Niko struck first, hurtling directly at my midsection. I slid sideways and dodged him, giving a hard kick to his hip, only for my attack to backfire as the impact led my foot to the ground. My back was to Niko, who used the force of my kick to redirect his weight to his opposite foot and thrust his shoulder into my right side. His size and weight caused me to stumble sideways, twisting my body so I faced him again, but he all too quickly grabbed my arms and pulled them in toward my chest and down. My shoulders followed, and I knew he would try to gain control of my neck from there. I twisted my neck, my left shoulder dipping and my right shoulder rising as I tried to turn my body. Just as he wrapped his left arm around my neck, I bit his bicep above his inner elbow. He howled and grabbed my ponytail like I expected him to. I rammed my heel just above his knee. That caused him to buckle forward but left my torso open—and he retaliated with a sharp thrust of his palm into my chest.

The intense collision took my breath away, agitating the pre-existing injury to my left lung. Pain paralyzed me as I stumbled back—pain powerful enough to bring me to my knees as I struggled to breathe. Niko advanced on me, and in a fit of panic I raised my hand, unable to ask for pause as a coughing fit wracked my chest. I was lucky that he stopped.

The ache was unbearable. I felt like I was suffocating, unable to inhale, as if my chest was already full of air that my lungs wouldn’t accept. All I could do was keep coughing, and out of reflex I coughed into my arm, hiding the droplets of blood that escaped my lips. I wilted on the ground, wheezing while Niko stood above me.

“If I were the enemy, you’d be dead by now,” he said.

I knew that. That was the worst part of this, realizing how vulnerable I suddenly was.

“I thought you were tougher than this,” Niko laughed, raising his foot and aiming for my chest. He intended to secure his first victory by taking advantage of my weakness, but he didn’t know just how dire my situation was.

“Don’t,” I rasped desperately, reaching out to stop him.

He would have followed through if not for my father suddenly calling, “Aislin!”

Instead, Niko’s foot crashed back to the ground and he stepped aside. My father charged over, but frantic to hide my feeble condition, I stifled my cough and staggered back to my feet. “I’m fine,” I said, but the words barely made it out. Just speaking made me feel like my left lung had deflated.

My father paused beside Niko. “What happened?” he asked, looking between us.

“She couldn’t take the hit,” said Niko.

I bared my teeth at Niko. “He just caught me off guard.”

“You’re wheezing,” my father pointed out.

“It’s nothing,” I insisted, staggering past them both. “I just need a break.”

He hesitated. Behind me, I heard him turn his voice to Niko. “Go against Albin for now. I’ll spectate.”

All I wanted was to escape from their prying eyes. I couldn’t let them know how bad it was, and I was grateful that they accepted my excuse and let me retreat to the cabin. Stumbling into the bathroom, I leaned against the counter and my chest rattled, expelling bloodied phlegm into the sink. My chest felt like it was going to explode.

I knew what was wrong. A portion of my left lung must have collapsed during the fight with Dalesbloom and the Inkscales a few days ago. Whoever I was fighting at the time had struck me hard in my ribcage, and I suspected the rib had fractured, a splinter puncturing my lung. My chest kept feeling tighter as air slowly filled the pleural space where the collapsed portion of my lung usually sat. I hadn’t bothered approaching Muriel for healing because I thought my condition as a wolf shifter would expedite my recovery, but instead, the injury kept worsening. It was too late for me to approach Muriel now, anyway. Her healing magic had put such a strain on her over the past few days that she’d grown weak, and I didn’t know how much more it would take from her to help me.

I would survive it on my own. I had no other choice.

Chapter 2: Everett

T

he pride of the Grandbay wolves was going to get them killed, and it pained me that nothing I could say would grant them any sense.

I slouched in my chair, staring out the wide window that spanned the back wall of my office. My postmodern house decorated in dark granite sat on a mountainside on the southeastern edge of Gunnison National Forest. Its tall cement pillars rose up among birch and aspen on a cliffside that overlooked my domain, my humble town of Eastpeak sprawled between the mountains, whose peaks dominated the horizon around us. Vibrant sunshine from the late August afternoon illuminated my office, its glare in the window reflecting my image back at me: Everett March, Alpha of the Eastpeak pack and CEO of March Lumber Mill. With legs clad in blue denim, old grey sneakers, and an olive-green utility shirt unbuttoned one down from the collar, I barely looked the part. Most executives didn’t keep their dirty blond hair in a bun on their head, or sit in chairs barely big enough to hold them. Stormy grey eyes emphasized my look of wildness.

Nobody ever said it out loud, but I used to think my intimidating presence was what impaired peoples’ ability to trust me. I had a better idea of what it was now. I had never allowed Eastpeak to get involved in the small quarrels between our neighboring packs. The effect of Eastpeak’s avoidance had chipped away at the trust my allies held in me, and now they would rather condemn themselves to certain death than let me into the situation.

The Mythguard should have taken Muriel Vale out of here weeks ago. Now, none of them could even set foot in Grandbay territory without the threat of reproach from Gavin Steele.