Queen Millen\]
The paper crumpled in my fist. White-hot rage flooded through me, momentarily drowning out the grief. She dared. She dared threaten my pack, claim my child, mock my pain.
"Is there a response?" the messenger asked quietly.
I looked up at him, and whatever he saw in my face made him take a step back. "Tell your Queen…"
The messenger's eyes suddenly went glassy. His hand moved to his belt, pulling out a small vial. Before anyone could react, he'd uncorked it and downed the contents.
"No!" James lunged forward, tackling the messenger, but it was too late.
The messenger collapsed, blood pouring from his mouth, his body convulsing. James dropped to his knees beside him, trying to get the contents out of his mouth, but we all knew it was useless. Whatever poison he'd taken was fast and thorough.
Within seconds, he was dead.
The meeting hall fell into horrible silence. I stared at the body, at the wasted life, at the message it sent. The Queen was serious. Deadly serious. And she was willing to sacrifice anyone and anything to get what she wanted.
Including, apparently, my mate.
I rose heavily, my cloak sweeping the ground.
“I need a messenger”
“Alpha…” James started, I looked up at him. And whatever he saw, made him take a step back. But instead of answering, I crossed the heavy distance and walked to the ancient cabinet located in a secret room at the corner of the room.
"Damon?" James's voice was uncertain behind me. Filled with caution but resolve.
I pulled open the heavy doors, revealing shelves lined with old texts, some bound in leather so worn the titles had faded to nothing. The small space smelled of old tradition and tomes, but I didn't care. My fingers traced the spines until I found what I was looking for… a tome so old that dust puffed into the air when I pulled it free.
The Chronicles of Ancient Law.
"What are you doing?" James asked, moving closer.
I laid the book on my desk, flipping through pages yellow with age. The messenger watched, confused and growing more nervous by the second.
"There," I said, finding the passage I needed. My finger traced the archaic text. "The Rite of Blood Challenge. Reserved for disputes between True Alphas when war would cost too many innocent lives."
James leaned over my shoulder, reading. "Damon, that's ancient law. Nobody's invoked it in over a century…"
"Then we're overdue for a revival." I looked up at the messenger that had appeared at my request. "Tell the Queen I reject her terms. But I offer her something better."
The young man's eyes widened. "Alpha, I don't think…"
"Tell her," I continued, my voice cold and sharp as steel, "that I invoke the Rite of Blood Challenge under the Ancient Laws. Single combat between True Alphas. The winner takes all, territory, packs, and any... disputed parties."
"You can't be serious," James breathed. "Damon, she's a True Alpha who's had decades to hone her power. Only God knows what else she has done for power. You are still recovering from the curse…"
"I'm perfectly serious." I pulled out a clean sheet of parchment and began writing in swift, decisive strokes. "The challenge must be issued in blood and accepted in blood. Combat to take place on neutral ground within seven days of acceptance."
"This is insane!"
"This is tradition." I finished writing and set down the quill. Then, without hesitation, I pulled out one of my throwing knives.
"Damon, wait…"
I pressed the blade to my palm and drew it across in one smooth motion. Blood welled up immediately, dripping onto the parchment. The pain was sharp and grounding, cutting through the fog of grief that had clouded my mind for days. But that was nothing compared to the feeling of being bound to the old parchment.
Like my blood was being drawn, tightly around the words.
I ignored the pain, pressing my bleeding palm against the bottom of the letter, leaving a perfect handprint. "By my blood, I issue this challenge. By the old laws, she cannot refuse without losing her claim to sovereignty."
The messenger stared at the bloody parchment with growing horror. "She'll kill you."
"Maybe." I folded the letter carefully, sealing it with more of my blood. "Or maybe I'll kill her. Either way, this ends between us. No more pack wars. No more innocent deaths. Just two Alphas settling it the way our ancestors did."
I held out the letter to the messenger, who took it with trembling hands. "Deliver this directly to the Queen. No intermediaries. And tell her this…" I leaned forward, my eyes flashing gold for a brief second. "Tell her I'm coming for what's mine. She can face me honorably in the challenge circle, or she can face me as an enemy when I tear down her kingdom stone by stone to get my mate back."
"I'll... I'll deliver it."
"Good." I gestured to the door.
The messenger practically ran from the room. The door slammed behind him, and silence fell.
James stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "Have you lost your mind?"
"No." I walked back to the cabinet, this time pulling out clean cloth to wrap my bleeding hand. Already, I could feel the wound beginning to heal… one advantage of Alpha genetics. "I have found it."
"You just challenged a monarch to ritual combat! She's been a True Alpha since she was born, she overthrew the council, the werewolf powerhouse. She has experience, resources, an entire kingdom ...."
"And I have nothing left to lose." I finished wrapping my hand and met his eyes. "Don't you see, James? This is perfect. If I win, I get Milo back, I get my child back, and the Queen's claim dies with her. Her kingdom will fracture without her, and the threat to us perishing ends."
"And if you lose?"
"Then I die fighting for my mate instead of rotting here in grief." I moved to the window, looking out at the pack grounds. "At least this way, the pack is protected. Ancient law requires all hostilities to cease during a Blood Challenge. She can't attack while we wait for the combat date."
“We all know her as a power hungry demon, what if she damns the rules…”
“What are you going to do?"
I looked at the crumpled letter in my hand. Two days. She'd given me two days to decide between surrendering everything I'd built or watching it all burn.
But she'd made one critical mistake.
She'd assumed I had anything left to lose.
"Get rid of the body," I said, my voice cold and flat, glancing at the lifeless body on the ground. "Call an emergency council meeting. And send word to every allied pack still standing with us. We have three days to prepare."
"Prepare for what?"
I met James's eyes, and I knew what he saw there. Not the broken, grieving mate. Not the Alpha drowning in betrayal.
But something harder, Darker.Something that had been forged in the fires of loss and tempered by rage.
"War," I said simply. "We prepare for war.”