I blinked at the sound of the crowd’s shouts and cheers, and realized Sheridan had begun talking again. I caught the last three or four words as she finished describing the rules of the second phase, but none of it registered.
I forced myself to forget about the strange vampire and focus on the contest.
Regan stepped into position first, opening her mouth wide to flash gleaming white teeth. The crowd responded with oohs and ahhs. Then, with a pointed look at me, she closed her jaws around one of the thickest logs. It had been quartered lengthwise so the entire circumference could fit in her mouth.
Regan clenched her jaw. A crack split the air. Wood chips sprayed.
She’d bit a tree in half.
I flinched as a chunk of wood hit me square between the eyes. I thought I heard muffled laughter but refused to acknowledge it. I kept my head high. Regan continued to split log after log. Chips of wood flew as she went. I squinted at her from across the arena, imaging her as a beaver instead of a wolf. Cheers from the wolf side of the stands echoed in my skull, magnifying my anxiety—and my temper. The crowd couldn’t be more obvious as to their favorite. Even the vamps were whispering and pointing. I held on to the anger, channeling it, using it to fuel my energy. It surged through me, but it wasn’t so much adrenaline as a rush of temper. It waned well before my turn came.
Sheridan called time. There was a pause while the pack elders counted.
“Twenty-three!” Judas Prescott yelled out.
The crowd roared. I didn’t look at them.
“Congratulations, Regan! I believe that’s a new record,” Sheridan called from the stage.
Regan passed me with unreadable eyes. Was that sympathy? Or smugness?
Sheridan called my name. I stepped forward until I stood in front of a log. Its bark was rough and brittle-looking. I knew that must make it easier to snap them. I told myself I would break through.
The crowd went silent.
“Time starts when you begin,” Sheridan called out.
I opened my jaw and slid it around the log. The wood was rough and tangy in my mouth. I took a breath and clamped down as hard as I could. Pain shot from my teeth to the nerve endings and all the way along my jaw. Other than that, nothing happened.
I felt my energy wane even as I applied another round of pressure.
A few chips of wood broke free and fell into my mouth. I choked and dropped the log. A few people booed.
I told myself it was because they didn’t want to see me fail—instead of the opposite.
I looked up at the sound of footsteps. Sheridan’s expression was neutral. Too neutral. “Charlotte, do you need a moment? Some water?”
I didn’t trust myself to shift right now. Not in front of all these people. Not with this much anxiety. My luck, I’d shift back without pants or something.
“Would you like another try?” she asked.
Part of me wanted to refuse, to prove I could do this and do it better than Regan. I wanted to be tougher, to prove myself. But to my horror, when I opened my mouth to try again, a whine came out. I planted my paws and covered the whine with a growl, but Sheridan wasn’t fazed.
“All right. Go ahead and try again.” Sheridan gestured to the log but didn’t retreat to the stage. The message was clear: This wouldn’t take much longer.
I bent down and slid the log into my mouth. I ignored the way my tongue went dry at the taste of the wood and increased the pressure of my jaw. Nothing. I adjusted my teeth so that my molars were leveraged against the flat side of the log. I bit down. Like before, pain shot from my teeth up into my gums.
I bit harder.
A few chips came loose and fell at my feet. I held the pose for a few more seconds, the last drops of energy draining fast. With a final crack, the log split in two and I collapsed to the ground. The crowd went wild.
I watched Sheridan’s polished shoes turn and retreat to the stage. My muscles screamed at me, begging me to stay put, to give in and lie here until it all went away. I gritted my teeth and pulled myself up to standing. I didn’t look at Regan. Or Owen. Or anyone.
“The winner of the second phase is—Regan!” Sheridan’s voice echoed from the microphone. The crowd cheered. She waited them out before speaking again. “We’ll reconvene in one hour for phase three. Refreshments are available in the outer walkway. Enjoy!”
The sound of shuffling feet merged with the hum of blending voices as the audience made their way up the bleacher-steps or huddled into groups. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sea of pale faces as they filed toward the stairs and into the outer hallway that ran behind the stadium. I thought I caught sight of Owen just before he was swallowed up by his family and their army of bodyguards. He wasn’t smiling.
A lump formed in my throat. I hated this moment. I hated the Test of Strength. I hated my father, that I wanted his approval, and my mother for not preparing me for this.
“Charlie,” Regan called. “Come on.” She gestured with a nod toward the backstage area Sheridan had left through. “We’re supposed to wait back here.”
“Coming.” I followed her back, hating how empty my voice sounded.
But mostly, I hated how much I wanted a family—and how much I was willing to go through to get one.