Sunlight, so bright it seemed offensive on such a heavy day, poured through the window, waking me before the alarm. My eyes opened, slowly at first, and then I bolted upright as I remembered what day it was. The urge to crawl back underneath the covers was so strong, I deliberately threw the blanket aside and marched into the bathroom to shower and change.
I found clothes already laid out inside my armoire. The fabric was light and fitted. A note was pinned to the sleeve in flowing script. “For Charlie,” it said. I suspected a woman, but had no idea who. I doubted Regan’s handwriting was that feminine. Sheridan, maybe. The closer we got to this contest business, the more in-charge she seemed.
I dressed quickly and threw my hair into a ponytail, remembering belatedly how Regan liked to wear hers this way too. I yanked the tie out and let it fall over my shoulders with a scowl just as a heavy knock sounded on my door.
I was surprised to find Al waiting for me. His hulking frame filled my doorway and then some. “I’m here to escort you to the arena,” he said. His deep voice was neutral, devoid of any emotion. Just as well. I doubted he was rooting for me anyway. Better this than open support for my opponent.
My opponent.
The thought made me nauseous. I swallowed hard and forced my mind to go blank as I followed him out. I couldn’t afford to think. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. We were at the arena all too soon.
As we rounded the last turn, I averted my eyes to the crowd I could already hear murmuring while they waited. I couldn’t bear to look at them just yet—not when I knew they were all here for Regan anyway. Just ahead, Al took a sharp left and darted through a doorway cut into the outer wall. I followed, relieved I wouldn’t have to enter through the high archway that faced the stands. At the end of a short hall, we took a right and ended inside a small holding room. No furniture. Just a dirt floor and a single window overlooking the arena floor.
The angle was wrong to see anyone in the stands and I was grateful. Through the small window, I scanned what I could see of the grassy ground floor where the competition would take place. There were a few obstacles strewn about: some boulders of varying sizes, a few uprooted trees, and even two dilapidated cars. It took me a moment to realize that the groupings were symmetrical. Three boulders, two trees, and a car on one side, and the same setup on the other side where another entrance had been cut into the wall. Regan’s door, I assumed.
At the sight of the duplicate courses, I felt relief so strong my eyes watered. Separate shows of strength; not against each other. I would face inanimate objects. Not my sister. This was doable.
I turned to find Al still hovering out in the hallway that led to backstage. Beyond him, the massive staging area was busy with bodies scurrying here and there. It seemed out of place, like backstage at a rock concert, the way they hurried about messing with cables and stage curtains and microphone cords.
I looked up at Al again and he regarded me with a somber expression. “Do you need anything?” he asked in a deep voice.
“No, thank you,” I said, knowing full well that even if I did need something, I sure as hell wasn’t asking him for it. He nodded with a small dip of his chin and pushed the door shut, sealing me in.
From here, I was on my own.
I wandered back to the window, trying to get my bearings—and not hyperventilate. The floor was dirt. The walls were wooden. It was cheaply constructed and hurriedly built. There was a cutout for a door leading into the arena, but no handle. Next to that, a bottle of water sat on the window sill. There was no glass fitted into the frame so I went to it and breathed in the fresh air. My wolf stained against the confines of the thick walls and, despite my trepidation, I hoped we wouldn’t be made to wait here for long.
I tried, finally, to look out into the crowd, but from this angle I could see only the stage. The crowd and the entrance itself were hidden from view. Not that I wanted to see the faces assembled, particularly, but I itched to lay eyes on Owen just once before it all began. Loneliness hit me like a punch in the gut. I wished, fleetingly, that I had called my mom after all.
From beyond the view of my little window, the crowd’s volume rose as a cheer sounded. I looked right and left, straining to see what had made them come to life. One face, heavily done up in crimson lipstick that contrasted boldly with her shining blonde hair, caught my eye as she made her way up the steps and across the stage. The crowd cheered and clapped at the sight of her. Sheridan smiled wide, soaking it in.
“Welcome to the Test of Strength. We are here to witness an age-old tradition, a selection process as old as our bloodline. A ritual with meaning, steeped in the same values and rights we hold so dear. Our rights as supernatural creatures—as wolves!” She paused as another cheer went up and I rolled my eyes at how well Sheridan could talk and talk without ever actually saying anything. “I give you the first contestant, Regan Vuk, daughter of Myra!”
From the opposite side of the stage, a door creaked open. Regan strode out and climbed onto the platform. She raised her hands in the air to greet the cheers of the pack like she was a great dictator. And they ate it up. They responded by cheering harder and louder.
She looked like an alpha: calm and composed and confident. Her outfit was identical to mine, but she seemed to wear it better. A makeshift crown, crafted from fresh flowers, was woven through her hair in a complicated twist. I doubted she’d done it herself, which only meant she’d had an entourage of help getting ready this morning, while I’d gotten ready alone.
Her solemn expression gave the impression she’d done this a thousand times before; facing her own sister in the arena would be no problem. Regan looked less like a human and more like a force of nature that had climbed free of the forest.
“Charlie Vuk, daughter of Anita,” Sheridan shouted.
And then my door was opening, too. The crowd roared as daylight splashed on my face. I kept my steps slow and even to hide my nerves as sunlight washed over me. I tried to embody all of those wonderful, powerful things I saw in Regan as I climbed up on the platform, but my heart beat erratically and painfully against my ribs.
My toe caught on an uneven plank of wood, and my foot slipped. I landed on my knees at the top of the steps.
Laughter.
It echoed around the stadium. Cheeks flaming, I straightened. The imagery that I’d basically bowed before Regan wasn’t lost on me. People were still cheering, but I didn’t think they were cheering for me. They were calling out Regan’s name. The crowd had already picked their winner.
I wanted to crawl back to my holding room and disappear.
But then a pale face among the rest caught my attention, and I looked up to see Owen gazing straight at me, as though the arena was completely empty of anybody but us. I remembered the feel of his lips on mine, his fingers laced through my own, his gentle words elevating me. He promised to be here for me, and he was.
Staring back at him, I knew I could do this.